THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 JAMES HARRIS, ESQ. 
 
 ii 
 
 WITH AN ACCOUNT OP 
 
 HIS LIFE AND CHARACTER 
 
 BY HIS SON 
 
 THE EARL OF MALMESBURY. 
 
 OXFORD: 
 
 PRINTED BY J. VINCENT, 
 
 FOR THOMAS TEGG, 73, CHEAPSIDE, LONDON. 
 1841. 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 LIFE AND CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 A NEW edition of my father's Works having been for some time 
 expected by the public, I have been induced to prefix to it the 
 following short memoirs of his life and character. 
 
 There are few readers, I believe, who do not desire to know 
 something more of an author than is commonly to be learned 
 merely from his own writings. What he has been in private 
 life, and in his domestic retirement ; what appear to have been 
 his habits of study, and of relaxation ; how he has conducted 
 himself as a member of society, so as to have deserved praise or 
 blame : all these are natural topics of inquiry concerning every 
 writer who has attained considerable literary eminence. ) To 
 gratify a curiosity so reasonable, is one motive which has en- 
 gaged me in the present undertaking ; but, I will confess, it is 
 not the only one. 
 
 The pride which I feel in being the son of such a father, and 
 the gratitude and affection with which I must ever recollect 
 him, have also powerfully induced me to pay this public tribute 
 of respect to his memory. To his early care of my education, 
 to his judicious introduction of me to respectable friends and 
 patrons, to his constant good advice and excellent example, 
 I am fond of attributing whatever credit I may have acquired 
 in the various active employments that have fallen to my share. 
 
 I reflect with the highest pleasure on his having seen me, 
 during many years, engaged in the service of my country ; and 
 I can with truth say, that such advantages of rank or distinc- 
 tion as I have been fortunate enough to acquire, which he did 
 not live to witness, have, from that very circumstance, lost 
 much of their value in my estimation. 
 
 James Harris, esq., the writer of these volumes, was the eldest 
 son of James Harris, esq., of the Close of Salisbury, by his 
 
 8GM70 
 
iv LIFE AND CHARACTER 
 
 second wife, the lady Elizabeth Ashley, who was third daughter 
 of Anthony earl of Shaftesbury, and sister to the celebrated 
 author of the Characteristics, as well as to the Hon. Maurice 
 Ashley Cooper, the elegant translator of Xenophon's Cyropsedia. 
 He was born upon the 20th of July, 1709. The early part of 
 his education was received at Salisbury, under the Rev. Mr. Hele, 
 master of the grammar school in the Close, who was long known 
 and respected in the west of England as an instructor of youth. 
 
 From Mr. Helens school, at the age of sixteen, he was 
 removed to Oxford, where he passed the usual number of years 
 as a gentleman-commoner of Wadham college. His father, as 
 soon as he had finished his academical studies, entered him at 
 Lincoln's Inn, not intending him for the bar, but, as was then 
 a common practice, meaning to make the study of the law a part 
 of his education. 
 
 When he had attained his twenty-fourth year, his father died. 
 This event, by rendering him independent in fortune, and 
 freeing him from all control, enabled him to exchange the study 
 of the law for other pursuits that accorded better with his 
 inclination. 
 
 The strong and decided bent of his mind had always been 
 towards the Greek and Latin classics. These he preferred to 
 every other sort of reading; and to his favourite authors he 
 now applied himself with avidity, retiring from London to the 
 house in which his family had very long resided in the Close of 
 Salisbury, for the sake of enjoying, without interruption, his 
 own mode of living. 
 
 His application during fourteen or fifteen years to the best 
 writers of antiquity, continued to be almost unremitting, and 
 his industry was such as is not often exceeded. He rose always 
 very early, frequently at four or five o'clock in the morning, 
 especially during the winter, because he could then most ef- 
 fectually insure a command of time to himself. By these means 
 he was enabled to mix occasionally in the society of Salisbury 
 and its neighbourhood, without too great a sacrifice of his main 
 object, the acquisition of ancient literature. 
 
 I have heard my father say, that it was not until many years 
 after his retirement from London that he began to read Ari- 
 stotle and his 'commentators, or to inquire, so deeply as he 
 afterwards did, into the Greek philosophy. He had imbibed a 
 
OF THE AUTHOR. v 
 
 prejudice, very common at that time even among scholars, that 
 Aristotle was an obscure and unprofitable author, whose philo- 
 sophy had been deservedly superseded by that of Mr. Locke ; a 
 notion which my father's own writings have since contributed to 
 correct, with no small evidence and authority. 
 
 In the midst, however, of his literary labours he was not 
 inattentive to the public good, but acted regularly and assidu- 
 ously as a magistrate for the county of Wilts ; giving, in that 
 capacity, occasional proofs of a manly spirit and firmness, 
 without which the mere formal discharge of magisterial duty is 
 often useless and inefficient. 
 
 The first fruit which appeared to the world of so many years 
 spent in the pursuit of knowledge, and in habits of deep specula- 
 tion, was a volume published in 1744, containing three treatises : 
 the first concerning Art ; the second concerning Music, Paint- 
 ing, and Poetry ; the third concerning Happiness. These trea- 
 tises, in addition to their merit as original compositions, are 
 illustrated by a variety of learned notes and observations, 
 elucidating many difficult passages of ancient writers, the study 
 and examination of whom it was my fathers earnest wish to 
 promote and to facilitate. Lord Monboddo, speaking of the 
 Dialogue upon Art, praises it, as containing " the best specimen 
 of the dividing, or diaeretic manner, as the ancients called it, 
 that is to be found in any modern book with which he is ac- 
 quainted." 
 
 In the month of July 1745, my father was married to miss 
 Elizabeth Clarke, daughter and eventually heiress of John 
 Clarke, esq., of Sandford, near Bridgewater, in the county of 
 Somerset. Five children were the issue of this marriage ; two 
 of whom died young; myself and two daughters only have 
 survived my father. 
 
 This change in his state of life by no means withdrew his 
 attention from those studies in which he had been used to take 
 so great delight, and which he had cultivated with such ad- 
 vantage and reputation ; for in 1751 he published another work, 
 called " Hermes, or a philosophical inquiry concerning universal 
 grammar." An eulogium so honourable to this publication has 
 been made on it by the learned Dr. Lowth, late bishop of 
 London, that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of here in- 
 serting it, as of indisputable weight and authority. "Those., 1 " 
 
vi LIFE AND CHARACTER 
 
 says the bishop, in the preface to his English Grammar, " who 
 would enter deeply into the subject (of universal grammar), will 
 find it fully and accurately handled, with the greatest acuteness 
 of investigation, perspicuity of explication, and elegance of 
 method, in a treatise entitled Hermes, by James Harris, esq. ; 
 the most beautiful example of analysis that has been exhibited 
 since the days of Aristotle." 
 
 What first led my father to a deep and accurate consideration 
 of the principles of universal grammar, was a book which he 
 held in high estimation, and has frequently quoted in his 
 Hermes, the Minerva of Sanctius. To that writer he confessed 
 himself indebted for abundance of valuable information, of 
 which it appears that he knew well how to profit, and to push 
 his researches on the subject of grammar to a much greater 
 length, by the help of his various and extensive erudition. 
 
 From the period of his marriage until the year 1761, my 
 father continued to live entirely at Salisbury, except in the 
 summer, when he sometimes retired to his house at Durnford, 
 near that city. It was there that he found himself most free 
 from the interruption of business and of company, and at leisure 
 to compose the chief part of those works which were the result 
 of his study at other seasons. His time was divided between 
 the care of his family, in which he placed his chief happiness, 
 his literary pursuits, and the society of his friends and neigh- 
 bours, with whom he kept up a constant and cheerful intercourse. 
 The superior taste and skill which he possessed in music, and 
 his extreme fondness for hearing it, led him to attend to its 
 cultivation in his native place with uncommon pains and success ; 
 insomuch that, under his auspices, not only the annual musical 
 festival in Salisbury flourished beyond most institutions of the 
 kind, but even the ordinary subscription-concerts were carried 
 on by his assistance and direction, with a spirit and effect 
 seldom equalled out of the metropolis. Many of the beautiful 
 selections made from the best Italian and German composers for 
 these festivals and concerts, and adapted by my father, some- 
 times to words selected from Scripture or from Milton's Para- 
 dise Lost, sometimes to compositions of his own, have survived 
 the occasions on which they were first produced, and are still in 
 great estimation. Two volumes of these selections have been 
 lately published by Mr. Corfe, organist of Salisbury cathedral ; 
 
OF THE AUTHOR. vii 
 
 the rest remain in manuscript, in possession of my family. His 
 own house, in the mean time, was the frequent scene of social 
 and musical meetings : and I think I do not hazard too much in 
 saying, that he contributed, both by his own conversation and 
 by the company which he often assembled at his house from 
 various parts, to refine and improve the taste and manners of the 
 place in which he resided. 
 
 In 1761, by the interest of his near relation and very respect- 
 able friend, the late Edward Hooper, esq., of Hum Court in 
 Hampshire, my father was chosen one of the representatives in 
 parliament for the borough of Christ Church; which seat he 
 retained to the day of his death. The year following, he ac- 
 cepted the office of one of the lords of the admiralty ; from 
 thence he was promoted, in 1763, to be a lord of the treasury. 
 He remained in that situation until the ministry with which he 
 was connected went out of office in 1765 ; and after that time 
 he did not hold any employment until 1774, when he became 
 secretary and comptroller to the queen. This appointment was 
 always valued by him exceedingly : not only by reason of the 
 handsome and flattering manner in which it was conferred upon 
 him by her majesty, but also on account of the frequent occa- 
 sions it afforded him of experiencing her majesty's gracious kind- 
 ness and condescension, of which he had a very high sense, and 
 which were continued to him without interruption to the end 
 of his life ; for in her service he died. 
 
 Although assiduous in the discharge of his parliamentary 
 duty, and occasionally taking a share in debates, my father 
 never contracted any violent spirit of party. He abhorred 
 faction of every kind; nor did he ever relinquish, for public 
 business, those still more interesting pursuits which had been 
 the delight and occupation of his earliest years. If they were 
 somewhat intermitted during the sitting of parliament, he re- 
 newed them with increased relish and satisfaction on his return 
 into the country. Those who saw him in London, partaking 
 with cheerfulness and enjoyment of a varied and extensive 
 society, and frequenting dramatic and musical entertainments, 
 while, during his stay in Salisbury, he always exercised a re- 
 spectable, but well-regulated hospitality, were surprised that he 
 could have found time to compose and publish, in 1775, another 
 learned work. It contains, under the title of Philosophical 
 Arrangements, a part only of a larger work that he had me- 
 
viii LIFE AND CHARACTER 
 
 ditated, but did not finish, upon the Peripatetic logic. So far as 
 relates to the arrangement of ideas, it is complete ; but it has 
 other objects also in view. It combats, with great force and 
 ability, the atheistical doctrines of chance and materialism : 
 doctrines which have been lately revived in France, under the 
 specious garb of modern philosophy, and, issuing from thence, 
 have overspread a great part of Europe ; destroying the happi- 
 ness of mankind, by subverting, in every part of their progress, 
 the foundations of morality and religion. 
 
 The last of my father's literary productions was printed in 
 1780, by the name of Philological Inquiries, but not published 
 sooner than 1781. It is a more popular work than any of his 
 former ones ; and contains rather a summary of the conclusions 
 to which the philosophy of the ancients had conducted them in 
 their critical inquiries, than a regular and perfect system. The 
 principles on which those conclusions depend are therefore 
 omitted, as being of a more abstruse nature than was agreeable 
 to his design, which was to teach by illustration and example, 
 not by strict demonstration. Indeed, this publication appears 
 to have been meant, not only as a retrospective view of those 
 studies which exercised his mind in the full vigour of his life, 
 but likewise as a monument of his affection towards many of 
 his intimate friends. I cannot therefore but consider it as a 
 pleasing proof of a mind retaining, at an advanced age, a con- 
 siderable degree of its former energy and activity, together with 
 what is still more rarely to be found, an undiminished portion of 
 its candour and benevolence. 
 
 Before this last volume was entirely concluded, my father's 
 health had evidently begun to be very much impaired. He 
 never enjoyed a robust constitution ; but for some time, towards 
 the end of his life, the infirmities under which he laboured had 
 gradually increased. His family at length became apprehensive 
 of a decline, symptoms of which were very apparent, and by 
 none more clearly perceived than by himself. This was evident 
 from a variety of little circumstances, but by no means from 
 any impatience or fretfulness, nor yet from any dejection of 
 spirits, such as are frequently incident to extreme weakness of 
 body, especially when it proves to be the forerunner of ap- 
 proaching dissolution. On the contrary, the same equable and 
 placid temper which had distinguished him throughout his whole 
 life, the same tender and affectionate attention to his sur- 
 
OF THE AUTHOR. ix 
 
 rounding family, which he had unceasingly manifested while in 
 health, continued, without the smallest change or abatement, 
 to the very last ; displaying a mind thoroughly at peace with 
 itself, and able without disturbance or dismay to contemplate 
 the awful prospect of futurity. 
 
 After his strength had been quite exhausted by illness, he 
 expired calmly on the 22nd of December 1780, in the seventy- 
 second year of his age. 
 
 His remains were deposited in the north aisle of the cathedral 
 church of Salisbury, near those of his ancestors ; and I cannot 
 forbear to record tokens of unsolicited respect, honourable to 
 my fathers memory, and soothing to the recollection of his 
 family, which were shewn from various quarters upon that 
 melancholy occasion. Six gentlemen, his friends and neighbours, 
 supported the pall. At the western door of the cathedral, the 
 corpse was met by the whole choir, and a funeral anthem was 
 performed while the procession moved towards the grave. On 
 the ensuing Sunday, the Rev. Mr. Chaffy, who preached at the 
 cathedral, adverted in his sermon to the recent event of my 
 father's death with such apposite and judicious commendation, 
 as at once to mark his own sincere respect for a deceased neigh- 
 bour, and strongly to excite the sympathy of his audience by 
 the truths delivered concerning him. 
 
 A monument was soon after erected to the memory of my 
 father, near the spot where he was interred, on which is the 
 following inscription : 
 
 M.S. 
 
 Jacob! Harris Sarisburiensis 
 
 Viri boni, et docti, 
 
 Graecarum Literarum praecipue periti, 
 
 Cujus opera accuratissima 
 
 De artibus elegantioribus 
 
 De Grammatica, de Logica, de Ethice, 
 
 Stylo brevi, limato, simplici, 
 
 Sui more Aristotelis 
 
 Conscripta, 
 
 Posteri laudabunt ultimi. 
 
 Studiis severioribus addictus, 
 
 Communia tamen vitas officia, 
 
 Et omnia Patris, Mariti, 
 
 Civis, Senatoris munia, 
 
 Et implevit et ornavit. 
 
 Obiit xxir. Die Dccembris, M.DCC.LXXX. 
 
 Anno jEtatis LXXII. 
 
x LIFE AND CHARACTER 
 
 Above this inscription, a female figure of Philosophy is repre- 
 sented, holding over a medallion of my father, a scroll, with the 
 following inscription. 
 
 To 3>povciv 
 
 'M.ovov ayaQov 
 
 To 8' afypovtiv 
 
 K.O.KOV. 
 
 It remains for me to add some further particulars concerning 
 my father, which, I think, are requisite to make his character 
 completely understood. 
 
 The distinction by which he was most generally known, 
 while living, and by which he is likely to survive to posterity, is 
 that of a man of learning. His profound knowledge of Greek, 
 which he applied more successfully, perhaps, than any modern 
 writer has done, to the study and explanation of ancient philo- 
 sophy, arose from an early and intimate acquaintance with the 
 excellent poets and historians in that language. They, and the 
 best writers of the Augustan age, were his constant and never- 
 failing recreation. By his familiarity with them, he was enabled 
 to enliven and illustrate his deeper and more abstruse specula- 
 tions, as every page almost of these volumes will abundantly 
 testify. But his attainments were not confined to ancient phi- 
 losophy and classical learning. He possessed likewise a general 
 knowledge of modern history, with a very distinguishing taste 
 in the fine arts, in one of which, as before observed, he was an 
 eminent proficient. His singular industry empowered him to 
 make these various acquisitions, without neglecting any of the 
 duties which he owed to his family, his friends, or his country. 
 I am in possession of such proofs, besides those already given to 
 the public, of my father's laborious study and reflection, as 
 I apprehend are very rarely to be met with. Not only was he 
 accustomed, through a long series of years, to make copious 
 extracts from the different books which he read, and to write 
 critical remarks and conjectures on many of the passages ex- 
 tracted, but he was also in the habit of regularly committing to 
 writing such reflections as arose out of his study, which evince 
 a mind carefully disciplined, and anxiously bent on the attain- 
 ment of self-knowledge and self-government. And yet, though 
 habituated to deep thinking and laborious reading, he was ge- 
 nerally cheerful, even to playfulness. There was no pedantry 
 in his manners or conversation ; nor was he ever seen either to 
 
OF THE AUTHOR. xi 
 
 display his learning with ostentation, or to treat with slight or 
 superciliousness those less informed than himself. He rather 
 sought to make them appear partakers of what he knew, than 
 to mortify them by a parade of his own superiority. Nor had 
 he any of that miserable fastidiousness about him which too 
 often disgraces men of learning, and prevents their being amused 
 or interested, at least their choosing to appear so, by common 
 performances and common events. 
 
 It was with him a maxim, that the most difficult and in- 
 finitely the preferable sort of criticism, both in literature and in 
 the arts, was that which consists in rinding out beauties, rather 
 than defects ; and although he certainly wanted not judgment 
 to distinguish and to prefer superior excellence of any kind, he 
 was too reasonable to expect it should very often occur, and 
 too wise to allow himself to be disgusted at common weakness 
 or imperfection. He thought, indeed, that the very attempt to 
 please, however it might fall short of its aim, deserved some 
 return of thanks, some degree of approbation; and that to 
 endeavour at being pleased by such efforts, was due to justice, to 
 good nature, and to good sense. 
 
 Far, at the same time, from that presumptuous conceit which 
 is solicitous about mending others, and that moroseness which 
 feeds its own pride by dealing in general censure, he cultivated 
 to the utmost that great moral wisdom by which we are made 
 humane, gentle, and forgiving; thankful for the blessings of 
 life, acquiescent in the afflictions we endure, and submissive to 
 all the dispensations of Providence. He detested the gloom of 
 superstition, and the persecuting spirit by which it is so often 
 accompanied ; but he abhorred still more the baneful and de- 
 structive svstem of modern philosophy; and from his early 
 solicitude to inspire me with a hatred of it, it would almost seem 
 that he foresaw its alarming approach and fatal progress. There 
 is no obligation which I acknowledge with more thankfulness ; 
 none that I shall more anxiously endeavour to confer upon my 
 own children, from a thorough conviction of its value and 
 importance. 
 
 My fathers affection to every part of his family was ex- 
 emplary and uniform. As a husband, a parent, a master, he 
 was ever kind and indulgent ; and it deserves to be mentioned 
 to his honour, that he thought it no interruption of his graver 
 
xii LIFE AND CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 occupations, himself to instruct his daughters, by exercising- 
 them daily both in reading and composition, and writing essays 
 for their improvement, during many of their younger years. No 
 man was a better judge of what belonged to female education, 
 and the elegant accomplishments of the sex, or more disposed to 
 set a high value upon them. But he had infinitely more at 
 heart, that his children should be early habituated to the 
 practice of religion and morality, and deeply impressed with 
 their true principles. To promote this desirable end, he was 
 assiduous both by instruction and example ; being himself a 
 constant attendant upon public worship, and enforcing that great 
 duty upon every part of his family. The deep sense of moral 
 and religious obligation which was habitual to him, and those 
 benevolent feelings which were so great a happiness to his 
 family and friends, had the same powerful influence over his 
 public as his private life. He had an ardent zeal for the 
 prosperity of his country, whose real interests he well under- 
 stood ; and in his parliamentary conduct he proved himself a 
 warm friend to the genuine principles of religious and civil 
 liberty, as well as a firm supporter of every branch of our 
 admirable constitution. 
 
 MALMESBURY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THREE TREATISES. 
 
 I. CONCERNING ART, A DIALOGUE. 
 
 II. A DISCOURSE ON MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 
 
 CHAP. I. Introduction Design and Distribution of the Whole Preparation for 
 
 the following Chapters ---------- 25 
 
 CHAP. II. On the Subjects which Painting imitates On the Subjects which Music 
 
 imitates Comparison of Music with Painting 29 
 
 CHAP. III. On the Subjects which Poetry imitates, but imitates only through 
 natural Media, or mere Sounds Comparison of Poetry in this Capacity, first 
 with Painting, then with Music --------32 
 
 CHAP. IV. On the Subjects which Poetry imitates, not by mere Sounds or natural 
 Media, but by Words significant ; the Subjects being such to which the Genius 
 of each of the other two Arts is most perfectly adapted Its Comparison in 
 these Subjects, first with Painting, then with Music ----- 33 
 
 CHAP. V. On the Subjects which Poetry imitates by Words significant, being at 
 the same time Subjects not adapted to the Genius of either of the other Arts 
 The Nature of these Subjects The Abilities of Poetry to imitate them 
 Comparison of Poetry in respect of these Subjects, first with Painting, then 
 with Music - - - -36 
 
 CHAP. VI. On Music, considered not as an Imitation, but as deriving its Efficacy 
 from another Source On its joint Operation by this means with Poetry An 
 Objection to Music solved The Advantage arising to it, as well as to Poetry, 
 from their being united Conclusion --------39 
 
 III. CONCERNING HAPPINESS, A DIALOGUE. 
 
 PART I. 43 
 
 PART II. 71 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 PREFACE -- m 
 
 CHAP. I. Introduction Design of the whole 117 
 
 CHAP. II. Concerning the Analyzing of Speech into its smallest Parts - - - 119 
 CHAP. III. Concerning the several Species of those smallest Parts - - -123 
 
 CHAP. IV. Concerning Substantives, properly so called 127 
 
 CHAP. V. Concerning Substantives of the Secondary Order - - - - 135 
 
 CHAP. VI. Concerning Attributives, and first concerning Verbs - 141 
 
 CHAP. VII. Concerning Time and Tenses 145 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Concerning Modes - - - - 158 
 
 CHAP. IX. Concerning Verbs, as to their Species and other remaining Properties - 167 
 
 CHAP. X. Concerning Participles and Adjectives 170 
 
 CHAP. XI. Concerning Attributives of the Secondary Order - ... 173 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 CHAP. I. Concerning Definitives ... 179 
 
 CHAP. II. Concerning Connectives, and first those called Conjunctions - - - 185 
 
 CHAP. III. Concerning those other Connectives, called Prepositions - 192 
 
 (.'HA'.-. IV. Concerning Cases - 196 
 
 CHAP. V. Concerning Interjections Recapitulation Conclusion ... 200 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 CHAP. I. Introduction Division of the Subject into its principal Parts - 205 
 
 CHAP. II. Upon the Matter or common Subject of Language - - 20H 
 
 CHAP. III. Upon the Form, or peculiar Character of Language - - 211 
 
 CHAP. IV. Concerning general or universal Ideas - - 217 
 
 CHAP. V. Subordination of Intelligence Difference of Ideas, both in particular 
 Men, and in whole Nations Different Genius of different Languages Cha- 
 racter of the English the Oriental, the Latin,, and the Greek Languages 
 Superlative Excellence of the Last Conclusion - - 235 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 CHAP. I. Introduction Scope or End of the Inquiry begins from the Arrange- 
 ment of simple, or single Terms Character of these Terms Nature and 
 Multitude of the Objects which they represent - ... 247 
 
 CHAP. II. A Method of Arrangement proposed rejected, and why another 
 
 Method proposed adopted, and why General Remarks Plan of the Whole 255 
 
 CHAP. III. Concerning Substance natural how continued, or carried on Principles 
 of this Continuation, two increased to three reduced again to two these 
 last two, Form and a Subject, or rather, Form and Matter - - - 259 
 
 CHAP. IV. Concerning Matter an imperfect Description of it its Nature, and 
 the Necessity of its Existence, traced out and proved first by Abstraction 
 then by Analogy Illustrations from Mythology - 267 
 
 CHAP. V. Concerning Form An imperfect Description of it Primary Forms, 
 united with Matter, make Body Body Mathematical Body Physical how 
 they differ Essential Forms Transition to Forms of a Character superior to 
 the passive and elementary _.._----- 273 
 
 CHAP. VI. Concerning Form, considered as an Efficient Animating Principle Har- 
 mony in Nature between the living and the lifeless Ovid, a philosophical 
 Poet Further Description of the Animating Principle from its Operations, 
 Energies, and Effects Virgil The Active Principle and the Passive Principle 
 run through the Universe Mind, Region of Forms Corporeal Connections, 
 where necessary, where obstructive Means and Ends their different Pre- 
 cedence according to different Systems Empedocles, Lucretius, Prior, Galen, 
 Cicero, Aristotle, &c. Providence -------- 276 
 
 CHAP. VII. Concerning the Properties of Substance, attributed to it in the Peripa- 
 tetic Logic . . 288 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Concerning Qualities corporeal and incorporeal natural and ac- 
 quired of Capacity and Completion Transitions immediate, and through a 
 medium Dispositions Habits Genius Primary and imperfect Capacity 
 Secondary and perfect where it is that no Capacities exist Qualities, pene- 
 trating and superficial Essential Form Figure an important Quality 
 Figures intellectual, natural, artificial, fantastic Colour, Roughness, Smooth- 
 ness, &c. Persons of Quality Properties of Quality Some rejected, one 
 admitted, and why - -291 
 
 CHAP. IX. Concerning Quantity its two Species their Characters Time and 
 Place their Characters Property of Quantity, what Quantities relative 
 Figure and Number, their Effect upon Quantity Importance of this Effect 
 Sciences Mathematical appertain to it their Use, according to Plato How 
 other Beings partake of Quantity Analogy, found in Mind Common Sense 
 and Genius, how distinguished Amazing efficacy of this Genus in and through 
 the World Illustrations 302 
 
 CHAP. X. Concerning Relatives their Source Relatives apparent real their 
 Properties, reciprocal Inference, and Co-existence Force of Relation in 
 Ethics in matters Dramatic in Nature, and the Order of Being Relations, 
 amicable and hostile Evil Want Friendship Strife Relation of all to the 
 Supreme Cause Extent and Use of this Predicament, or Arrangement - - 311 
 
CONTENTS. xv 
 
 CHAP. XI. Concerning Action and Passion Action, its five Species those of 
 Passion reciprocate Mind Divine, Human latter, how acted upon Politics, 
 (Economics, Ethics Passivity in Bodies animate and inanimate Action and 
 Re-action, where they exist, where not Self-motion, what, and where Power, 
 whence, and what requisite both in Action and in Passion Power, though 
 like Nonentity, yet widely different Double in the reasoning Faculty 
 Power, not first in Existence, but Energy, which never has ceased, or will cease, 
 or can cease ------..---- 323 
 
 CHAP. XII. Concerning When and Where Concerning Time and Place, and their 
 Definitions When and Where, how distinguished from Time and Place, how 
 connected with them Descriptions of When and Where their Utility and 
 Importance in human Life Various Terms, denoting these two Predicaments 
 others denoting them not, yet made to denote them When and Where, 
 their extensive influence plausible Topics concurring Causes Opportunity, 
 what Chance, what it is not, what it is Fate, Providence cooperating 
 Causes Supreme Intelligence - - _ . 335 
 
 CHAP. XIII. Concerning Position or Situation What it is, and how deduced 
 how it exists in Beings inanimate in Vegetables in Man animal Progres- 
 sion Works of Art Attitudes Illustrations of Attitude from Poets from 
 Actors from Orators its Efficacy, whence Position, among the Elements of 
 Democritus its Influence and Importance in the natural World in the 
 intellectual - 342 
 
 CHAP. XIV. Concerning Habit, or rather the being habited Its Description its 
 principal Species deduced and illustrated its Privation Conclusion of the 
 second or middle part of the Treatise - - - - - - - -351 
 
 CHAP. XV. Concerning the Appendages to the Universal Genera or Arrangements ; 
 that is to say, concerning Opposites, prior, subsequent, together or at once, 
 and Motion, usually called Post-Predicaments the Modes or Species of all 
 these (Motion excepted) deduced and illustrated Preparation for the Theory 
 of Motion 354 
 
 CHAP. XVI. Concerning Motion Physical Its various Species deduced and illus- 
 trated blend themselves with each other, and why Contrariety, Opposition, 
 Rest Motion Physical an Object of all the senses Common Objects of 
 Sensation, how many Motion, a thing not simple, but complicated with many 
 other Things its Definition or Description taken from the Peripatetics the 
 Accounts given of it by Pythagoras and Plato analogous to that of Aristotle, 
 and why 360 
 
 CHAP. XVII. Concerning Motion Nolrphysical This means Metaphysical, and why 
 so called Spontaneity Want Perception, Consciousness, Anticipation, Pre- 
 conception Appetite, Resentment, Reason Motion Physical and Metaphy- 
 sical, how united Discord and Harmony of the internal Principles Powers 
 vegetative, animal, rational Immortality Rest, its several Species Motion, 
 to what perceptive Beings it appertains ; to what not and whence the Difference 367 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. Conclusion Utilities deducible from the Theory of these Arrange- 
 ments Recapitulation - " - - - - 381 
 
 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAP. I. Concerning the Rise of Criticism in its first Species, the Philosophical- 
 eminent Persons, Greeks and Romans, by whom this Species was cultivated - 388 
 
 CHAP. II. Concerning the Progress of Criticism in its second Species, the Historical 
 
 Greek and Roman Critics, by whom this Species of Criticism was cultivated 391 
 
 CHAP. III. Moderns, eminent in the two Species of Criticism before mentioned, the 
 Philosophical and the Historical the last Sort of Critics more numerous 
 those mentioned in this Chapter confined to the Greek and Latin Languages 392 
 
 CHAP. IV. Modern Critics of the Explanatory kind, commenting Modern Writers 
 
 Lexicographers Grammarians Translators - - ... 394 
 
 CHAP. V. Rise of the third Species of Criticism, the Correctivepractised by the 
 
 Ancients, but much more by the Moderns, and why - - 396 
 
xvi CONTENT S. 
 
 CHAP. VI. Criticism may have teen abused Yet defended, as of the last Import- 
 ance to the Cause of Literature - - 397 
 CHAP. VII. Conclusion Recapitulation Preparation for the Second Part - - 399 
 
 PART II. 
 INTRODUCTION 399 
 
 CHAP. I. That the Epic Writers came first, and that nothing excellent in Literary 
 Performances happens merely from Chance the Causes, or Reasons of such 
 Excellence, illustrated by Examples 400 
 
 CHAP. II. Numerous Composition derived from Quantity Syllabic anciently es- 
 sential both to Verse and Prose Rhythm Paeans and Cretics, the Feet for 
 Prose Quantity Accentual a Degeneracy from Syllabic Instances of it 
 first in Latin then in Greek Versus Politici Traces of Accentual Quantity 
 in Terence essential to Modern Languages, and among others to English, 
 from which last Examples are taken -------- 405 
 
 CHAP. III. Quantity Verbal in English a few Feet pure, and agreeable to Syllabic 
 Quantity Instances yet Accentual Quantity prevalent Instances Transi- 
 tion to Prose English Paeans, Instances of Rhythm governs Quantity, where 
 this last is Accentual 411 
 
 CHAP. IV. Other Decorations of Prose besides Prosaic Feet Alliteration Sen- 
 tences Periods Caution to avoid excess in consecutive Monosyllables Ob- 
 jections made and answered Authorities alleged Advice about reading - 414 
 
 CHAP. V. Concerning Whole and Parts, as essential to the constituting of a legi- 
 timate Work the Theory illustrated from the Georgics of Virgil, and the 
 Menexenus of Plato same Theory applied to smaller Pieces Totality, essen- 
 tial to small Works, as well as great Examples to illustrate Accuracy, 
 another Essential more so to smaller Pieces, and why Transition to Dramatic 
 Speculation - - 420 
 
 CHAP. VI. Dramatic Speculations the constitutive Parts of every Drama, Six in 
 number which of these belong to other Artists which to the Poet Transi- 
 tion to those which appertain to the Poet - - 426 
 
 CHAP. VII. In the constitutive Parts of a Drama, the Fable considered first its 
 different Species which fit for Comedy, which for Tragedy Illustrations by 
 Examples Revolutions Discoveries Tragic Passions Lillo's Fatal Cu- 
 riosity compared with the (Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles Importance of 
 Fables, both Tragic and Comic how they differ bad Fables, whence other 
 Dramatic Requisites, without the Fable, may be excellent Fifth Acts, how 
 characterized by some Dramatic Writers 428 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Concerning Dramatic Manners what constitutes them Manners of 
 Othello, Macbeth, Hamlet those of the last questioned, and why Consistency 
 required yet sometimes blameable, and why Genuine Manners in Shak- 
 speare in Lillo Manners, morally bad, poetically good - ... 434 
 
 CHAP. IX. Concerning Dramatic Sentiment what constitutes it Connected with 
 Manners, and how Concerning Sentiment Gnomologic, or Preceptive its 
 Description Sometimes has a Reason annexed to it Sometimes laudable, 
 sometimes blameable whom it most becomes to utter Sentences -Bossu 
 Transition to Diction - 436 
 
 CHAP. X. Concerning Diction the vulgar the affected the elegant this last 
 much indebted to the Metaphor Praise of the Metaphor its Description ; 
 and, when good, its Character the best and most excellent, what not turgid 
 nor enigmatic nor base nor ridiculous Instances Metaphors by constant 
 Use sometimes become common Words Puns Rupilius Rex OTTI2 
 Enigmas Cupping The God Terminus Ovid's Fasti - 439 
 
 CHAP. XI. Rank and Precedence of the constitutive parts of the Drama Remarks 
 
 and Cautions both for Judging and Composing - - 445 
 
 CHAP. XII. Rules defended do not cramp Genius, but guide it flattering Doc- 
 trine, that Genius will suffice fallacious, and why further defence of Rules 
 No Genius ever acted without them ; nor ever a Time when Rules did not 
 exist Connection between Rules and Genius their reciprocal Aid End of 
 the Second Part Preparation for the Third - .... 443 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 CHAP. I. Design of the whole Limits and Extent of the Middle Age Three 
 
 Classes of Men, during that Interval, conspicuous: the Byzantine Greeks; 
 
 the Saracens, or Arabians ; and the Latins, or Franks, Inhabitants of Western 
 
 Europe Each Class in the following Chapters considered apart - 454 
 
 CHAP. II. Concerning the first Class, the Byzantine Greeks Simplicius Am- 
 
 monius Philoponus Fate of the fine Library at Alexandria ... 456 
 CHAP. III. Digression to a short Historical Account of Athens, from the Time of her 
 Persian Triumphs, to that of her becoming subject to the Turks' Sketch, during 
 this long Interval, of her Political and Literary State ; of her Philosophers ; of 
 her Gymnasia ; of her good and bad Fortune, &c. Manners of the present In- 
 habitants Olives and Honey - - - - - - - - -459 
 
 CHAP. IV. Account of Byzantine Scholars continued Suidas John Stobaeus, or of 
 Stoba Photius Michael Psellus this last said to have commented twenty- 
 four Plays of Menander Reasons to make this probable Eustathius, a 
 Bishop, the Commentator of Homer Eustratius, a Bishop, the Commentator 
 of Aristotle Planudes, a Monk, the Admirer and Translator of Latin Classics, 
 as well as the Compiler of one of the present Greek Anthologies Conjecturer 
 concerning the Duration of the Latin Tongue at Constantinople - - - 468 
 CHAP. V. Nicetas, the Choniate His curious Narrative of the Mischiefs done by 
 Baldwyn's Crusade, when they sacked Constantinople in the Year 1205 
 Many of the Statues described, which they then destroyed A fine Taste for 
 Arts among the Greeks, even in those Days, proved from this Narrative not 
 so among the Crusaders Authenticity of Nicetas's Narrative State of Con- 
 stantinople at the last Period of the Grecian Empire, as given by contemporary 
 Writers, Philelphus and ^Eneas Sylvius National Pride among the Greeks 
 not totally extinct even at this day -------- 472 
 
 CHAP. VI. Concerning the second Class of Geniuses during the Middle Age, the 
 Arabians, or Saracens At first, barbarous Their Character before the time of 
 Mahomet Their greatest Caliphs were from among the Abassidae Almanzur 
 one of the first of that Race Almamun of the same Race, a great Patron of 
 Learning, and learned Men Arabians cultivated Letters, as their Empire grew 
 settled and established Translated the best Greek Authors into their own 
 Language Historians, Abulpharagius, Abulfeda, Bohadin Extracts from the 
 last concerning Saladin - - - - - - - - - -478 
 
 CHAP. VII. Arabian Poetry and Works of Invention Facts relative to their Man- 
 ners and Characters 484 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Arabians favoured Medicine and Astrology Facts relative to these 
 two subjects They valued Knowledge, but had no Ideas of Civil Liberty The 
 mean Exit of their last Caliph, Mostasem End of their Empire in Asia, and 
 in Spain Their present wretched degeneracy in Africa An Anecdote - - 492 
 CHAP. IX. Concerning the Latins, or Franks Bede, Alcuin, Joannes Erigena, &c. 
 Gerbertus, or Gibertus, travelled to the Arabians in Spain for improvement 
 Suspected of Magic this the Misfortune of many superior Geniuses in Dark 
 Ages ; of Bacon, Petrarch, Faust, and others Erudition of the Church ; Ig- 
 norance of the Laity Ingulphus, an Englishman, educated in the Court of 
 Edward the Confessor attached himself to the Duke of Normandy Accom- 
 plished Character of Queen Egitha, Wife of the Confessor Plan of Education 
 in. those Days The Places of Study, the Authors studied Canon Law, Civil 
 Law, Holy War, Inquisition Troubadours William of Poictou Debauchery, 
 Corruption, and Avarice of the Times William the Conqueror, his Character 
 and Taste His Sons, Rufus and Henry little Incidents concerning them 
 Hildebert, a Poet of the Times fine Verses of his quoted 
 
 CHAP. X. Schoolmen their Rise and Character their Titles of Honour Remarks 
 on such Titles Abelard and Heloisa John of Salisbury admirable Quota- 
 tions from his two celebrated Works Giraldus Cambrensis Walter Mapps 
 Richard Cceur de Leon his Transactions with Saladin his Death, and the 
 singular Interview which immediately preceded it ----- 5Qf 
 CHAP. XI. Concerning the Poetry of the latter Latins, or Western Europeans 
 Accentual Quantity Rhyme Samples of Rhyme in Latin in Classical Poets, 
 
 b 
 
xviii CONTENTS. 
 
 accidental ; in those of a later Age, designed Rhyme among the Arabians 
 Odilo, Hucbaldus, Hildigrim, Halabaldus, Poets or Heroes of Western 
 Europe Rhymes in Modern Languages of Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, 
 Chaucer, &c. Sannazarius, a pure Writer in Classic Latin, without Rhyme 
 Anagrams, Chronograms, &c., finely and accurately described by the ingenious 
 Author of the Scribleriad 515 
 
 CHAP. XII. Paul the Venetian and Sir John Mandeville, great Travellers Sir 
 John Fortescue, a great Lawyer his valuable Book addressed to his Pupil 
 the Prince of Wales King's College Chapel in Cambridge Founded by Henry 
 the Sixth 5-21 
 
 CHAP. XIII. Concerning Natural Beauty its Idea the same in all Times Thes- 
 salian Temple Taste of Virgil and Horace of Milton, in describing Paradise 
 exhibited of late Years, first in Pictures thence transferred to English 
 Gardens not wanting to the enlightened Few of the Middle Age proved in 
 Leland, Petrarch, and Sannazarius Comparison between the younger Cyrus 
 and Philip le Bel of France 
 
 CHAP. XIV. Superior Literature and Knowledge both of the Greek and Latin 
 Clergy, whence Barbarity and Ignorance of the Laity, whence Samples of 
 Lay-manners, in a Story from Anna Comnena's History Church Authority 
 ingeniously employed to check Barbarity the same Authority employed for 
 other good Purposes to save the poor Jews to stop Trials by Battle more 
 suggested concerning Lay-manners Ferocity of the Northern Laymen, whence 
 different Causes assigned Inventions during the Dark Ages great, though 
 the Inventors often unknown Inference arising from these Inventions - - 529 
 
 CHAP. XV. Opinions on past Ages and the present Conclusion arising from the 
 
 Discussion of these Opinions Conclusion of the whole ... - 533 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 AN Account of the Arabic Manuscripts belonging to the Escurial Library in 
 
 Spain 540 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Concerning the Manuscripts of Livy, in the Escurial Library - - - 544 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Greek Manuscripts of Cebes, in the Library of the King of France - - - 545 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Some Account of Literature in Russia, and of its Progress towards being Civilized 546 
 
THEEE TREATISES: 
 
 I. CONCERNING ART. 
 
 II. CONCERNING MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 
 III. CONCERNING HAPPINESS. 
 
CONCERNING ART: 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 THE following is a conversation in its kind somewhat uncom- 
 mon, and for this reason I have remembered it more minutely 
 than I could imagine. Should the same peculiarity prove a 
 reason to amuse your lordship, I shall think myself well re- 
 warded in the labour of reciting. If not, you are candid enough 
 to accept of the intention, and to think there is some merit even 
 in the sincerity of my endeavours. To make no longer preface, 
 the fact was as follows. 
 
 A friend, from a distant country, having by chance made me 
 a visit, we were tempted, by the serenity of a cheerful morning 
 in the spring, to walk from Salisbury to see lord Pembroke^ at 
 Wilton. The beauties of gardening, architecture, painting, and 
 sculpture belonging to that seat, were the subject of great en- 
 tertainment to my friend : nor was I, for my own part, less 
 delighted than he was, to find that our walk had so well an- 
 swered his expectations. We had given a large scope to our 
 curiosity, when we left the seat, and leisurely began our return 
 towards home. 
 
 And here, my lord, in passing over a few pleasant fields, com- 
 menced the conversation which I am to tell you, and which fell 
 at first, as was natural, on the many curious works, which had 
 afforded us both so elegant an amusement. This led us in- 
 sensibly to discoursing upon art, for we both agreed, that what- 
 ever we had been admiring of fair and beautiful, could all be re- 
 ferred to no other cause. And here, I well remember, I called 
 upon my friend to give me his opinion upon the meaning of the 
 word " art :" a word it was (I told him) in the mouth of every 
 one ; l^uTTthat nevertheless, as to its precise and definite idea, 
 this might still be a secret ; that so it was, in fact, with a thou- 
 sand words beside, all no less common, and equally familiar ; 
 and yet all of them equally vague and undetermined. To 
 this he answered, that as to the precise and definite idea of 
 art, it was a question of some difficulty, and not so soon to be 
 
 B 
 
 n 
 
CONCERNING ART: 
 
 that, however, ine could not conceive a more likely 
 method of-comltig to know it, than by considering those several 
 particulars, to each of which we gave the name. It is hardly 
 probable, said he, that music, painting, medicine, poetry, agri- 
 culture, and so many more, should be all called by one common 
 name, if there was not something in each which was common to 
 all. It should seem so, replied I. What, then, said he, shall we 
 pronounce this to be? At this, I remember, I was under some 
 sort of hesitation. Have courage, cried my friend, perhaps the 
 case is not so desperate. Let me ask you, Is medicine the cause 
 of any thing? Yes, surely, said I, of health. And agriculture, 
 of what ? Of the plentiful growth of grain. And poetry, of 
 what? Of plays, and satires, and odes, and the like. And is 
 not the same true, said he, of music, of statuary, of architecture, 
 and, in short, of every art whatever ? I confess, said I, it seems 
 
 !so. Suppose, then, said he, we should say, it was common to 
 *. every art to be a cause : Should we err ? I replied, I thought 
 not. Let this then, said he, be remembered, that all art is 
 cause. 8 I promised him it should. 
 
 ~But how, then, continued he, if all art be cause, is it also true, 
 that all cause is art ? At this again I could not help hesitating. 
 You have heard, said he, without doubt, of that painter famed 
 in story, b who being to paint the foam of a horse, and not suc- 
 ceeding to his mind, threw at the picture in resentment a sponge 
 bedaubed with colours, and produced a foam the most natural 
 imaginable. Now, what say you to this fact? Shall we pro- 
 nounce art to have been the cause? By no means, said I. 
 What, said he, if instead of chance, his hand had been guided 
 by mere compulsion, himself dissenting and averse to the vio- 
 lence ? Even here, replied I, nothing could have been referred 
 to his art. But what, continued he, if instead of a casual throw, 
 or involuntary compulsion, he had willingly and designedly di- 
 rected his pencil, and so produced that foam, which story says 
 he failed in ? Would not art here have been the cause ? I re- 
 plied, in this case, I thought it would. It should seem, then, 
 
 a Artis maxime proprium, creare et dronicus, in explaining this last passage, 
 de Nat. Deor. 1. ii. c. 22. Uav rb 5t' avOpcairov, adds olov rexvr), % 
 
 gignere. Cic. 
 
 y E<TTi 8e rex v ~n ^aya Tepl yeveffiv. " All &\\i>) TIS 7rpa|js, " as, for instance, art, or 
 
 art is employed in production ; that is, in any other human action." 
 making something to be." Arist. Ethic. Alexander Aphrodisiensis speaks of effi- 
 
 1. vi. c. 4. cient causes, as follows : 'A\\a ^v ra KV- 
 
 The active efficient causes have been picas atria. TroirjTtKa, fyvffis re, Kal rexvij, 
 
 ranged and enumerated after different Kal irpoaipeans. " The causes, which are 
 
 manners. In the same Ethics they are strictly and properly efficient, are nature, 
 
 enumerated thus : atria yap SOKOVCTIV art, and each man's particular choice of 
 
 tlvai fyvo-is, Kal avayKfi, Kal ri/x'n' ert action." Uepl ^XTJS, P- 160. B. ed. Aid. 
 8e vovs, Kal irav rb Si' avOp&irov. "The In what manner art is distinguished from 
 
 several causes appear to be nature, necessity, the rest of these efficient causes, the sub- 
 
 and chance ; and besides these, mind, or in- sequent notes will attempt to explain. 
 tellect, and whatever operates by or through b See Valer. Max. 1. viii. c. 1 1. See also 
 
 man." lib. iii. c. 3. The paraphrast An- Dion. Chrysost. Orat. Ixiii. p. 590. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 3 
 
 said he, that art implies not only cause, but the additional re- 
 quisite of intention, reason, volition, and consciousness ; so that 
 not every cause is art, but only voluntary or intentional cause. 
 So, said I, it appears. 
 
 And shall we, then, added he, pronounce every intentional 
 cause to be art ? I see no reason, said I, why not. Consider, 
 said he ; hunger this morning prompted you to eat. You were 
 then the cause, and that too the intentional cause, of consuming 
 certain food : and yet will you refer this consumption to art ? 
 Did you chew by art ? Did you swallow by art ? No, certainly, 
 said I. So by opening your eyes, said he, you are the inten- 
 tional cause of seeing, and by stretching your hand, the inten- 
 tional cause of feeling ; and yet will you affirm, that these things 
 proceed from art \ I should be wrong, said I, if I did : for what 
 art can there be in doing what every one is able to do by mere 
 will, and a sort of uninstructed instinct ? You say right, replied 
 he, and the reason is manifest : were it otherwise, we should make 
 all mankind universal artists in every single action of their lives. 
 And what can be a greater absurdity than this ? I confessed 
 that the absurdity appeared to be evident. But if nothing, then, 
 continued he, which we do by compulsion, or without intending 
 it, be art ; and not even what we do intentionally, if it proceed 
 from mere will and uninstructed instinct ; what is it we have 
 left remaining, where art may be found conversant? Or can it, 
 indeed, possibly be in any thing else, than in that which we do 
 by use, practice, experience, and the like, all which are born 
 with no one, but are all acquired afterward by advances unper- 
 ceived. I can think, said I, of nothing else. Let therefore the 
 words habit and habitual, said he, represent this requisite, and 
 let us say, that art is not only a cause, but an intentional cause ; 
 and not only an intentional cause, but an intentional cause 
 founded in habit, or, in other words, an habitual cause. You 
 appear, said I, to argue rightly. 
 
 But if art, said he, be what we have now asserted, something 
 learnt and acquired ; if it be also a thing intentional or voluntary, 
 and not governed either by chance or blind necessity ; if this, I 
 say, be the case, then mark the consequences. And what, said 
 I, are they ? The first, said he, is, that no events, in what we 
 call the natural world, must be referred to art ; such as tides, 
 winds, vegetation, gravitation, attraction, and the like. For 
 these all happen by stated laws ; by a curious necessity which 
 is not to be withstood, and where the nearer and immediate 
 causes appear to be wholly unconscious. I confess, said I, it 
 seems so. In the next place, continued he, we must exclude all 
 those admired works of the animal world, which, for their beauty 
 and order, we metaphorically call artificial. The spider's web, 
 the bee's comb, the beaver's house, and the swallow's nest, must 
 all be referred to another source. For who can say, these ever 
 
 B 2 
 
4 CONCERNING ART. 
 
 learnt to be thus ingenious? or, that they were ignorant by na- 
 ture, and knowing only by education? None, surely, replied I. 
 But we have still, said he, a higher consideration. And what, 
 said I, is that 2 It is, answered he, this : not even that Divine 
 Power which gave form to all things, then acted by art, when 
 it gave that form. For how, continued he, can that intelligence, 
 which has all perfection ever in energy, be supposed to have any 
 power, not original to its nature ? How can it ever have any 
 thing to learn, when it knows all from the beginning ; or, being 
 perfect and complete, admit of what is additional and secondary? 
 I should think, said I, it were impossible. If so, said he, then 
 | art can never be numbered among its attributes : for all art is 
 something learnt, something secondary and acquired, and never 
 original to any being which possesses it. So the fact, said I, 
 y has been established. 
 
 If this, therefore, continued he, be true ; if art belong not 
 either to the divine nature, the brute nature, or the inanimate 
 nature ; to w r hat nature shall we say it does belong ? I know 
 not, said I, unless it be to the human. You are right, said he ; 
 for every nature else, you perceive, is either too excellent to want 
 it, or too base to be capable of it. Beside, except the human, 
 what other nature is there left ? Or where else can we find any 
 of the arts already instanced, or, indeed, whatever others we 
 may now fancy to enumerate ? Who are statuaries, but men ? 
 Who pilots, who musicians? This seems, replied I, to be the 
 fact. 
 
 Let us then, continued he, say, not only that art is a cause, 
 but that it is man becoming a cause ; and not only man, but 
 man intending to do what is going to be done, and doing it also 
 by habit ; so that its whole idea, as far as we have hitherto con- 
 ceived it, is, man becoming a cause, intentional and habitual. 
 I confess, said I, it has appeared so. 
 
 c Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, thus accurately not of themselves. The things which they 
 enumerates all the possible manners, either do not of themselves, they do either by 
 direct or indirect, in which mankind may chance, or from necessity ; and the things 
 be said to act, or do any thing. Uavres done from necessity, they do either by corn- 
 s' Trpdrrovffi irdura, ra /j.fv, ov Si' avrovs' pulsion, which is external necessity, or by 
 ret. Se, Si' auTouy * r<av p.ev ovv jj^\ St' avrovs, nature, which is internal. So that all things 
 TO. /j.v Sta TVXW Trpdrrovo-t, TO, Se e'| whatsoever, which men do not of them- 
 avdyKys' ruiv 5* e'| avdyKrjs, TO. /*ej> /3/a, ra selves, they do either by chance, or from 
 Se (pixrei' Sxrre itavra, oaa /J.TJ Si' avrovs compulsion, or by nature. Again, the 
 irpdrrovffi, ra ^uei/ airb TUXES' TO Se (pvaref things which they do of themselves, and of 
 ra Se 0ta. "O<ra Se Si' avrovs, Kal $>v avrol which they are themselves properly the 
 airioi, ra IJLSV Si' 0oy, ra Se St' t>peii/' Kal causes, some they do through custom and 
 ra fj.V Sia XoyicrriK^v ope^tv, ra Se Si' acquired habit, others through original and 
 a.\6yi(rrov. v E<rrt Se rj p.lv jSouA^o-is, /mera natural desire. Further, the things done 
 \6yov opeis ayadov a\oyoi 8' ope'|eis, through natural desire they do, either 
 opy)) Kal tTTiOvfjiia. "flare travra '6aa irpar- through such desire assisted by reason, or 
 rovo-iv, avayKi] Trpdrreiv Si' alrias eirra- through such desire devoid of reason. If 
 Sia rvxriv, Sm jSi'az/, Si (pixriv, Si' eflos, Sta it be assisted by reason, then it assumes 
 XoyuriJ.'bv, Sia 6v/j.bi/, Si 5 firiGvjiiiav. " All the denomination of will ; on the contrary, 
 men do all things, either of themselves, or the irrational desires are anger and appe- 
 
A DIALOGUE. 5 
 
 And thus, said he, have you had exhibited to you a sketch of 
 art. You must remember, however, it is but a sketch : there is 
 
 tite. Hence it appears, that all things 
 whatever which men do, they necessarily 
 do through one of these seven causes ; 
 either through chance, compulsion, nature, 
 custom, will, anger, appetite." Arist. Rhet. 
 1. i. c. ] 0. 
 
 It remains, agreeably to this enumera- 
 tion, to consider with whjch of these causes 
 we ought to arrange art. 
 
 As to chance, it may be observed, in 
 general, of all casual events, that they al- 
 ways exclude intention or design : but in- 
 tention and design are from art insepara- 
 ble. Thus is the difference between art and 
 chance manifest. 
 
 As to external compulsion, we have it 
 thus described: Biaiov 5e ou y apxb ew06i/: 
 that is, "an act of compulsion, the efficient 
 principle of which is from without, inde- 
 pendent of the doer." Arist. Ethic. 1. iii. 
 c. 1. Again, in the same treatise, 1. vi. c. 4. 
 we are told of the works of art, that they 
 are such, u>v rj a.px$1 * v T$ TTOLOVVTI, " the 
 efficient principle of which is in the doer, 
 or agent." Thus, therefore, is art distin- 
 guished from compulsion. 
 
 These two causes, chance and compulsion, 
 are mentioned and considered in the Dia- 
 logue, page 2. 
 
 Nature, or rather natural necessity, is 
 that cause through which we breathe, per- 
 spire, digest, circulate our blood, &c. Will, 
 anger, and appetite, are (as already observed) 
 but so many species of natural desire, con- 
 sidered either as assisted by reason, or else 
 as devoid of it. Now though natural de- 
 sire and natural necessity differ, because 
 in the one we act spontaneously, in the 
 other not spontaneously, yet both of them 
 meet in the common genus of natural power. 
 Moreover this is true of all natural power, 
 that the power itself is prior to any ener- 
 gies or acts of that power. Ou yap K rov 
 TroA Act/as t'SelV r) 7roAAa/y d/coOtrat ras 
 
 For 
 
 [to instance in the natural powers of sensa- 
 tion] it was not from often seeing, and often 
 hearing, that we acquired those senses ; but, 
 on the contrary, being first possessed of 
 them, we then used them, not through any 
 use or exercise did we come to possess 
 them." Arist. Ethic. 1. ii. c. 1. 
 
 Now the contrary to this is true in the 
 case of any powers or faculties not natural, 
 but acquired by custom and usage. For 
 here there are many energies and acts, 
 which must necessarily precede the exist- 
 ence of such power or habit, it being evi- 
 dent (as is said in the same chapter) that 
 
 CK T&V 6fj.oid)V fi/epyei&v a! eeis yiyvovrai, 
 "from similiar and homogeneous energies it 
 is that habits are obtained." So again, in 
 the same place: *A.yap Se? p.a.Q6vras Troif?v, 
 ravra TTOIOVVTCS fj.avQavop.ev olov otKoSo- 
 fj-ovvres olKo5ofj.oi yivovrai, nal KiQapi^ovrss 
 KiQapurraL " The things which we are to 
 do, by having learnt, we learn by doing. 
 Thus, by building, men become builders ; 
 and by practising music, they become mu- 
 sicians. 1 ' 
 
 Thus, therefore, is art distinguished from 
 all natural power of man, whether natural 
 necessity, will, anger, or appetite. But 
 art has been already distinguished from 
 chance and compulsion. So that being 
 clearly not the same with six of those seven 
 causes, by which all men do all things, it 
 must needs be referred to the seventh ; that 
 is, to custom or habit. 
 
 It must be observed, the natural causes 
 or powers in man, considered as distinct 
 from art, are treated in the Dialogue, page 
 3. 
 
 And now, as we have shewn art to be a 
 certain cause working in man, it remains to 
 shew how it is distinguished from those 
 other causes beside man, which we suppose 
 to operate in the universe. These are either 
 such causes as are below him, like the vege- 
 tative power, which operates in vegetables, 
 the sensitive in animals ; or else such causes 
 as are above him, like God, and whatever 
 is else of intelligence more than human. 
 
 The causes below us may be all included 
 in the common genus of nature ; and of 
 nature we may say universally, as well of 
 nature without us as within us, that its se- 
 veral operations, contrary to those of art, 
 are not in the least degree derived from 
 custom or usage. Thus the author above 
 cited : OuSev yap r<av (pixrei ovr<av &\\us 
 edi^erai' olov 6 \t6os (pvcret Karca <*>ep<fyuei/oy, 
 OVK $.v fditrOfi-r] avco (pfpeaOai, ouS' 'av fj.v- 
 piaKis avrbv edifo ns avw piirruv, ou5e rb 
 Trvp Kara. " None of those things, which 
 are what they are by nature, can be altered 
 by being accustomed. Thus a stone, which 
 by nature is carried downward, can never 
 be accustomed to mount upward, no, not 
 though any one should ten thousand times 
 attempt it, by throwing the stone upward. 
 The same may be said of accustoming fire 
 to move downward." Ethic. 1. ii. c. 1. 
 Again, in the works of nature, such as 
 trees, animals, and the like, the efficient 
 principle is vitally united to the subjects 
 wherein it operates: tv avrois fx ovffl 
 ravra r^v apx^v. Ethic. 1. vi. c. 4. But in 
 the works of art, such as statues or houses, 
 
6 CONCEKNING ART: 
 
 still something wanting to make it a finished piece. I begged 
 to know what this was. In order to that, replied he, I cannot 
 do better, than remind you of a passage in your admired Horace.^ 
 
 the efficient principle is disunited from the 
 subjects, and exists not in the things done 
 or made, but in the doer or artist, 3>v TJ 
 apX^] & v T V TTOIOVVTI a\\a i^ v rep iroiov- 
 fjLevcf. Ethic. 1. vi. c. 4. It is, indeed, pos- 
 sible, that, even in works of art, the subject 
 and efficient cause may be united, as in the 
 case of a physician becoming his own pa- 
 tient, and curing himself. But then it 
 must be remembered, that this union is 
 Kara <Tv/jL&efi'r)Kbs, merely accidental, and 
 no way essential to the constituting of art, 
 considered as art. By this, therefore, is art 
 clearly distinguished from nature, whose 
 definition informs us that it is a.px'h Tts 
 KCU aiTia TOV KivslffQai /cat r?pe j ue?i' ej> w 
 virdpxei Trpdroos, KaQ" 1 avrb Kal ^ Kara 
 o-vuPfp-riKos : "a certain principle or cause 
 of moving and ceasing to move, in some 
 subject wherein such principle exists im- 
 mediately, essentially, and not by way of 
 accident." Arist. Natur. Ausc. 1. ii. c. 1. 
 
 The causes which are of rank superior to 
 man, such as the Deity, can have nothing to 
 do with art, because being (as is said in the 
 Dialogue, p. 4,) " perfect and complete, and 
 knowing all from the beginning, they can 
 never admit of what is additional and se- 
 condary." Art, therefore, can only belong 
 to beings like men ; who, being imperfect, 
 know their wants, and endeavour to remove 
 them by helps secondary and subsequent. 
 It was from a like consideration that Py- 
 thagoras called himself a philosopher ; that 
 is to say, (according to his own explication 
 of the name,) "a lover and seeker of what 
 was wise and good," but not a possessor, 
 which he deemed a character above him. 
 Consonant to this we read in Plato's Ban- 
 quet, QfSoif ouSels <fA.o(TO(er, oi>5' eTriOv/j.f'i 
 (to(/>bs yeveffOai' effTi yap, etc.: "no god 
 philosophizes, or desires to become wise, 
 for he is so already. Nor, if there be any 
 other being wise, doth he philosophize, for 
 the same reason. On the other hand, nei- 
 ther do the indocile philosophize ; for this is 
 the misfortune of indocility, without being 
 virtuous, good, or prudent, to appear to 
 oneself sufficient in all these respects. In 
 general, therefore, he who thinketh himself 
 in no want, desireth not that which he 
 thinks himself not to need. ' Who, then,' 
 said Socrates to Diotima, (the speaker of 
 this narration,) ' who are those who philo- 
 sophize, if they are neither the wise nor 
 the indocile ? ' ' That (replied she) may 
 be now conspicuous even to a child. They 
 are those of middle rank, between these ex- 
 tremes. '" Plat. vol. iii. p. 203. edit. Serrani. 
 
 Here we see (agreeably to what is said in 
 the Dialogue, page 4,) that as to acquired, 
 or secondary habits, some beings are too ex- 
 cellent for them, and others too base ; and 
 that the Deity, above all, is in the number of 
 those transcendent, and is thus, as a cause, 
 distinguished from art. Vid. Amm. irepl 'Ep- 
 fiev. p. 26.b.et omiTino els Karrty. p. 127, 128. 
 
 There are, besides the Deity and nature 
 now spoken of, certain other external causes, 
 which are mentioned in the first note as 
 distinct from art ; namely, chance and ne- 
 cessity. But of these hereafter, when we 
 consider the subject of art. 
 
 The Peripatetic definition of nature, given 
 above, though in some degree illustrated 
 page 11, (note #,) yet being still, from its 
 brevity, perhaps, obscure, the following ex- 
 plication of it is subjoined. 
 
 In the first place, by " nature," the Peri- 
 patetics meant that vital principle in plants, 
 brutes, and men, by which they are said to 
 live, and to be distinguished from things 
 inanimate. Nature, therefore, being an- 
 other name for "life," or a vital principle, 
 throughout all subjects, is universally found 
 to be of the following kind ; namely, to ad- 
 vance the subject, which it enlivens, from 
 a seed or embryo, to something better and 
 more perfect. This progression, as well in 
 plants as in animals, is called "growth." And 
 thus is it that nature is a principle of mo- 
 tion. But then this progression, or growth, 
 is not infinite. When the subject is ma- 
 ture, that is, hath obtained its completion 
 and perfect form, then the progression 
 ceases. Here, therefore, the business of 
 the vital principle becomes different. It is 
 from henceforward no longer employed to 
 acquire a form, but to preserve to its sub- 
 ject a form already acquired. And thus is 
 it that nature is a principle of rest, stability, 
 or ceasing to move. And such indeed she 
 continues to be, maintaining, as long as 
 possible, the form committed to her care, 
 till time and external causes in the first 
 place impair it. and induce at length its 
 dissolution, which is death. 
 
 And thus it has been shewn how nature 
 may be called a principle both of motion 
 and ceasing to move. 
 
 As to the rest of the definition, namely, 
 that nature is a principle, which inheres in 
 its subject immediately, essentially, and not 
 by way of accident ; no more is meant by 
 this, than that the nature or life in every 
 being, which hath such principle, is really 
 and truly a part of that being, and not de- 
 tached and separate from it, like the pilot 
 
A DIALOGUE. 7 
 
 It is concerning Alfenus ; who, (if you remember,) he tells us, 
 though his tools were laid aside, and his shop shut up, was still 
 an artist as much as ever : 
 
 Alfenus vafer omni 
 
 Abjecto instrumento artis clausaque taberna, 
 Sutor erat. 
 
 I remember, said I, the passage ; but to what purpose is it 
 quoted? Only, replied he, to shew you, that I should not be 
 without precedent, were I to affirm it not absolutely necessary 
 to the being of art, that it should be man actually becoming a 
 cause ; but that it was enough, if he had the power or capacity 
 of so becoming. Why then, said I, did you not settle it so at 
 first ? Because, replied he, faculties, powers, capacities, (call 
 them as you will,) are in themselves, abstract from action, but 
 obscure and hidden things. On the contrary, energies and 
 operations lie open to the senses/ and cannot but be observed, 
 even whether we will or no. And hence, therefore, when first) 
 we treated of art, we chose to treat of it as of a thing only in""' 
 energy. Now we better comprehend it, we have ventured some- 
 what further. Repeat, then, said I, if you please, the alteration 
 which you have made. At first, answered he, we reasoned upon 
 art, as if it was only man actually becoming a cause intentional 
 and habitual. Now we say it is a power in man of becoming 
 such cause ; and that, though he be not actually in the exercise 
 of such a power. I told him, his amendment appeared to be ; 
 just. 
 
 There is, too, another alteration, added he, which, for the 
 sake of accuracy, is equally wanting ; and that is with respect 
 to the epithet, " intentional or voluntary." And what, said I, is 
 that ? We have agreed it, replied he, to be necessary, that all 
 art should be under the guidance of intention or volition, so that 
 no man acting by compulsion, or by chance, should be called an 
 artist. We have. Now though this, said he, be true, yet it is 
 not sufficient. We must limit this intention or volition to a 
 peculiar kind. For were every little fancy, which we may work 
 up into habit, a sufficient foundation to constitute an art, we 
 should make art one of the lowest and most despicable of things. 
 The meanest trick of a common juggler might, in such case, entitle 
 
 from the ship, the musician from the in- Zirivoovntv. " If we are to explain what 
 
 strument. For to these subjects though each of these things are, as for instance, 
 
 those artists are principles of motion and what the intelligent principle, what the 
 
 rest, yet do they in no sense participate sensitive, we must first inquire what it is 
 
 with them in vital sympathy and union. to think, what to see, hear, and use the 
 
 d El e xp'h ^tyeiv rl tKavrov rovrcav, senses. For with respect to us men, the 
 
 olov rl rb vo-nriKbv, y) rl rb alffO-nriKbv, energies are prior and more evident than 
 
 irp6rpou eTnovceTpreoi/, rl rb votiv^ Kal the powers, because it is in the energies we 
 
 rl rb alo-Odvf 0-60.1 Trp6repai yap Kal are first conversant, and comprehend the 
 
 ffCHpeffrepai Trpbs ?;/uas rSav 8vvd/j.f(t>i' powers from them." Themist. in lib. ii. de 
 
 tiff i al fvepyfiai. Trpofvrvyxdfofj.fv yap Anima, p. 76. ed. Aid. Fol. Aristot. de An. 
 
 avrais, Kal ras Svvdjj.tis airb rovr&v ii. 4. 
 
8 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 a man to the character of an artist. I confessed, that without 
 some limitation, this might be the consequence. But how limit 
 intentions to a kind or species? What think you, replied he, 
 if we were to do it, by the number and dignity of the precepts, 
 which go to the directing of our intentions ? You must explain, 
 said I ; for your meaning is obscure. Are there not precepts, 6 
 replied he, in agriculture, about ploughing and sowing? Are 
 there not precepts in architecture, about orders and proportions? 
 Are there not the same in medicine, in navigation, and the rest 2 
 There are. And what is your opinion of these several pre- 
 cepts ? Are they arbitrary and capricious, or rational and steady ? 
 Are they the inventions of a day, or well-approved by long 
 experience? I told him, I should consider them for the most 
 part as rational, steady, and well-approved by long experience. 
 And what, continued he, shall we say to their number ? Are 
 they few ? Or are they not rather so numerous, that in every 
 particular art, scarce any comprehend them all, but the several 
 artists themselves ; and they only by length of time, with due 
 attendance and application ? I replied, it seemed so. Suppose 
 then we were to pronounce, that to every art there was a system 
 of such various and well-approved precepts : should we err? 
 No, certainly. And suppose we should say, that the intention 
 of every artist, in his several art, was directed by such a system : 
 would you allow this? Surely. And will not this limiting of 
 intentions to such only, as are so directed, sufficiently distinguish 
 art from any thing else which may resemble it ? in other words, 
 is it likely, under this distinction, to be confounded with other 
 habits of a trifling, capricious, and inferior kind ? I replied, I 
 thought not. 
 
 Let us then see, said he, and collect all that we have said 
 together. We have already agreed, that the power of acting 
 after a certain manner is sufficient to constitute art, without the 
 actually operating agreeably to that power. And we have now 
 further held the intentions of every artist to be directed by a 
 system of various and well-approved precepts. Besides all this, 
 we settled it before, that all art was founded in habit ; and was 
 peculiar to man ; and was seen by becoming the cause of some 
 effect. It should seem, then, that the whole idea of art was 
 this, " an habitual power in man of becoming the cause of some 
 
 e Vid. Plat, in Min. vol. ii. p. 316, 17. quaedam, id est, super-vacua artis imitatio, 
 
 edit. Serran. et in Gorgia, vol. i. p. 465. A. quae nihil sane nee boni nee mali habeat, 
 
 C7& 8 T^VT\v ov KctAo), 6 kv p &Xoyov sed vanura laborem : qualis illius fuit, qui 
 
 irpd'Yfj.a. grana ciceris, ex spatio distante missa, in 
 
 As to those low habits here mentioned, acum continue et sine frustratione insere- 
 
 from which we distinguish art by the num- bat : quern, cum spectasset Alexander, do- 
 
 ber and dignity of its precepts, they fall, in nasse dicitur ejusdem leguminis modio. 
 
 general, under the denomination of /maraio- Quod quidem praemium fuit illo opere dig- 
 
 Tfxvia*, of which Quintilian gives the fol- nissimura. Inst. Orat. 1. ii. c. 20. 
 lowing account. MarcuoTcx^a quoque est 
 
A DIALOGUE. 9 
 
 effect, according to a system of various and well-approved 
 precepts." f; I replied, that his account appeared to be probable 
 and just. 
 
 II. And now, then, continued he, as we have gone thus far, 
 and have settled between us what we believe art to be ; shall 
 we go a little further, or is your patience at an end? Oh ! no, 
 replied I, not if any thing be left. We have walked so leisurely, 
 that much remains of our way ; and I can think of no method 
 how we may better amuse ourselves. 
 
 
 f The Peripatetic definition of art is e'is, 
 /J.GTO, \6yov a\r)6ovs Trotr/mrf] : " an effi- '< 
 cient habit, joined with sound and true 
 reason." ^ Arist. Ethic. 1. vi. c. 4. 
 
 The Stoic definition, as we find it in 
 Sext. Empir. adversus Logicos, p. 392, is, 
 
 jrpbs rl reAos evxp^rov T&V tv ru> /8to5. 
 - Thus translated by Cicero in Diodemes de 
 Grammat. 1. ii. Ars est perceptionum ex- 
 ercitatarum collectio, ad unum exitum vitae 
 ntilem pertinentium. And again by Quin- 
 tilian, Inst. Orat. 1. ii. c. 18. Artem con- 
 stare ex perceptionibus consentientibus et 
 coexercitatis ad finem utilem vitaa. The 
 same definition is also alluded to in the 
 Academics of Cicero, 1. ii. c. 7, where it is 
 said, Ars vero quse potest esse, nisi quae 
 non ex una, aut duabus, sed ex multis 
 animi perceptionibus constat ? 
 
 There is a third definition of art cited by 
 Quintilian in the same place, and ascribed 
 by him to Cleanthes : Ars est potestas via 
 (id est, ordine) efficiens. The Greek, from 
 which this Latin definition is taken, is 
 fuller and more philosophical : the words 
 are, "E/s 6$$ ftaiov(ra perk fyavTaaia.? : 
 which may be rendered, " an habit, Avhich 
 proceeds in a road or method, having a 
 sense, withal, of what it is about." The 
 last character distinguishes art from the 
 natural energies of all things insensitive, 
 which, though they proceed methodically, 
 yet want a sense of what they are doing. 
 Vid. Niceph. Blemmid. Epit. Logic, p. 20. 
 Now if we compare these definitions 
 with that in the Dialogue, we shall find 
 them all to correspond. "The habitual 
 power in man of becoming the cause of 
 some effect," is the same as "Ets Troif]TiKrj 
 in the Peripatetic definition. "According 
 to a system of various and well-approved 
 precepts," is the same as /urro \6yov 
 a\r]6ovs. For sound and true reason must 
 needs be the basis of all such precepts. 
 
 Again, as to the second definition ; the 
 words 2i'(TT7j/ia KaTaXtyewv [a system of 
 comprehensions, or of certain and evident 
 truths] correspond to the latter part of the 
 definition in the Dialogue, " according to a 
 system of various and \vell-approved pre- 
 cepts." The word tyyeyvfj.i/aa/ji.tvwi' [that 
 
 is to say, worked in by habit and exercise] 
 corresponds to the first part, that " art is a 
 cause founded in habit." And the rest 
 [irphs rl re'Aos, &c. that is to say, " a 
 system which has respect to some useful 
 and serviceable end or purpose in human 
 life,"] shews the system here mentioned to 
 regard practice and action, not theory and 
 speculation. And thus does it correspond 
 with the definition of the Dialogue, where 
 it is said that art is an habitual power, not 
 of merely contemplating and knowing, but 
 of becoming the cause of some effect. It is 
 not, indeed, expressed in the Dialogue, that 
 this effect has respect to the utility of 
 human life, because this latter circumstance 
 is reserved to the definition of the final 
 cause of art, given page 16. 
 
 As to the third definition of art, potestas 
 via efficients, " a power operating methodi- 
 cally," it may be observed, that by being 
 called an operating power, it is distin- 
 guished from powers purely speculative ; 
 and as it is said to operate methodically, or 
 in a road and regular process, it is distin- 
 guished from chance as well as blind neces- 
 sity. And thus far it corresponds with 
 what is offered in the Dialogue. But it 
 does not appear from this definition, whether 
 the power therein mentioned be original 
 and natural, or secondary and habitual, 
 because powers of either sort may operate 
 methodically. And perhaps Cleanthes in- 
 tended not to distinguish so far, but took 
 art in that larger and more general sense, 
 adopted sometimes by the Stoics ; as when 
 they describe Nature herself to be a irvp 
 TGYVIKOV 65&? j8ctiCoz' TTOOS ysi/GO'iv* an 
 artificial fire, proceeding methodically to 
 production or creation." For it is not to be 
 imagined, they intended by this to in- 
 sinuate that nature Avas a fire, which had 
 learnt by habit so to operate. On the con- 
 trary, by "artificial," it is probable they in- 
 tended no more than some active efficient 
 principle, working with reason, order, and 
 method ; of which principle they considered 
 fire to be the properest vehicle, as being of 
 all bodies the most subtle, and that into 
 which the rest are all ultimately resolvable. 
 Vide Diog. Laert. 1. vii. s. 156. Cic. de Nat. 
 Deor. 1. ii. c. -Ji>. 
 
10 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 My friend, upon this, proceeded with saying, that if art were 
 a cause, (as we had agreed it was,) it must be the cause of 
 something. Allow it, said I. And if it be the cause of some- 
 thing, it must have a subject to operate on. For every agent 
 has need of some patient : the smith of his iron, the carpenter of 
 his wood, the statuary of his marble, and the pilot of his ship. 
 I answered, it was true. If, then, said he, the subjects of 
 particular arts be thus evident, what idea shall we form of that 
 universal subject which is common to all art? At this question, 
 it must be confessed, I was a little embarrassed. 
 
 This induced him to ask me, how many sorts of subjects I 
 allowed of? Here I could not help hesitating again. There is 
 nothing, continued he, so difficult in the question. You must 
 needs perceive^ that all natures whatever can be but either con- 
 tingent or necessary. This may be, replied I ; but even yet I 
 do not comprehend you. Not comprehend me ! said he ; then 
 answer me a question : can you conceive any medium between 
 motion and no-motion, between change and no-change ? I 
 replied, I could not. If not, can you conceive any thing in the 
 whole order of being, which must not be either liable to these, 
 or not liable? Nothing. Call those things, therefore, said he, 
 which are liable to change and motion, contingent natures ; and 
 those which are not liable, necessary natures : and thus you 
 have a division, in which all things are included. We have so, 
 said I. 
 
 In which, therefore, said he, of these natures shall we seek 
 for this common subject of art ? To this, I told him, I was 
 unable to answer. Reflect, said he, a little. We have found 
 art to be a cause. We have. And is it not essential to e^ery 
 cause to operate? or can it be a cause, and be the cause of 
 nothing? Impossible. Wherever, therefore, there is cause, 
 there is necessarily implied some operation. There is. And 
 can there possibly be operation, without motion and change? 
 There cannot. But change and motion must needs be incom- 
 patible with what is necessary and immutable. They must. 
 So, therefore, is cause. It must. And so, therefore, art. It 
 must. Truth, therefore, said he, and knowledge ; principles 
 and demonstrations; the general and intellectual essences of 
 things ; in short, the whole immutable and necessary nature is 
 no part of it reducible to a subject of art. It seems so, said I. 
 
 If, therefore, art, said he, have nothing to do with the steady, 
 abstract, and necessary nature, it can have only to do with the 
 transient, the particular, and contingent one. It is true, said I ; 
 for there is no other left. And shall we then say, replied he, it 
 has to do with all contingent natures existing in the universe ? 
 For aught, replied I, which to me appears contrary. What 
 think you, said he, of those contingents of higher order ? such as 
 the grand planetary system ; the succession of the seasons ; the 
 regular and uniform course of all superior natures in the 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 11 
 
 universe ? Has art any ability to intermeddle here ? No, 
 certainly, said I. These superior contingents, then, which move 
 without interruption, are, it seems, above it. They are. And 
 shall we say the same of those of lower sort ; those, whose 
 course we see often interrupted ; those, which the strength and 
 cunning of man are able to influence and control ? Give 
 instances, said I, of what you mean. I mean, said he, earth, 
 water, air, fire, stones, trees, animals, men themselves. Are 
 these contingents within the reach of art, or has art here no 
 influence ? I should think, said I, a very great one. 
 
 If this, continued he, be true, it should seem that the common 
 or universal subject of art was, all those contingent natures 
 which lie within the reach of the human powers to influence. 8 
 I acknowledge, said I, it appears so. 
 
 K The cause here treated is the material, 
 the "TAT/, or 'YiroKeifj.evoi', or rb e'| o5 
 ytveral n evvTrdpxovTos. 
 
 Of a contingent we have the following 
 definition : Aeyca ' eV8e'xeo"0at, Kal rb ev5e- 
 K, ov fj.fy OVTOS avayitaiov, redevros 
 -, ouSei/ etrrat SIOTOUT' aS6varov. 
 " I call that a contingent, which not being \ 
 necessary, but being supposed to be, there j 
 will follow nothing impossible from such | 
 supposition." Arist. Anal, prior. 1. i. c. 13. 
 Diog. Laert. 1. iii. s. 10. 
 
 That this is true in works of art, is 
 evident. It is not necessary, that a given 
 fragment of such a rock should assume the 
 figure of Hercules: but there follows nothing 
 impossible, if we suppose it so figured. It 
 is for this reason that the subject of art is 
 in the Dialogue called "a contingent." 
 
 But, however, to explain the whole of 
 what is said in this place, it is necessary to 
 go backward, and deduce what we would 
 say from some remoter considerations. 
 
 The Peripatetics held the end or aim of 
 their philosophy to be the discovering and 
 knowing the apxh the "primary and crea- 
 tive principle of all things." They pursued 
 this inquiry, when they reasoned analyti- 
 cally, that is to say, upwards, by beginning 
 their contemplation from those things which 
 are to us first in the order of our compre- 
 hension, and so ascending gradually to that 
 which is truly first in the real order of 
 beings. Ammon. els E. <p(av. p. 36. 
 
 The first and original objects of our com- 
 prehension are those neare* and more im- 
 mediate, viz. the objects of sense, with 
 which we are surrounded on every side. 
 These objects we perceive to be all in 
 motion ; and the motions are multiform, 
 various, and often opposite to each other. 
 The consequences of this we perpetually 
 behold. By such motions we see, that not 
 only the mere local site of these beings is 
 
 changed, but their very bulk, and figure, 
 and qualities ; nay, more than this, even 
 the beings themselves are made to separate 
 and perish, while new beings arise from 
 the re-assemblage of the scattered parts, 
 which parts different motions can as well 
 bring together, as disunite. The beings or 
 objects of the character here described, the 
 Peripatetics denoted under the common 
 appellation of the ra KivovfJLGva Kal (pOapTa, 
 " the beings moving and corruptible." 
 
 From these moving and perishable objects 
 they passed to those sublimer and more 
 transcendent objects of sense, which they 
 saw adorn the heavens. Here, likewise, 
 they discovered motion ; but then this 
 motion was uniform and constant ; affecting 
 not the beings moved, save in the relation 
 of local site. As, therefore, they beheld no 
 change in the form and essence of these 
 beings, they deemed them (upon their 
 hypothesis) incorruptible, and out of them 
 established another class of beings, that is 
 to say, the TO Kivov/j.eva Kal &(pdapra^ 
 " the beings moving and incorruptible." 
 
 From these sublimer objects of sense 
 they passed to objects of pure intellect ; to 
 bodies devoid of all motion, and of all 
 quality, save that inseparable one of figure ; 
 such bodies, for instance, as the cube, the 
 sphere, and the rest of bodies mathematical. 
 From mathematical bodies, and the truths 
 resulting from them, they passed to the 
 contemplation of truth in general ; to the 
 soul, and its powers both of intuition and 
 syllogization ; to being universal, and above 
 both time and place ; and thus, at last, to 
 that supreme cause, the great principle of 
 the whole, which is ever the same, immu- 
 table and eternal. The several objects of 
 this intellectual comprehension they styled, 
 not merely atyQapra, but a<pOapTa Kal d/- 
 vnra, "beings incorruptible and immove- 
 able." Vid. inf. note r. 
 
12 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 Thus far, then, said he, we have advanced with tolerable 
 success. We have gained some idea of art, and some idea of its 
 
 In this manner did the Peripatetics spe- 
 culate. And hence was it they established 
 to themselves three species of philosophical 
 employment one about beings motionless 
 and eternal ; another, about beings move- 
 able and eternal ; and a third, about beings 
 moveable and perishable. The first they 
 held the proper employment of the meta- 
 physician ; the two last of the astronomer 
 and the naturalist. 
 
 Aib rpeis at Trpay^areiai' 77 fj.ev irepl 
 aKivyrov' rj Se, Trepl Ki.vovfji.evov p.ev, &(pdap~ 
 TOV 5e' j) 8e, TTfpl TO. (f)6aprd. Idcirco tres 
 sunt tractationes ; una, de immobili ; altcra 
 de eo, quod movetur quidem, sed est in- 
 teritus expers ; tertia de rebus, interitui 
 obnoxiis. Arist. Natural. Ausc. 1. ii. c. 7. 
 Aib Kal rpe"is at irpay/u.are'iai' }] /j.ev, irepl 
 Kivov/j.va Kal (pBaprd' r) 8e irepl KIVOV- 
 fj.eva, a<p6apra Se' r) 8e, Trepl a.Kivt]ra ical 
 acpOapra. Themistii Paraphrasis in loc. 
 
 This threefold subject of philosophic in- 
 quiry is elegantly explained in the follow- 
 ing passage : Tt Se rb reAos eo~rl rr/s 
 " > A.pio~Tore\iKrjs (pt\oo~0(pias , <pa.ju.ev on 
 yv&vai ri]v irdvrcav apx^V) f^\v ruv 
 dq/j.iovpybv alriav, ryv ael Kal u 
 %X ovffav ' aTroo'eiKvvffi yap Trdvroov 
 Kal ao-d!>fj.arov' ' eiceivrjs Se ra irdvra 
 irapdysffGai. Ttj/a 5e ra ayovra Ji/uas eJs 
 rovro rb reAos ; (pa/jiev OTI 77 Si5acrKa\ia 
 r)V ev XP^ VC ? Kal juerajSoAf; vTrapxovTcav' 
 TGiavra 8e Iffn ra eV yeveffei Kal (pflopS. ' 
 a,Trb yap rovrwv, Sta ^<r<av fj.aQrnj.a.riK&v, 
 fun&yofJttV eavrovs errl ra ael Kal axravrus 
 cX ovra ' Toiavra 8e e<rri ra ovpdvia' Kal 
 O'JTW, /j.era ras ao'co^uarous oixrias, eVt ri]v 
 TrpStrt]'^ irdvrtav apx'/;z/. Tldarjs yap KLV'I]- 
 creoos ?i /car' oixriav ovff-rjs, v) Kara Troibv, ?) 
 Kara r6wov, ra yitei/ v yevefffi Kal <pdopa 
 icara Trdcrav Kivt](nv Kivovvrai' ra Se ovpdvia 
 Kzra fj.6vf]v rty Kara roirov. Aib xp'n cv- 
 rdicrcas doeveiv airb ru>v TroXvrpSiroos KIVOV- 
 f.i.ivcav eVl ra icara /xiav, ical ftdrrfv K(vt]<nv 
 /az/ou,uefcc, Kal ovrcas eirl rijv a.K.(v(\rov ical 
 asl Mffavrus ex.ov(rav apxW' "'Afj./j.oviov 
 els ras Karr}yopias, p. 12. edit. Venet. 8vo. 
 1545. 
 
 The author of the Dialogue has had refer- 
 ence to this threefold division of subjects, 
 as may be seen in that part of his Dialogue 
 which gives occasion to the present com- 
 ment. He has chosen, however, to style 
 the ra ovpdvia, or " heavenly bodies," rather 
 contingents of higher order, than beings 
 necessary, as imagining the former to be 
 their truer character. 
 
 It may be here added, that the Peri- 
 patetics confined <fu(m, or "Nature," for the 
 most part, to this earth of ours, where they 
 
 considered her as the active principle of 
 life in plants and animals. Hence, there- 
 fore, they distinguished not her effects from 
 those of art, by their necessity, (for the 
 effects of both they treated as contingent,) 
 but from the cause in natural subjects 
 operating within, artificial without, as has 
 been already observed, note c. See Diog. 
 Laert. p. 459. 
 
 It may be further added, that they placed 
 these effects of art and nature, and, indeed, 
 all other contingents whatever, in a middle 
 rank between things necessary and things 
 impossible. The reason was evident. Things 
 necessary could not but be ; things impos- 
 sible could not be ; but contingents were 
 eivai Kal /J.-/J elvai, that 
 
 is, " were equally susceptible both of being 
 and non-being." 
 
 But still, though all contingents ad- 
 mitted, on their hypothesis, both of being 
 and non-being, yet they supposed some to 
 have a greater tendency to existence, and 
 others to have a less. The first species of 
 these they styled TO ws eirl rb TTO\V, " the 
 things which happen for the most part ;" 
 the last, ra eV ekarrov, " the things which 
 happen less frequently." 
 
 Now as it is evident that both nature 
 and art oftener obtain their end, than miss 
 it, (for complete animals are more frequently 
 born than monsters ; and the musician, if an 
 artist, strikes oftener the right string than 
 the wrong,) hence it was, that they ranged 
 the effects of nature and art among those 
 contingents which were ra as e?rt rb 7roAi>, 
 " contingents of greater frequency." But 
 yet, as these effects were not from the 
 hypothesis necessary, and contrary to these 
 upon occasion happened, hence it was, that 
 whenever either nature or art became causes 
 of the ra eV e\arrov, " those rarer events," 
 in such case they (nature and art) were 
 considered by these philosophers as alriai 
 Kara <rvfj.^l3t]Kbs, " causes by way of acci- 
 dent," and not according to their own 
 essence and distinguishing character. In 
 such instances it was, that they assumed 
 the names of Tu^r? an d A.vr6/j.arov, Fortune 
 and Chance ; Tvx'n having mostly reference 
 to works of men, Avrd/Aarov to works of 
 nature. The distances given by Themis- 
 tius, in cases of chance and fortune, are as 
 follow. A tile falls from a house. The 
 end of its falling is to arrive at that lower 
 place, whither nature would carry it by 
 the common law of gravity. In falling, it 
 strikes and wounds a passenger. This last 
 event is from chance. Again, a man digs 
 in his garden, to plant. In digging, he 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 13 
 
 subject. Our inquiry, on the whole, has informed us, that art 
 is "an habitual power in man of becoming a certain cause ;" and 
 that its subject is, a every such contingent nature, which lies 
 within the reach of the human powers to influence." to 
 
 III. It is true, said I, this appears to have been trie result of 
 our inquiry, and a full and ample one it seems to have been. 
 A long one, replied he, if you please, but not a full and ample 
 one. Can any thing, said I, be wanting, after what you have 
 said already? Certainly, replied he, a great deal. We have 
 talked much, indeed, of art, considered as a cause ; and much of 
 the subject on which it operates ; but what moves these opera- 
 tions to commence, and where it is they end, these are topics 
 
 \ 
 
 discovers a hidden treasure. This last 
 event is from fortune. And thus, adds 
 Themistius, }) avr}} irpats Kal /xia, a\\ov 
 juet/ Kaff avr}]v curia, aXXov Se Kara ffv/j.- 
 j8e/377<Jy : "the same individual action is 
 the cause of one thing from its own pecu- 
 liar character, and of another thing, by 
 way of accident." And again, e<m iJ.lv ovv 
 Kal rfav ovroos ffvfj./3aiv6i'T(ai' $) rty (pvffiv 
 $) rr\v irpoaip<nv alr'iav TTUIS etVeij/, ccAA.' 
 ov KaQ' avr^v. ov yap rovrwv X fy >tJ/ o^e 
 Trpori\Qfv 5 avOpwiros, ovre TJ icepafjus Kart]- 
 vexO?!, aAA 5 et &pa, Kara ffvfj./3f^irjK6s : 
 " of these events we may call nature, or 
 human will, in a manner the cause, but yet 
 not so from themselves, and according to 
 their own peculiar essence ; for it was not 
 for the sake of what happened, that either 
 the passenger went forth, or the tile fell 
 downward, but, if any thing, it was by 
 accident." Themist. in lib. ii. Natur. 
 Auscult. p. 26. edit. Aid. See also Arist. 
 Natur. Auscult. 1. ii. c. 4, 5, 6. Ammon. in 
 Praedicam. p. 113. b. This doctrine came 
 originally from Plato, whose definition of 
 fortune was <rv/j.irr<i)/ji.a (pixrecas ^ irpoaipt- 
 (Tcas, "a symptom, or thing co-incident 
 either with nature or human will." Vid. 
 Suidam in voc. Elfj.apfj.eff). 
 
 It must be here observed, that Kara 
 tru^/SejSTj/c&s, "by accident," means, in no 
 part of these quotations, accidental, as stand- 
 ing for casual ; for this would be mere 
 tautology, as to what is here said concerning 
 chance. It means, rather, something by 
 way of appendage ; something adventitious ; 
 in other words, it means accident, as ad- 
 hering to substance, without which it can 
 have no being, though suppose it absent or 
 taken away, the nature of substance is no 
 way affected. It was in this sense the 
 Peripatetics supposed chance and fortune to 
 be accidents or appendages to nature and 
 mind. According, therefore, to them, the 
 supposition of chance and fortune was so 
 far from excluding nature and mind from 
 
 the universe, that they demonstrably proved 
 their existence in it. For admitting their 
 account of chance and fortune to be just ; 
 if we grant the accidents to exist, much 
 more must we grant the subjects, and this, 
 too, with that superior dignity and priority 
 of existence, which is evidently due to all 
 subjects above their accidents. Well, there- 
 fore, did the philosopher conclude, varepov 
 apa rb Avr6fj.arov, Kal ?; Tux?? T ov Not), 
 Kal rrjs fcyo'ecos. " Subsequent in exist- 
 ence, are chance and fortune to mind and 
 nature." Arist. Natur. Ausc. 1. ii. c. 6. 
 
 From what has been said, we see the 
 reason of that enumeration of causes men- 
 tioned in the beginning of the first note, 
 where they are described to be necessity, 
 nature, man, and fortune. 
 
 To necessity they referred all those 
 things and events, which they supposed of 
 necessary existence ; such as the universe, 
 the heavenly bodies, together with their 
 uniformly regular motions. 
 
 To nature, man, and chance, they re- 
 ferred all contingents ; to nature and man, 
 obtaining their end, all contingents of 
 greater frequency ; to the same causes, 
 either falling short of their end, or going 
 beyond it, and thus becoming chance or 
 fortune, those opposite contingents of exist- 
 ence less usual. 
 
 And hence, as art and fortune were both 
 conversant about the same subjects, (viz. 
 such contingents as respected human life,) 
 we find the meaning of that verse of 
 Agatho's, cited by Aristotle, in his Ethics, 
 1. vi. c. 5. 
 
 Te'x"'? TUX??" e<rrep, Kal rvxn TfX v "n v ' 
 " Art loveth fortune ; fortune loveth art." 
 
 The whole chapter, indeed, is well worth 
 perusal. But we shall not venture to 
 lengthen this note, which may be probably 
 deemed too long already, and which can be 
 only excused, as giving some sample of a 
 philosophy, which, from its rarity, perhaps, 
 may possibly furnish some amusement. 
 
14 
 
 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 which we have, as yet, little thought of. I begged him, then, 
 that we might now consider them. 
 
 He was willing, he said, for his part, and immediately went 
 on, by asking, what I thought was the beginning of art? I 
 mean, said he, by beginning, that cause for the sake of which it 
 operates, and which being supposed away, men would be never 
 moved to follow it. h To this, I told him, I was unable to 
 answer. You will not think it, said he, so difficult, when you 
 have a little more considered. Reflect with yourself: was it 
 not the absence of health which excited men to cultivate the art 
 of medicine ? ' I replied, it was. What, then, said he, if the 
 human body had been so far perfect and self-sufficient, as never 
 to have felt the vicissitudes of well and ill ; would not, then, 
 this art have been wholly unknown? I replied, I thought it 
 would. And what, said he, if we extend this perfection a 
 degree further, and suppose the body not only thus healthful, 
 but withal so robust, as to have felt no uneasiness from all 
 inclemencies of weather : would not, then, the arts of building 
 also, and clothing, have been as useless as that of medicine ? 
 I replied, it seemed they would. But what, said he, if we 
 bound not this perfection of ours even here ? What if we 
 
 h As the cause here spoken of, is that 
 cause usiially called final, it may be asked, 
 how it comes in this place to be considered 
 as a beginning. The answer is, that what 
 comes last in practice, stands in theory 
 first ; or, in other words, the order of ideas 
 in the intellect of the artist is exactly 
 inverted, with respect to the order of his 
 energies. 
 
 Thus Ammonius : Ka06\ov yap rfjs /j.cv 
 Ocwpias rb reAoy ylyverai apx$) Trjy irpd- 
 |ecos' /j.ira\iv 8e rfjs irpdl-fcas rb reAos, 
 apx^) Trjs Ofcaplas* olov 6 QiKOo'd/j.os, eVt- 
 rayels olitov, \yei /ca0' eavrbv, 
 O!KOV iroirjffai' oirep eVrt tr/ceVafr/xa, 
 TiKbv o/mfSpwv Kal Kavfj-drcoV TOVTO Se OVK 
 ~av yevoiTO, p.}] yivofMevTjs opo^Tjs. "'Evrev- 
 Qev ovv &px*Ta.i TTJS Oewpias. irpofiatvwv Se 
 AAAa TOVTO OVK kv yevoi-ro, (j.)] 
 f' OVTOL 8e OVK avyevoivro, 
 0e/j.\i(t>v' o* Se df/j.e\ioi 
 OVK kv P\-r)Qe'iev, fj.% opt/x^e/o^s TTJS 7775. 
 fvravOa KareATjIei/ -f) Oecapia. 'EvrevOfv ovv 
 &pXfTai 'h Trpats. Trp6repou yap 
 T^V yrjv' e?0' OVTW )8aAA.et rbv 
 flra Hyetpei TOI%OUS' Kal vffrepov 
 Qrjo-i T$)V opo^v, T/iris effri reAos TTJS irpd- 
 ea>s. 7) S' apx?) TT)S 7rpa|ews, reAos TTJS Oeov- 
 pias. 'A^i/i. ets Karriy. p. 15. edit. Ven. 8vo. 
 " For in general the end of theory is the 
 beginning of practice ; and so reciprocally, 
 the end of practice, the beginning of theory. 
 Thus, for instance : an architect, being 
 ordered to build a house, says to himself, I 
 am ordered to build a house ; that is to 
 
 say, a certain defence, to protect against 
 the rains and the heats. But this cannot 
 be, without a roof or covering. From this 
 point, therefore, he begins his theory. He 
 proceeds and says but there can be no 
 roof, if there be no walls ; and there can be 
 no walls, without some foundations ; nor 
 can there be laid foundations, without open- 
 ing the earth. At this point, <the theory is 
 at an end. Hence, therefore, commences 
 the practice, or action. For, first, he opens 
 the earth ; then lays the foundation ; then 
 raises the walls ; and, lastly, puts on the 
 roof, which is the end of the action or 
 practice, [but beginning of the theory,] as 
 the beginning of the practice was the end 
 of the theory." See also Arist. Ethic. 1. iii. 
 c. 3. et de Anima, 1. iii. c. 3. 
 
 1 Vide Platon. de Rep. 1. i. vol. ii. p. 341. 
 edit. Serrani. e 'n<nrep (e</>?jj/ e'ycb) e7 jue 
 epoio et f^apKe? o~ct>/j.aTi, elVat crd>fj.aTi, -/) 
 irpoo'Sf'iTai rivos' (fooi/A $.v, on Travrdiraari 
 fj.(v ovv irpoirSe'iTai. Sia ravra Kal 7) TCXVTJ 
 tffTiv larpiKij vvv evp/u.evr), OTI o~jfj.a eVrt 
 irovripbv, Kal OVK QapKtiavTia TOLOVT^ slvai. 
 " Quemadmodum, inquam, si a me quaereres, 
 an satis sit corpori, ut sit corpus, an alia 
 quapiam re indigeat : responderem, omnino 
 indigere. Atque hac quidem de causa me- 
 dicinae ars nunc est inventa, quoniam corpus 
 per se profligatum est, neque ipsi satis est, 
 ut sit hujusmodi." So, likewise, the acute 
 Scaliger : " Motionis enim appetentia causa 
 est ; appetentise, privatio." De Cans. L. 
 Lat. 1. xv. c. 114. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 15 
 
 suppose, that not only things merely necessary, but that those 
 also conducive to elegance and enjoyment, were, of course, all 
 implied in the constitution of human nature ; that they were all 
 steady, constant, and independent from without, and as insepa- 
 rable from our being, as perspiring, or circulation : in such case, 
 would not the arts of music, painting, and poetry, with every 
 other art passing under the denomination of elegant, have been 
 as useless as we have held those others of medicine, clothing, 
 and architecture? I replied, it seemed they would. It was, 
 then, the absence of joys, elegancies, and amusements from our 
 constitution, as left by nature, which induced us to seek them 
 in these arts of elegance and entertainment. It was. And 
 what, said he, are joys, elegancies, amusements, health, robust- 'V / ' 
 ness, with those several other objects of desire, whose absence S\ 
 leads to art, but so many different names of that complex being 
 called " Good," under its various, and multiform, and popular 
 appearances? I replied, it seemed so. 
 
 If this, then, said he, be granted, it should seem that the 
 beginning, or principle of art, was the absence of something 
 thought good ; because it has appeared that it is for the sake of ) 
 some such absent good that every art operates ; and because, if \ 
 we suppose no such absence to have been, we should never have / 
 known any art. I confess, said I, it seems so. 
 
 But how, then, continued he, if it be true that all art 
 implies such principle, is it reciprocally true that every such 
 principle should imply art ? I see no reason, said I, why not. 
 Consider, said he. It might be thought a good by some, 
 perhaps, to be as strong as those horses which are ploughing 
 yonder field; to be as tall as those elms, and of a nature as 
 durable : yet would the absence of goods, like these, lead to 
 art ? Or is it not absurd to suppose there should be an art of 
 impossibilities? 14 Absurd, said I, certainly. If so, said he,'^ 
 when we define the beginning or principle of art, it is not 
 enough to call it the absence of something thought good, unless 
 we add, that the good be a good possible ; "a thing attainable by 
 man ; a thing relative to human life, and consistent with human 
 nature :" or does not this, also, appear a requisite ? I replied, I 
 thought it did. 
 
 But still, continued he, is it a sufficient motive to art, that 
 the good desired should be attainable ? In other words, does 
 every absence of good attainable lead to art? or is our account 
 
 k What is here said concerning the dif- " There is, indeed, no determined choice of 
 ference between those things for which we action with respect to things impossible ; 
 may possibly wish, and those which we and if any one should say he had so deter- 
 actually pursue, is expressed in the Ethics mined, he would appear to be a fool. But 
 of Aristotle, 1. iii. c. 2. Ilpocupecm /*ev yap there may be a willing, or longing after 
 OVK earn T&V afivvaToiv, nal et TJS </>at?7 things impossible ; as, for instance, never 
 i Trpoaipe'iffOai, So/con; kv ?;\i0tos e?i/cu. /3ov- to die." 
 8' fffrl TWV afivvaTuv, of 
 
i 
 
 16 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 still too loose, and in need of stricter determination 2 Of none, 
 said I, which appears to me. Reflect, said he ; there are some 
 of the possible goods so obvious and easy, that every man, in an 
 ordinary state of common natural perfection, is able to acquire 
 them, without labour or application. You will hardly deny, 
 but that a fair apple, tempting to eat, may be gathered ; or a 
 clear spring, tempting to drink, may be drank at, by the mere 
 suggestions of will and uninstructed instinct. 1 I granted, they 
 might. It would be therefore impertinent, said he, to suppose 
 that goods, like these, should lead to art, because art would be 
 superfluous, and in no respect necessary. Indeed, said I, it 
 seems so. 
 
 If, therefore, said he, neither impossibles lead to art, be- 
 cause of such there can be no art ; nor things easily possible, 
 because in such nature can do without art : what is it we have 
 left, to which we may refer it 2 Or can it indeed be to any other 
 than to that middle class of things, which, however possible, are 
 still not so easy, but to be beyond the powers of will, and 
 instinct uninstructed 2 I replied^Tt seemed so. That there are 
 many such things, said he, is evident, past doubt. For what 
 man would pay artists so largely for their arts, were he enabled 
 by nature to obtain whatever he desired 2 Or who would study 
 to be skilled in arts, were nature's original powers to be of them- 
 selves alone sufficient 2 I told him, it was not likely. 
 
 It should seem, then, said he, according to this reasoning, that 
 the beginning, motive, or principle of art ; that cause, which 
 first moves it to action, and for the sake of which its several 
 operations are exerted, is "the want or absence of something 
 appearing good ; relative to human life, and attainable by man, 
 but superior to his natural and uninstructed faculties."" 1 I 
 
 \" Will," j8ouA?7<m, or upeis Aoyi<r- Aib Ka\u>s aTretyyvavTO T' ayaObv, ov Trdvra 
 
 TiK-f] : "uninstructed instinct," opeis a\6- tyierai: "every art, and every orderly 
 
 yurros. See before, note c. speculation, so likewise every action, and 
 
 m The cause here described is the TO ov determined choice of pursuit, appear all 
 
 eW/ca, or "final." Aristotle, in his Physics, of them to tend toward some good. Well 
 
 1. ii. c. 3. in enumerating the various sorts therefore have they pronounced ' good ' to 
 
 of causes, reckons amongst the rest, Tb 8' be that toward Avhich all things tend." 
 
 &s Tb T\OS, Kal T' ayadbv TUV a\\(ov. Tb See also Plat, in Gorg. vol. i. p. 499. E. 
 
 yap ov eVewa /SeATicrror, Kal reAos T&V edit. Scrrani. 
 
 &\\cav efle'Aet eli/ot : " to these may be In the definition here treated, the words 
 
 added that cause, which is considered as the " relative to human life" express that part 
 
 end and good of all the rest. For that, for of the Stoic definition of art [irpbs T! reAoy 
 
 whose sake all the others are deemed ne- cvxpflo-Tov r&v eV T$ tw.] They were 
 
 cessary, has just pretensions to be best, and omitted in the definition, pages 8, 9, as more 
 
 to be the end of them all." To this he properly belonging to the present definition, 
 
 subjoins, consonant to what is said in the which respects art in its final cause. See 
 
 Dialogue, Sia^eperw Se yUTjSev ai>Tb etVe?j' note f. 
 
 ayaObv ^ <pa.iv6v.evov aya06v : "let it make That what is perfect and self-sufficient is 
 
 no difference whether we call this end, real above the secondary helps of art ; that our 
 
 good, or only apparent good." So in the own Aveakness and insufficiency, and the 
 
 beginning of his Ethics : Uaffa re'x^, Kal prospect of procuring that absent good, by 
 
 /Ae0o5os, 6u.oitos Se irpa^is T Kal which we all hope to supply ourselves, 
 
 ayaOoii TIVOS e<j>iccr6a,i 8o/fe?. where deficient ; that this is the source not 
 
A DIALOGUE. 17 
 
 replied, I could not deny, but that the account appeared pro- 
 bable. 
 
 IV. Let this, then, said he, suffice, as to the beginning of art. 
 But how shall we describe its end? What is it we shall pro- 
 nounce this ? My answer, I replied, must be the same as often 
 already ; which was, indeed, that I could not resolve the ques- 
 tion. It should seem, said he, not so difficult, now we have dis- 
 covered what beginning is. For if beginning and end are con- 
 traries and opposed, it is but to invert, as it were, the notion of 
 beginning, and we gain of course the notion of end. I asked 
 him, in what manner ? Thus, said he, the beginning of art has 
 been held to be something, which, if supposed away, men would 
 be never moved to apply to art. By inversion, therefore, the end 
 of art must be something, which, while supposed away, men 
 will never cease applying to art ; because, were they to cease, 
 while the end was wanting, they would cease with imperfection, 
 and their performance would be incomplete. To this I answered, 
 That the account, however true, was by far too general, to give 
 me much intelligence. 
 
 He replied, If it was, he would endeavour to be more par- 
 ticular. And what, continued he, should we say, that every 
 art, according to its genius, will of course be accomplished either 
 in some energy, or in some work ; that, besides these two, it can 
 be accomplished in nothing else ; and consequently that one of 
 these must of necessity be its end ? I could not here but answer 
 him, with a smile, that the matter was now much obscurer than 
 ever. I find, then, said he, it is proper we should be more explicit 
 in our inquiries, and deduce our reasonings from some clearer 
 point of view. I told him, it was quite necessary, if he intended 
 to be intelligible. 
 
 Thus, then, said he, You will grant, that every art, being a 
 cause, must be productive of some effect : for instance, music, of 
 a tune ; dancing, of a dance ; architecture, of a palace ; and 
 sculpture, of a statue. It is allowed, said I. You will grant 
 also, said he, that in these productions they are all accomplished 
 
 only of all arts, but (joined to social affec- whole by saying, 
 
 tion) is the origin and cement of human Turn varies venere artes : labor omnia vicit 
 
 society ; see (besides the place here treated) Improbus, el duris urgens in rebus egestas. 
 page 4 ; and of the third treatise, s. 12. Where (according to the doctrine in the 
 
 Thus the poet in Stobseus, p. 515. Dialogue) want is made the beginning or 
 
 Xpeiia TTO.VT e'8i5ae' ri 5 ov XP* 1( *> KV origin of arts. The poet even refers this 
 
 avetpoi ; dispensation, this introduction of indigence, 
 
 Need all things taught : what cannot need care, and solicitude, to the immediate will of 
 
 invent ? Providence, acting for the good of mankind ; 
 
 Agreeably also to this, Virgil, in his first lest plenty should lull them into slothful 
 
 Georgic, having told us of the various lethargy, so as to forget their noblest and 
 
 changes to the worse which happened in most active faculties. 
 the natural world immediately subsequent Pater ipse colendi 
 
 to the golden age, goes on to enumerate Haudfacikmesse viamvoluit^primusqueper 
 the several inventions of men, which were artem 
 
 the natural result of this their newly in- Movit agros, curis acuens mortalia corda, 
 
 digent state. He at last sums up the Nee torpere gravi passus sua regna veterno. 
 
 C 
 
18 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 and ended ; or, in other words, that as music produces a tune, 
 so it is ended and accomplished in a tune ; and as sculpture 
 produces a statue, so is it ended and accomplished in a statue. 
 It is admitted, said I. Now these productions, continued he, if 
 you will examine, are not like units or mathematical points ; 
 but, on the contrary, all consist of a certain number of parts, 
 from whose accurate order is derived their beauty and perfection. 
 For example : notes, ranged after such a manner, make a tune 
 in music ; and limbs, ranged after such a manner, make a statue 
 or a picture. I replied, they did. If then the productions, con- 
 tinued he, of every art thus consist of certain parts, it will follow, 
 that these parts will be either ccnexistenL or not ; and if not 
 co-existent, then of course successive. Assist me, said I, by 
 another instance, for you are growing again obscure. Co- 
 existent, replied he, as in a statue, where arms, legs, body, and 
 head all subsist together at one individual instant : successive, 
 as in a tune or dance, where there is no such co-existence, but 
 where some parts are ever passing away, and others are ever 
 succeeding them." 
 
 Can any thing be said to exist, said I, whose parts are ever 
 passing away ? Surely, replied he ; or how else exist years and 
 seasons, months and days, with their common parent, time 
 itself? Or, indeed, what is human life, but a compound of parts 
 thus fleeting; a compound of various and multiform actions, 
 which succeed each other in a certain order? The fact, said 
 I, appears so. 
 
 This then, continued he, being the case, and there being this 
 difference in productions, call every production, the parts of 
 which exist successively, and whose nature hath its being or 
 essence in a transition, call it, what it really is t a motion or an 
 energy : thus a tune and a dance are energies ; thus riding and 
 
 n This division of beings or productions sensible, individual substances, but by a 
 
 we find mentioned by Aristotle in his continued procedure of being and ceasing to 
 
 Physics, (1. iii. c. 8.) where, explaining his be." Vid. Scalig. de Caus. Ling. Lat. 1. iii. 
 
 doctrine concerning infinite, he says, 'AAA' c. 7 "2. p. 124. Aristot. Categ. c. 6. Am- 
 
 eirel iro\\d.Kis rb e?foi, tiffircp rj ^uepa mon. Com. fls Kar. p. 82. b. Seal. Poetic. 
 
 e<rrl, Kal 6 aycbv, rip del a\\o Kal &\\o 1. iii. c. 1. p. 82. 
 
 yivecrOai, ovru Kal rb aireipov. " Inasmuch It is not inelegantly said in the Ethics, 
 
 as being is manifold, such as is the being so often referred to, 'H 8e o>$7 tvepyeid rts 
 
 of a day, or public festival, (which exist by e<m, KOI fKacrros irepl ravra Kal rovrois 
 
 continually becoming something further,) eVepyet a /col paXurra aymra' olov 5 p\v 
 
 such also is the being and nature of infi- /*ov<n/cta, rfj d/cor; irepl ra /ue'A?7, 6 5e $1X0- 
 
 nite." The same sentiment soon after is fio0^s, rfj Siavoia Trepi ra flewp^oTo' OVTW 
 
 more fully explained and opened: "Clare Se Kal ravhonrGaffKaffros. "Life is a certain 
 
 rb aireipov ov Set Xapfiaveiv, us r68e ri, energy, and each man energizes about those 
 
 oiov avdpcairov, ^ olKiav dAA' &s ^ue'po subjects, 'and with those faculties, for which 
 
 Ac-yeroi, /col 6 o.yii>v ols rb flvai, OVK &s he hath the greatest affection : the musician, 
 
 ouo-i'o ris yeyovev, dAA' del eV yevea-et Kal with his hearing, about sounds harmonious ; 
 
 <pQopa.. " We are not to conceive of infi- the studious, with his intellect, about mat- 
 
 nite, as of a positive particular substance, ters of speculation: and, in like manner, 
 
 like a man or a house ; but rather as we each man else of the various sorts beside.'* 
 
 pronounce existence of a day, or public Ethic. 1. x. c. 4. 
 festival, which have their essence, not as 
 
A DIALOGUE. 19 
 
 sailing are energies ; and so is elocution, and so is life itself. On 
 the contrary, call every production, whose parts exist all at once, 
 and whose nature depends not on a transition for its essence, call 
 itjijvvork, or thing done, not an energy or operation. Thus a 
 house is' a" work, a statue is a work, and so is a ship, and so a 
 picture. I~sem, said I, to comprehend you. 
 
 If, then, there be no productions, said he, but must be of parts, 
 either co-existent or successive ; and the one of these be, as you 
 perceive, a work, and the other be an energy; it will follow, 
 there will be no production, but will be either a work or an 
 energy. There will not, said I. But every art, said he, you 
 have granted, is accomplished and ended in what it produces 2 
 I replied, I had. And there are no productions, but works or 
 energies 2 None. 
 
 It will follow, then, said he, that .every art will be accomplished 
 and ended in a work or energy. p 
 
 To this I answered, that his reasoning I could not impeach ; 
 
 P The cause here treated is the formal, 
 called by various names; the eTSos, the 
 \6yos, the ri eVrt, the rb rl ?iv elvai. Vid. 
 Seal, de Caus. Ling. Lat. 1. v. c. 113. p. 
 232. Imperfectnm autem Graeci, etc. 
 
 In the beginning of the above-cited 
 Ethics, after the author has told us that 
 every art, and human action, tend to some 
 good, or end ; he adds, Atatyopa 8e TIS 
 (paivfrai T(av ri\<av' TO. jj.tv yap elaiv 
 fvepyeiai' TO. 8e irap' avrds, epya nvd : 
 " but there appears a difference in ends : 
 for some are energies ; some, over and above 
 these energies, are certain works." In 
 Quintilian's Institutes, the same distinction, 
 with respect to the end of arts, is mentioned, 
 1. ii. c. 18. Vid. Plat, in Dio. Laert. 1. iii. 
 c. 84. p. 216. c. 100. p. 225. 
 
 But here perhaps it may be asked, if all 
 arts are ended and accomplished in some 
 energy or work, and this energy or work 
 be almost universally that absent good, 
 toward which they all tend, and for the 
 sake of which they are all exerted ; (for a 
 dance, which is an energy, and a house, 
 which is a work, are certain absent goods or 
 pleasures, for the sake of which certain arts 
 operate ;) if this be allowed, it may be asked, 
 whence then the difference between the 
 formal cause and the final ; the final, as in 
 note m it has been already treated ? 
 
 The answer to this is, that they concur 
 and are the same. To fM^v yap ri ^o-rt, 
 Kal rb ov eVea, ev %o~n. "The formal 
 cause and the final are one." Arist. Nat. 
 Ausc. 1. ii. c. 7. If they differ, it is (as 
 Joannes Grammaticus observes in comment- 
 ing on this place) a difference rather in the 
 time and manner of our viewing them, than 
 in their own essence and nature. It may 
 
 not perhaps be improper to transcribe his 
 own words : Tavrbv r$ api6/j.y rb rc\os 
 Kal rb eJSos, rfj o~xeffei p.6vy 8ia<pfpov, us 
 i^ Kal r<$ xp6v(p. orav /j.ev yap us 
 , Kal ^TTCD ~bv Oecaprjrai, re\os 
 eVrtV orav Se us tfSr] yev6p.evov, flSos. 
 " The end and the form are numerically the 
 same, differing (as has been said) in relation 
 only, and time. For thus the same thing, 
 while considered as in its progress to com- 
 pletion, but as not yet complete, is so long 
 an end ; when considered as actually com- 
 plete, is no longer an end, but a form." 
 And thus is this question one way answered, 
 by acknowledging that these two causes co- 
 incide, and differ not in their essence or real 
 character ; but rather in the time and man- 
 ner of our contemplating them. 
 
 But there is another answer, and that is 
 derived from the twofold nature of final 
 causes. According to this doctrine, arts 
 have not only a nearer and more immediate 
 end, (as a ship is the end of ship-building, 
 or navigating the end of pilotry,) but they 
 have a still remoter and higher end, a 
 reAoy TeAt/cce>TOTo', that is to say, man, 
 human-kind, or (in other words) the utility 
 or elegance of human life. Thus the Stagi- 
 rite : 'Eo^ie^ yap TTUS KOI Tenets re\os' 
 8ix<as yap rb ov eVe/co. " For we ourselves 
 also are in some sort an end : for the final 
 cause is twofold." Natur. Auscult. 1. ii. 
 c. 2. If, therefore, we have respect to this 
 ultimate end, these two causes will be 
 found to differ, and be really distinct from 
 each other. 
 
 And thus it is that in some respects they 
 agree, and in others they differ, according 
 to the above distinctions established by this 
 philosophy. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 but that still the distinction of work and energy was what I did 
 not well comprehend. There are several circumstances, said he, 
 which will serve sufficiently to make it clear. I begged he would 
 mention some. 
 
 Thus, then, said he, when the production of any art is an 
 energy, then the perfection of the art can be only perceived 
 during that energy. For instance, the perfection of a musician 
 is only known while he continues playing. But when the pro- 
 duction of any art is a work, then is not the perfection visible 
 during the energy, but only after it. Thus the perfection of the 
 statuary is not seen during his energies as a statuary, but when 
 his energies are over; when no stroke of the chisel is wanting, 
 but the statue is left as the result of all. It is true, said I. ' 
 
 Again, continued he, in consequence of this, where the pro- 
 duction is an energy, there the production is of necessity coeval 
 with the artist. For how should the energy survive the man ; 
 the playing remain when the musician is dead 2 But where the 
 production is a work, then is there no such necessity. The work 
 may well remain, when the artist is forgotten ; there being no 
 more reason, that the statue and the artist should be coeval, 
 than the man and the rude marble, before it received a regular 
 figure. You seem now, said I, to have explained yourself. f| ) 
 
 If, then, said he, work and energy be made intelligible terms, 
 you cannot but perceive the truth of what we before asserted, 
 that every art, according to its genius, must needs be accom- 
 plished in one of these ; that, except in these two, it can be 
 accomplished in nothing else ; and. consequently, that one of 
 these must of necessity be its end.4 I answered, that the rea- 
 soning appeared justly deduced. So much, then, replied he, for 
 the ending or accomplishment of art ; and so much also for a 
 long, and, I fear, an intricate disquisition. 
 
 V. He had no sooner said this, than I was beginning to ap- 
 plaud him ; especially on his having treated a subject so copi- 
 ously, started, as it were, by chance, and without any apparent 
 preparation. But I had not gone far, before he interrupted me, 
 by saying, that as to my praises they were more than he de- 
 served ; that he could pretend to no great merit for having been, 
 as I called it, so copious, when he had so often before thought 
 on what at present we had been talking. In short, says he, to 
 tell you a secret, I have been a long time amusing myself in 
 forming an essay upon this subject. I could not here forbear 
 reproaching him, for having hitherto concealed his intentions. 
 My reproaches produced a sort of amicable controversy, which 
 at length ended in his offering, that, to make me some amends, 
 he would now recite me (if I pleased) a small fragment of the 
 piece ; a fragment which he had happened accidentally to have 
 about him. The proposal, on my part, was willingly accepted, 
 and without further delay the papers were produced. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 21 
 
 As to the performance itself, it must be confessed, in point of 
 style, it was somewhat high and florid, perhaps even bordering 
 upon an excess. At the time however of recital, this gave me 
 less offence, because it seemed, as it were, to palliate the dryness 
 of what had passed before, and in some sort to supply the place 
 of an epilogue to our conference. Not however to anticipate, he 
 began reading as follows : 
 
 "O Art ! thou distinguishing attribute and honour of human 
 kind ! who art not only able to imitate Nature in her graces, but 
 (what is more) even to adorn her with graces of thy own. q 
 Possessed of thee, the meanest genius grows deserving, and has 
 a just demand for a portion of our esteem. Devoid of thee, the 
 brightest of our kind lie lost and useless, and are but poorly dis- 
 tinguished from the most despicable and base. When we in- 
 habited forests in common with brutes, nor otherwise known 
 from them than by the figure of our species, thou taughtest us 
 to assert the sovereignty of our nature, and to assume that 
 empire for which Providence intended us. Thousands of utilities 
 owe their birth to thee ; thousands of elegancies, pleasures, and 
 joys, without which life itself would be but an insipid possession. 
 
 " Wide and extensive is the reach of thy dominion. No element 
 is there either so violent or so subtle, so yielding or so sluggish, 
 as by the powers of its nature to be superior to thy direction. 
 Thou dreadest not the fierce impetuosity of fire, but compellest 
 its violence to be both obedient and useful. By it thou softenest 
 the stubborn tribe of minerals, so as to be formed and moulded 
 into shapes innumerable. Hence weapons, armour, coin ; and 
 previous to these, and other thy works and energies, hence all 
 those various tools and instruments which empower thee to 
 proceed to further ends more excellent. Nor is the subtle air 
 less obedient to thy power, whether thou wiliest it to be a 
 minister to our pleasure, or utility. At thy command it giveth 
 birth to sounds, which charm the soul with all the powers of 
 harmony. Under thy instruction it moves the ship over seas, 
 while that yielding element, where otherwise we sink, even water 
 itself is by thee taught to bear us ; the vast ocean to promote 
 that intercourse of nations, which ignorance would imagine it 
 was destined to intercept. To say how thy influence is seen on 
 earth, would be to teach the meanest what he knows already. 
 Suffice it but to mention fields of arable and pasture ; lawns 
 
 1 This alludes to a capital distinction of rhetoric, moral virtue, &c., finish the mental, 
 
 art, taken from a view of her different Where she does not finish nature, she 
 
 ends. Art may in some respects be said to imitates her, as in sculpture, painting, 
 
 finish nature ; in others, to imitate her. She dramatic poetry, &c. 
 
 finishes her, where nature, having given the Aristotle expresses the above sentiment 
 
 powers, is of herself unable to give them as follows: "OAws re ^ r^X^ T& n*v eirt- 
 
 perfection. It is thus the gymnastic arts, re\?, &> y Qvcris a.Sware'i airfp 
 
 dancing, riding &c., finish the corporeal ra 5e /ui/ueTrat. Physic. 1. ii. c. 8. 
 powers; while the sublimer arts, logic, 
 
22 CONCERNING ART: 
 
 and groves, and gardens, and plantations; cottages, villages, 
 castles, towns ; palaces, temples, and spacious cities. 
 
 " Nor does thy empire end in subjects thus inanimate. Its 
 power also extends through the various race of animals, who 
 either patiently submit to become thy slaves, or are sure to find 
 thee an irresistible foe. The faithful dog, the patient ox, the 
 generous horse, and the mighty elephant, are content all to 
 receive their instructions from thee, and readily to lend their 
 natural instincts or strength, to perform those offices which thy 
 occasions call for. If there be found any species which are 
 serviceable when dead, thou suggestest the means to investigate 
 and take them. If any be so savage as to refuse being tamed, 
 or of natures fierce enough to venture an attack, thou teachest 
 us to scorn their brutal rage ; to meet, repel, pursue, and 
 conquer. 
 
 " And such, Art ! is thy amazing influence, when thou art 
 employed only on these inferior subjects ; on natures inanimate, 
 or, at best, irrational. But whenever thou choosest a subject 
 more noble, and settest to the cultivating of Mind itself, then it 
 is thou becomest truly amiable and divine ; the ever-flowing 
 source of those sublimer beauties of which no subject but Mind 
 alone is capable. Then it is thou art enabled to exhibit to man- 
 kind the admired tribe of poets and of orators ; the sacred train 
 of patriots and of heroes ; the godlike list of philosophers and 
 legislators ; the forms of virtuous and equal polities, where pri- 
 vate welfare is made the same with public ; where crowds them- 
 selves prove disinterested and brave, and virtue is made a national 
 and popular characteristic. 
 
 " Hail ! sacred source of all these wonders ! Thyself instruct 
 me to praise thee worthily, through whom, whatever we do is 
 done with elegance and beauty ; without whom, what we do is 
 ever graceless and deformed. Venerable power ! By what name 
 shall I address thee ? Shall I call thee Ornament of Mind ; or 
 art thou more truly Mind itself? It is Mind thou art, most 
 perfect Mind ; not rude, untaught, but fair and polished : in 
 such thou dwellest, of such thou art the form ; nor is it a thing 
 more possible to separate thee from such, than it would be to 
 separate thee from thy own existence." 
 
 My good friend was now arrived to a very exalted pitch, and 
 was pursuing his panegyric with great warmth and fluency, 
 when we entered the suburbs, our walk being near finished. 
 The people, as we went along, began to look at us with surprise ; 
 which I, who was less engaged, having leisure to observe, thought 
 it was proper to admonish my friend, that he should give over. 
 He immediately ceased reading ; put his papers up ; and thanked 
 me for stopping him at so seasonable a time. 
 
 VI. What remained of our discourse passed off with less 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 23 
 
 1 Page 16. 
 
 u That is to say, rb Kivfjffav., TJ "TAr?, rb 
 ov eVe/ca, rb ElSos. 
 
 Thus Seneca, in his 65th epistle: Causara 
 Aristoteles putat tribus modis dici. Prima, 
 inquit, causa est ipsa materia, sine qua 
 nihil potest effici. Secunda, opifex. Tertia, 
 forma quae unicuique operi imponitur, tan- 
 quam statuae ; nam hanc Aristoteles idos 
 (elSos) vocat. Quarta quoque, inquit, his 
 accedit, propositum totius operis. 
 
 Quid sit hoc, aperiam. JEs priraa statuae 
 causa est : nunquam enim facta esset, nisi 
 fuisset id, ex quo ea funderetur, ducere- 
 turve. Secunda causa, artifex est : non po- 
 tuisset enim ses illud in habitum statuse 
 figurari, nisi accessissent perit83 manus. 
 Tertia causa est forma : neque enim statua 
 ista Doryphoros aut Diadumenos vocaretur, 
 nisi haec illi esset impressa facies. Quarta 
 causa est, faciendi propositum : nam nisi 
 hoc fuisset, facta non esset. Quid est pro- 
 positum ? Quod invitavit artificem, quod 
 ille secutus fecit. Vel pecunia est hoc, si 
 venditurus fabricavit ; vel gloria, si laboravit 
 in nomen ; vel religio, si donum templo 
 paravit. Ergo et haec causa est, propter 
 quam fit. An non putas inter causas facti 
 operis numerandum, quo remoto factum non 
 
 Aristotle's own words are as follow : 
 "Eva /uei/ ovv rpoTrov aXriov \eyerai rb e 
 ov yiverai rt tvvndpxovros ' olov, 
 
 cos rb re\os' rovro S' forl rb ov 
 dlov rov irepiirartiv rj ijyleia ' Sid rl yap 
 TrepiirareT; (pa/Aty 'iva vyiaivr), Kal (lirov- 
 res ovrcas, olo/J-fOa O7ro5e5a>/ceVat rb alnov. 
 "In one manner that may be called a 
 cause, out of which, existing as a part of it, 
 any thing is made or compounded. Thus 
 is brass the cause of a statue, silver of a 
 cup, and so also the higher genera, in which 
 these are included, [as metal, the genus in- 
 cluding brass and silver ; body, the genus 
 including metal, &c. &c.] In another way, 
 the form and exemplar of any thing is its 
 cause ; that is to say, in other words, the 
 definition, the detail or narrative of its 
 essence, [that which, characterizing it to be 
 such a particular thing, distinguishes it from 
 all things else,] and of this definition the 
 several higher genera. Thus the cause of 
 the diapason, or octave, is the proportion of 
 two to one ; and more generally than that, 
 is number ; and is moreover the several 
 parts, out of which this definition is formed. 
 Add to this cause, that other, from whence 
 
 rapture, and was, indeed, no more than a kind of short recapitu- 
 lation. 
 
 He observed to me, that our inquiries had furnished out an 
 answer to four different questions. For thus, said he, if it be 
 asked us, What Art is ? We have to answer, u It is an habitual 
 power in man of becoming the cause of some effect, according 
 to a system of various and well-approved precepts." If it be 
 asked us, On what subject art operates ? We can answer, " On a 
 contingent which is within the reach of the human powers to 
 influence." If it be asked us, For what reason, for the sake of 
 what, art operates ? We may reply, " For the sake of some absent 
 good, relative to human life, and attainable by man, but superior 
 to his natural and uninstructed faculties." Lastly, if it be asked, 
 Where it is the operations of art end ? We may say, " Either in 
 some energy, or in some work." 
 
 He added, that if he were not afraid of the imputation of 
 pedantry, he could be almost tempted to say, that we had been 
 considering art, with respect to those four causes, so celebrated 
 once among professors in the schools. By these, upon inquiry, I 
 found that he meant certain causes, called the efficient/ the 
 material, 5 the final/ and the formal." 
 
 rov avo'pidvTos, Kal 6 apyvpos rrjs QidXrjs, 
 Kal ret, rovrwv y4vi}. "A\\ov Se, rb ?5os, 
 Kal rb TrapdSfiy/j.a' rovro 8' sffrlv 6 \6yos 
 6 rov rl 3\v elvai, Kal ra rovrov 761/77 
 oiov rov 5ia Traffoav ra 5vo irpbs IV, Kal 
 o\cos 6 apiQfj.bs, Kal ra pepr) ra eV r$ 
 \6y(f. v Eri, oOev 77 o-pxb T ^ 5 fAtrafiohys 
 
 f) TTpWTT?, f) 7) T7JS 'TjpCfJ.^O'fUS' otoV 6 00V- 
 
 \fvo~as, atnov' Kal 6 irarfyp, rov reKVov' 
 Kal oAws rb iroiovv rov iroiovfj.evov, Kal rb 
 
24 CONCERNING ART. 
 
 But here, without further explaining, he begged for the present 
 that we might conclude, being sufficiently, as he said, fatigued 
 with the length of what had passed already. The request was 
 reasonable, I could not but own ; and thus ended our conversa- 
 tion, and soon after it our walk. 
 
 the original principle of change, or of ceasing 
 to change ; as, for instance, the person who 
 deliberates, is the cause of that which re- 
 sults from such deliberation ; the father is 
 the cause of the son ; and, in general, the 
 efficient, of the thing effected ; the power 
 changing, of the thing changed. Besides 
 these causes, there is that also which is 
 considered as the end ; that is to say, the 
 
 cause, for the sake of which the thing is 
 done. Thus the cause of exercising is 
 health. For if it be asked, Why does he 
 use exercise ? We say, To preserve his 
 health : and having said thus much, we 
 think we have given the proper cause.' 1 ' 
 Arist. Natur. Auscult. 1. ii. c. 3. 
 See also p. 20. 
 
A DISCOURSE 
 
 ON 
 
 MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. DESIGN AND DISTRIBUTION OF THE WHOLE. 
 PREPARATION FOR THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS. 
 
 ALL arts have this in common, that they respect human life. 
 Some contribute to its necessities, as medicine and agriculture ; 
 others to its elegance, as music, painting, and poetry. 
 
 Now, with respect to these two different species, the necessary 
 arts seem to have been prior in time ; a if it be probable, that 
 
 a The following extract from a manu- 
 script of Philoponus may help to shew the 
 comparative priority of arts and sciences, 
 by shewing (according to this author) the 
 order of their revival in a new-formed 
 society. Such society he supposes to have 
 arisen from scattered individuals again as- 
 sembling themselves, after former societies 
 had, by various incidents of war, famine, 
 inundation, and the like, been dissipated 
 and destroyed. 
 
 Having spoken of the effects of Deuca- 
 lion's flood, he proceeds as follows : Ovroi 
 ovv ol irfpi\ei(pf)vres, ^ e%oj/Tes odev av 
 rpaQftev, irv6ovv VTT' 01/07/075 ra irpbs 
 Xptiav, olov rb aX'fjdetv /j.v\ais alrov, ^ rb 
 (TTreipeti/, f ri roiovrov &\\o' Kal /coAe<roi> 
 rfyv roiavnjv eirivoiav o~o<piav, r^jv els ra 
 avayKaia rov fitov rb Aua-treAes Qevpiff* 
 
 Ud\iv 
 
 t us 
 
 TO.S 
 
 , aAAet /cot 
 
 Kal affreiov irpoiovffas' Kal rovro iraXiv 
 (Toty'iav *c6/cAij/ca(rtj/, Kal rbv 
 o)s rb, 
 
 ....... ffofpbs tfpape 
 
 Eu et'Scbs (ro(pir]s .... 
 v-rroO^/j.oavvrifft 8' 'A^i/rys e?7rey, CTTCI Sia. 
 
 irpbs ra 
 
 Kal i^fvpov v6p.ovs, Kal travra 
 ra <rvvi<rrS>vra ras ir6\fis' Kal rainr^v 
 irciAtP rty firivoiav ffoipiav e'/foAeaa^* 
 roiovroi jap tfffav ol firra <ro<poi, Tro\iriKas 
 nvas aperas fvpAvrts. 
 
 Elra \onrbv, 68(2 irpo'iovres, Kal CTT' aura 
 ra (rctJ/iaro, Kal rfyv Srj^iovpybv avrSav 
 Trpori\Qov (ptiffiv, Kal ra^rtjv ti$iK<ar*pov 
 tyvcriK^v e/caAetra^ 6fwpiav, Kal o~o<povs 
 rovs rty roiavryv p.^n6vras aKtyiv. 
 
 TeAeyraTov S' TT' avra \onrbv f(p6a<rav 
 ra 0e?a, Kal yTrep/c^crjUto, Kal a/xfTetjSArjra 
 irarreAws, /cot rty rovrcav Tvwcriv Kvpturd- 
 ri]V ffo<ptau uv6p.ao'av. 
 
 " These, therefore, that were thus left, not 
 having whence they could support them- 
 selves, began through necessity to contrive 
 things relative to immediate want, such as 
 the grinding of corn by mills, or the sowing 
 it, or something else of like kind ; and such 
 contrivance, discovering what was conducive 
 to the necessaries of life, they called wisdom ; 
 and him a wise man, who had been the 
 contriver. 
 
 " Again, they contrived arts (as Homer 
 says) 
 
 By precepts of Minerva ; 
 that is, not only those arts that stop at the 
 
26 
 
 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 men consulted how to live and to support themselves, before 
 they began to deliberate how to render life agreeable. Nor is 
 
 necessity of life, but those also that advance 
 as far as the fair and elegant : and this, too, 
 they called wisdom ; and the inventor, a 
 wise man. Thus the poet : 
 
 The work 
 
 ''Twas a wise artist framed, his wisdom taught 
 By precepts of Minerva. 
 The last words are added, because, from the 
 transcendence of the inventions, they re- 
 ferred their contrivance to a divinity. 
 
 " Again, they turned their eyes to matters 
 political, and found out laws, and the se- 
 veral things that constitute cities, or civil 
 communities : and this contrivance in its 
 turn they called wisdom, and of this sort 
 were those celebrated seven wise men, the 
 inventors of certain virtues political. 
 
 "After this, still advancing in a road, 
 they proceeded to corporeal substances, and 
 to nature, their efficient cause ; and this 
 speculation, by a more specific name, they 
 called natural speculation, and those persons 
 wise, who pursued such inquiries. 
 
 " Last of all, they attained even to 
 beings divine, supramundane, and wholly 
 unchangeable ; and the knowledge of these 
 they named the most excellent wisdom." 
 
 A few observations on this important 
 passage may not perhaps be improper. 
 
 Our first observation is, that though we 
 give it from Philoponus, yet is it by him 
 (as he informs us) taken from a work of 
 Aristocles, an ancient Peripatetic, entitled, 
 riepi ^i\ocro(j)ias, "Concerning Philosophy." 
 Some, indeed, have conjectured, that for 
 Aristocles, we ought to read Aristoteles, 
 because the last published a work under 
 this title, which he quotes himself in his 
 treatise De Anima. Be this as it may, 
 the extract itself is valuable, not only for 
 its matter, but for being the fragment of a 
 treatise now no longer extant. 
 
 Our next observation is, that by " matters 
 political,' 1 in the third paragraph, the author 
 means, not the first associations of mankind, 
 for these were prior to almost every thing 
 else, and were not referable to art, but to 
 the innate impulse of the social principle : 
 he means, on the contrary, those more ex- 
 quisite and artificial forms, given to societies 
 already established, in order to render them 
 happy, and rescue and preserve them from 
 tyrannic power. Such was the polity given 
 by Lycurgus to the Lacedaemonians, by 
 Solon to the Athenians, by Numa to the 
 Romans, &c. Those great and good men, 
 in meditating their institutions, had the 
 same sentiment with Alcidamas, according 
 to that noble fragment of his, preserved 
 in the scholiast upon Aristotle's Rhetoric, 
 
 'E\fv9epovs o</>f)Ke travras Ofds" ouSeW 
 $ov\ov ?) (fiixTis TreTroiTj/ce*/, " God hath sent 
 forth all men free ; nature hath made no 
 man a slave." 
 
 Our third observation is, that by "the 
 most excellent science," in the last paragraph, 
 is meant the science of causes, and, above 
 all others, of causes efficient and final, as 
 these necessarily imply pervading reason, 
 and superintending wisdom. This science, 
 as men were naturally led to it from the 
 contemplation of effects, which effects were 
 the tribe of beings natural or physical, was, 
 from being thus subsequent to these phy- 
 sical inquiries, called metaphysical ; but 
 with a view to itself, and the transcendent 
 eminence of its object, was more properly 
 called T) Trpdr-n <J>i\o(ro<pia f " the first phi- 
 losophy." 
 
 Our fourth observation is on the order of 
 these inventions ; namely, arts necessary, 
 arts elegant, arts political, science phy- 
 sical, science metaphysical ; in all, five 
 habits, or modes of wisdom. The necessary 
 arts it is evident must on all accounts have 
 come first. When these were once esta- 
 blished, the transition to the elegant was 
 easy and obvious. Inventions of necessity, 
 by the superadditions of despatch, facility, 
 and the like, soon ripened into inventions 
 of convenience ; and again these, having in 
 their very nature a certain beauty and 
 grace, easily suggested inventions of pure 
 and simple elegance. 
 
 That the legislators, though in rank and 
 genius far superior to all natural philo- 
 sophers, should come before them in point 
 of time, is owing to the nature of their 
 subject, which had a more immediate con- 
 nection with man, and human happiness. 
 It was not, indeed, till societies were 
 thoroughly established, and peace had been 
 well secured both internally and externally, 
 that men had leisure, or even inclination, 
 to reflect on the objects round them, or to 
 recognise that vast mansion in which they 
 found themselves existing. 
 
 Lastly, as the tremendous part of phy- 
 sical events led weak minds, who could not 
 resolve them, into the abyss of dark and 
 dreary superstition ; so those of the same 
 kind, which had beauty and order, being in 
 their turn equally striking, and equally ob- 
 jects of admiration, led strong and generous 
 minds into principles the very reverse. 
 They conceived it probable, as their own 
 views were limited, that, even where beauty 
 and order were not to them apparent, they 
 might still in others' views have a most real 
 existence. Further, as these observers could 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 27 
 
 this, indeed, unconfirmed by fact, there being no nation known 
 so barbarous and ignorant, as where the rudiments of these ne- 
 cessary arts are not in some degree cultivated. And hence pos- 
 sibly they may appear to be the more excellent and worthy, as 
 having claim to a preference, derived from their seniority. 
 
 The arts, however, of elegance cannot be said to want pre- 
 tensions, if it be true, that nature framed us for something more 
 than mere existence. Nay, further/ if well-being be clearly 
 preferable to mere-being, and this without it be but a thing con- 
 temptible, they may have reason perhaps to aspire even to a | 
 superiority. But enough of this ; to come to our purpose. 
 
 II. The design of this discourse is to treat of music, painting, s 
 and poetry ; to consider in what they agree, and in what they 
 differ ; and which, upon the whole, is more excellent than the 
 other two. 
 
 In entering upon this inquiry, it is first to be observed, that 
 the mind is made conscious of the natural world and its affections, 
 and of other minds and their affections, by the several organs of 
 the senses. By the same organs, these arts exhibit to the mind 
 imitations, and imitate either parts or affections of this natural 
 world, or else the passions, energies, and other affections of 
 minds. There is this difference, however, between these arts 
 and nature ; that nature passes to the percipient through all the 
 
 perceive nothing done either by themselves, 
 or those of their own species, which, if it 
 in the least aspired to utility, or beauty, 
 was not necessarily the effect of a conscious 
 and intelligent cause, they were, from the 
 superior utility and beauty of physical 
 effects, induced to infer a conscious and in- 
 telligent cause of these, far superior to 
 themselves ; a cause, which from the uni- 
 versality of these events, as well as from 
 their union and sympathy, was not, as are 
 the sons of men, a multitude of limited 
 causes, but a simple cause, universal and 
 one ; a cause, too, which, from the never- 
 ceasing of its events, was not, like the same 
 human beings, an intermittent cause, but a 
 cause, ever operating, ever in energy. 
 
 We see, therefore, the reason why this 
 first philosophy was subsequent in point of 
 time to physical speculation, and why of 
 course to the other habits or modes of 
 wisdom here enumerated, though in its 
 own dignity and importance far superior to 
 them all. 
 
 Our fifth observation is, that as a nation 
 may be said to be in a state of perfection, 
 which is in the full possession of all these 
 habits, or modes of wisdom ; so those na- 
 tions are nearest to perfection, that possess 
 them in the greatest number, or in a state 
 of the <rivftest maturity. 
 
 A man of ingenuity might find rational 
 amusement from this speculation, by com- 
 paring the same nation, as to these matters, 
 either with itself in different periods, or 
 with its neighbours in the same periods, 
 either past or present. He might, for ex- 
 ample, compare ancient Britain with an- 
 cient Greece ; present Britain with present 
 Greece ; Britain in the age of crusades, 
 with Britain in the age of Elizabeth ; pre- 
 sent Britain with her colonies, with Italy, 
 France, Holland, and the enlightened coun- 
 tries ; with Spain, Portugal, Barbary, &c. 
 But this we leave, as foreign to our work, 
 and drawing us into a theory, which merits 
 a better place than an occasional note. 
 
 b Ou rb ?)V irepl TrAefoTou ironjTeov t 
 'AAAa rb eS ffiv* 
 
 Plat, in Critone. 
 
 c To explain some future observations, 
 it will be proper here to remark, that the 
 mind from these materials thus brought 
 together, and from its own operations on 
 them, and in consequence of them, becomes 
 fraught with ideas ; and that many minds 
 so fraught, by a sort of compact assigning 
 to each idea some sound to be its mark 
 or symbol, were the first inventors and 
 founders of language. See Hermes, lib. iii. 
 cap. 3, 4. 
 
28 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 senses ; whereas these arts use only two of them, that of seeing 
 and that of hearing. And hence it is, that the sensible objects, 
 or media, through which they imitate, d can be such only as 
 these two senses are framed capable of perceiving; and these 
 media are motion, sound, colour, and figure. 
 
 Painting, having the eye for its organ, cannot be conceived to 
 imitate, but through the media of visible objects. And further, 
 its mode of imitating being always motionless, there must be 
 subtracted from these the medium of motion. It remains, then, 
 that colour and figure are the only media through which painting 
 imitates. 
 
 Music, passing to the mind through the organ of the ear, can 
 imitate only by sounds and motions. 
 
 Poetry, having the ear also for its organ, as far as words are 
 considered to be no more than mere sounds, can go no further in 
 imitating, than may be performed by sound and motion. But 
 then, as these its sounds stand by compact for the various ideas, 6 
 with which the mind is fraught, it is enabled by this means to 
 imitate, as far as language can express ; and that it is evident 
 will, in a manner, include all things. 
 
 Now from hence may be seen, how these arts agree, and how 
 they differ. 
 
 They agree, by being all mimetic or imitative. 
 
 They differ, as they imitate by different media : painting, by 
 figure and colour ; music, by sound and motion ; painting and 
 music, by media which are natural ; poetry, for the greatest part, 
 by a medium which is artificial/ 
 
 III. As to that art, which, up'on the whole, is most excellent 
 of the three, it must be observed, that among these various 
 media of imitating, some will naturally be more accurate, some 
 less ; some will best imitate one subject, some another. Again, 
 among the number of subjects there will be naturally also a 
 difference as to merit and demerit. There will be some sublime, 
 
 d To prevent confusion, it must be ob- r e See note c, page 27. 
 served, that in all these arts there is a dif- f A figure painted, or a composition of 
 
 ference between the sensible media, through musical sounds, have always a natural re- 
 
 which they imitate, and the subjects imi- lation to that of which they are intended 
 tated. The sensible media, through which v to be the resemblance. But a description 
 they imitate, must be always relative to * in words has rarely any such natural rela- 
 
 that sense, by which the particular art ap- tion to the several ideas, of which those 
 
 plies to the mind ; but the subject imitated words are the symbols. None, therefore, 
 
 may be foreign to that sense, and beyond understand the description, but those who 
 
 the power of its perception. Painting, for speak the language. On the contrary, 
 
 instance, (as is shewn in this chapter,) has musical and picture-imitations are intelli- 
 
 no sensible media, through which it operates, gible to all men. 
 
 except colour and figure : but as to sub- Why it is said, that poetry is not uni- 
 
 jects, it may have motions, sounds, moral versally, but only for the greater part 
 
 affections, and actions ; none of which are artificial, see below, chap, iii., where what 
 
 either colours or figures, but which, how- natural force it has, is examined and esti- 
 
 ever, are all capable of being imitated mated, 
 through them. See chap. ii. notes z',.;, k. 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 29 
 
 and some low ; some copious, and some short ; some pathetic, 
 and others void of passion ; some formed to instruct, and others 
 not capable of it. 
 
 Now from these two circumstances, that is to say, from the 
 accuracy of the imitation, and the merit of the subject imitated, 
 the question, concerning which art is most excellent, must be 
 tried and determined. 
 
 This, however, cannot be done, without a detail of particulars, 
 that so there may be formed, on every part, just and accurate 
 comparisons. 
 
 To begin, therefore, with painting. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON THE SUBJECTS WHICH PAINTING IMITATES. ON THE SUBJECTS WHICH 
 MUSIC IMITATES. COMPARISON OP MUSIC WITH PAINTING. 
 
 THE fittest subjects for painting, are all such things and incidents 
 as are peculiarly characterized by figure and colour. g 
 
 Of this kind are the whole mass of things inanimate and 
 vegetable ; h such as flowers, fruits, buildings, landscapes : the 
 various tribes of animal figures ; such as birds, beasts, herds, 
 flocks : the motions and sounds peculiar to each animal species, 
 when accompanied with configurations, which are obvious and 
 remarkable: 1 the human body in all its appearances, (as male, 
 female ; young, old ; handsome, ugly,) and in all its attitudes, 
 (as lying, sitting, standing, &c.:) the natural sounds peculiar 
 to the human species, (such as crying, laughing, hallooing, &c. : j ) 
 
 s Page 28. motions as the swimming of many kinds of 
 
 h The reason is, that these things are fish, or in such sounds as the purring of a 
 
 almost wholly known to us "by their colour cat, because here is no such special con- 
 
 and figure : besides, they are as motionless, figuration to be perceived. Homer, in his 
 
 for the most part, in nature, as in the imi- shield, describing the picture of a bull 
 
 tation. seized by two lions, says of the bull, 6 5e 
 
 1 Instances of this kind are the flying /uaicpa /xejuv/c&s w EA/cero, "he, bellowing 
 
 of birds, the galloping of horses, the roaring loudly, was dragged along." Where Eus- 
 
 of lions, the crowing of cocks : and the tathius, in commenting on this bellowing, 
 
 reason is, that though to paint motion or says, us eSrjAou rep ^Tj/^art, "as he (the 
 
 sound be impossible, yet the motions and bull) made manifest (in the picture) by 
 
 sounds here mentioned having an immediate his figure or attitude." Bust, in J. 5. p. 
 
 and natural connection with a certain visible 1224. 
 
 configuration of the parts, the mind, from J The reason is of the same kind as that 
 
 a prospect of this configuration, conceives given in the note immediately preceding : 
 
 insensibly that which is concomitant ; and and by the same rule, the observation must 
 
 hence it is, that, by a sort of fallacy, the be confined to natural sounds only. In 
 
 sounds and motions appear to be painted language, few of the speakers know the 
 
 also. On the contrary, not so in such configurations which attend it. 
 
so 
 
 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 r 
 
 all energies, passions, and affections of the soul, being in any 
 degree more intense or violent than ordinary : k all actions and 
 events, whose integrity or wholeness depends upon a short and 
 self-evident succession of incidents; 1 or if the succession be ex- 
 tended, then such actions, at least, whose incidents are all along, 
 during that succession, similar: 111 all actions which, being quali- 
 fied as above, open themselves into a large variety of circum- 
 stances, concurring all in the same point of time:" all actions 
 which are known, and known universally, rather than actions 
 newly invented, or known but to few. 
 
 And thus much as to the subjects of painting. 
 
 II. In music, the fittest subjects of imitation are all such things 
 and incidents as are most eminently characterized by motion and 
 sound. P 
 
 Motion may be either slow or swift, even or uneven, broken 
 
 k The reason is still of the same kind, 
 viz. from their visible effects on the body : 
 they naturally produce either to the counte- 
 nance a particular redness or paleness, or a 
 particular modification of its muscles, or else 
 to the limbs a particular attitude. Now all 
 these effects are solely referable to colour 
 and figure, the two grand sensible media 
 peculiar to painting. See Raphael's cartoons 
 of St. Paul at Athens, and of his striking 
 the sorcerer Elymas blind ; see also the 
 crucifixion of Polycrates, and the sufferings 
 of the consul Regulus, both by Salvator Rosa. 
 
 1 For, of necessity, every picture is a 
 punctum temporis, or " instant." 
 
 m Such, for instance, as the storm at sea ; 
 whose incidents of vision may be nearly all 
 included in foaming waves, a dark sky, 
 ships out of their erect posture, and men 
 hanging upon the ropes: or as a battle ; 
 which, from beginning to end, presents no- 
 thing else than blood, fire, smoke, and dis- 
 order. Now such events may be well 
 imitated all at once ; for how long soever 
 they last, they are but repetitions of the 
 same. Nicias, the painter, recommended 
 much the same subjects, viz. a sea-fight, or 
 a land-battle of cavalry ; his reasons too are 
 much the same with those mentioned in the 
 following note. He concludes with a maxim, 
 (little regarded by his successors, however 
 important,) that the subject itself is as much 
 a part of the painter's art, as the poet's 
 fable is a part of poetry. See Demetrius 
 Phal. p. 53. edit. Oxon. 
 
 n For painting is not bounded in exten- 
 sion, as it is in duration. Besides, it seems 
 true in every species of composition, that, 
 as far as perplexity and confusion may be 
 avoided, and the wholeness of the piece may 
 be preserved clear and intelligible, the more 
 ample the magnitude, and the greater the 
 
 variety ; the greater also, in proportion, the 
 beauty and perfection. Noble instances of 
 this are the pictures above mentioned in 
 note k. See Aristot. Poet. c. 7. 'O Se 
 K0.6' avTT]V (pvaij' TOV Trpdy/^aros opos, ael 
 /iev, etc. See also Characteristics, vol. i. 
 p. 143. and Bossu, book i. c. 16. L'Achille 
 d'Homere est si grand, &c. 
 
 The reason is, that a picture being (as 
 has been said) but a point or instant in a 
 * story well known, the spectator's memory 
 will supply the previous and the subsequent : 
 but this cannot be done where such know- 
 ledge is wanting. And therefore it may be 
 justly questioned, whether the most cele- 
 brated subjects, borrowed by painting from 
 history, would have been any of them in- 
 telligible through the medium of painting 
 only, supposing history to have been silent, 
 and to have given no additional informa- 
 tion. 
 
 It may be here added, that Horace, con- 
 formably to this reasoning, recommends, 
 even to poetic imitation, a known story be- 
 fore an unknown : 
 
 Tuque 
 
 Rectius Iliacum carmen deducts in actus, 
 Quam si prqferres ignota, indictaque primus. 
 
 Art. Poet. v. 128. 
 
 And, indeed, as the being understood to 
 others, either hearers or spectators, seems 
 to be a common requisite to all mimetic 
 arts whatever, (for to those who understand 
 them not, they are in fact no mimetic arts,) 
 it follows, that perspicuity must be essential 
 to them all ; and that no prudent artist 
 would neglect, if it were possible, any just 
 advantage to obtain this end. Now there 
 can be no advantage greater than the noto- 
 riety of the subject imitated. 
 P Page 28. 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 31 
 
 or continuous ; sound may be either soft or loud, high or low. 
 Wherever, therefore, any of these species of motion or sound 
 may be found in an eminent (not a moderate or mean) degree, 
 there will be room for musical imitation. 
 
 Thus, in the natural or inanimate world, music may imitate 
 the glidings, murmurings, tossings, roarings, and other accidents 
 of water, as perceived in fountains, cataracts, rivers, seas, &c.; 
 the same of thunder ; the same of winds, as well the stormy as 
 the gentle. In the animal world, it may imitate the voice of 
 some animals, but chiefly that of singing birds ; it may also , 
 faintly copy some of their motions. In the human kind, it can 
 also imitate some motions' 1 and sounds ; r and of sounds, those 
 most perfectly, which are expressive of grief and anguish. 8 
 
 And thus much as to the subjects which music imitates. 
 
 III. It remains, then, that we compare these two arts together. 
 And here, indeed, as to musical imitation in general, it must be 
 confessed, that, as it can, from its genius, imitate only sounds 
 and motions ; as there are not many motions, either in the 
 animal or in the inanimate world, which are exclusively peculiar, 
 even to any species, and scarcely any to an individual ; as there 
 are no natural sounds, which characterize, at least, lower than a 
 species, (for the natural sounds of individuals are in every species 
 the same :) further, as music does but imperfectly imitate even 
 these sounds and motions ;* on the contrary, as figures, postures 
 of figures, and colours characterize, not only every sensible spe- 
 cies, but even every individual, and, for the most part, also the 
 various energies and passions of every individual : u and further, 
 as painting is able, with the highest accuracy and exactness, to . 
 imitate all these colours and figures, and while musical imitation 
 pretends, at most, to no more than the raising of ideas similar, 
 itself aspires to raise ideas the very same : in a word, as paint- 
 ing, in respect of its subjects, is equal to the noblest part of 
 imitation, the imitating regular actions consisting of a whole and 
 parts ; and of such imitation, music is utterly incapable : from 
 all this it must be confessed, that musical imitation is greatly 
 below that of painting, and that at best it is but an imperfect 
 thing. 
 
 As to the efficacy, therefore, of music, it must be derived from 
 
 9 As the walk of the giant Polypheme, this kind is the chorus of Baal's priests in 
 
 in the pastoral of Acis and Galatea : the oratorio of Deborah : 
 
 See what ample strides he takes, &c. Doleful tidings, how ye wound, &c. 
 
 r As the shouts of a multitude, in the ' The reason is, from the dissimilitude 
 
 coronation anthem of God save the king, between the sounds and motions of nature, 
 
 &c. and those of music. Musical sounds are all 
 
 The reason is, that this species of mu- produced from even vibration, most natural 
 
 sical imitation most nearly approaches na- from uneven ; musical motions are chiefly 
 
 ture : for grief, in most animals, declares definite in their measure, most natural are 
 
 itself by sounds, which are not unlike to indefinite, 
 
 long notes in the chromatic system. Of u See note k of this chapter. 
 
32 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 another source, which must be left for the present, to be con- 
 sidered of hereafter." 
 
 There remains to be mentioned, imitation by poetry. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON THE SUBJECTS WHICH POETRY IMITATES, BUT IMITATES ONLY 
 THROUGH NATURAL MEDIA, OR MERE SOUNDS. COMPARISON OP 
 POETRY IN THIS CAPACITY; FIRST WITH PAINTING, THEN WITH 
 MUSIC. 
 
 POETIC imitation includes every thing in it which is performed 
 either by picture-imitation or musical ; for its materials are 
 words, and words are symbols by compact of all ideas. y 
 
 Further, as words, beside their being symbols by compact, are 
 also sounds variously distinguished by their aptness to be rapidly 
 or slowly pronounced, and by the respective prevalence of mutes, 
 liquids, or vowels, in their composition ; it will follow, that, be- 
 side their compact-relation, they will have likewise a natural 
 relation to all such things, between which and themselves there 
 is any natural resemblance : thus, for instance, there is natural 
 resemblance between all sorts of harsh and grating sounds. 
 There is, therefore, (exclusive of its signification,) a natural re- 
 lation between the sound of a vile hautboy, and of that verse in 
 Virgil, 2 
 
 Strident! miserum stipula disperdere carmen ; 
 
 or of that other in Milton, a 
 
 Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw. 
 
 So also between the smooth swift gliding of a river, and of that 
 verse in Horace, 5 
 
 at ille 
 Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis sevum. 
 
 And thus, in part, even poetic imitation has its foundation in 
 nature : but then this imitation goes not far ; and taken without 
 the meaning derived to the sounds from compact, is but little 
 intelligible, however perfect and elaborate. 
 
 II. If, therefore, poetry be compared with painting, in respect 
 of this its merely natural and inartificial resemblance, it may be 
 justly said, that inasmuch as of this sort of resemblance, poetry 
 (like music) has no other sources, than those two of sound and 
 motion ; inasmuch as it often wants these sources themselves, (for 
 
 Chapter vi. a In his Lycidas. 
 
 See note c, chap. i. b Epist. ii. 1. 1. ver. 42, 43. 
 
 Eel. iii. ver. 27. 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 33 
 
 numbers of words neither have, nor can have, any resemblance 
 to those ideas of which they are the symbols;) inasmuch as 
 natural sounds and motions, which poetry thus imitates, are 
 themselves but loose and indefinite accidents of those subjects 
 to which they belong, and consequently do but loosely and in- 
 definitely characterize them ; lastly, inasmuch as poetic sounds 
 and motions do but faintly resemble those of nature, which are 
 themselves confessed tc- be so imperfect and vague. From all 
 this it will -follow, (as it has already followed of music,) that 
 poetic imitation founded in mere natural resemblance is much 
 inferior to that of painting, and at best but very imperfect. 
 
 III. As to the preference which such poetic imitation may 
 claim before musical, or musical imitation before that, the merits 
 on each side may appear perhaps equal. They both fetch their 
 imitations from sound and motion . d Now music seems to imitate 
 nature better as to motion, and poetry as to sound. The reason 
 is, that in motions, music has a greater variety; 6 and in sounds, 
 those of poetry approach nearer to nature/ 
 
 If, therefore, in sound the one have the preference, in motion 
 the other, and the merit of sound and motion be supposed nearly 
 equal, it will follow, that the merit of the two imitations will be 
 nearly equal also. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ON THE SUBJECTS WHICH POETRY IMITATES, NOT BY MERE SOUNDS OR 
 NATURAL ME^JJjA, BUT BY WORDS SIGNIFICANT ; THE SUBJECTS AT 
 THE SAME TIME BEING SUCH, TO WHICH THE GENIUS OF EACH OF 
 THE OTHER TWO ARTS IS MOST PERFECTLY ADAPTED. ITS COMPARI- 
 SON IN THESE SUBJECTS, FIRST WITH PAINTING, THEN WITH MUSIC. 
 
 THE mimetic art of poetry has been hitherto considered, as 
 fetching its imitation from mere natural resemblance. In this it 
 has been shewn much inferior to painting, and nearly equal to 
 music. 
 
 c Page 31. compounded, can be made produce. 
 
 d Page 28. f Musical sounds are produced by even 
 
 e Music has no less than five different vibrations, which scarcely any natural 
 
 lengths of notes in ordinary use, reckoning sounds are : on the contrary, words are 
 
 from the semibreve to the semiquaver ; all the product of uneven vibration, and so are 
 
 which may be infinitely compounded, even most natural sounds ; add to this, that 
 
 in any one time, or measure. Poetry, on words are far more numerous than musical 
 
 the other hand, has but two lengths, or sounds. So that poetry, as to imitation by 
 
 quantities, a long syllable and a short, sound, seems to exceed music, not only in 
 
 (which is its half;) and all the variety of nearness of resemblance, but even in variety 
 
 verse arises from such feet and metres, as also. 
 these two species of syllables, by being 
 
34 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 It remains to be considered, what its merits are, when it 
 imitates not by mere natural sound, but by sound significant ; 
 by words, the compact symbols of all kinds of ideas. From 
 hence depends its genuine force. And here, as it is able to find 
 sounds expressive of every idea, so is there no subject either of 
 picture-imitation, or musical, to which it does not aspire ; all 
 things and incidents whatever being, in a manner, to be described 
 by words. ^ 
 
 Whether, therefore, poetry, in this its proper sphere, be equal 
 to the imitation of the other two arts, is the question at present 
 which comes in order to be discussed. 
 
 Now as subjects are infinite, and the other two arts are not 
 equally adapted to imitate all, it is proposed, first, to compare 
 poetry with them in such subjects to which they are most per- 
 fectly adapted. 
 
 II. To begin, therefore, with painting. A subject in which the 
 power of this art may be most fully exerted, (whether it be 
 taken from the inanimate, or the animal, or the moral world,) 
 must be a subject which is principally and eminently cha- 
 racterized by certain colours, figures, and postures of figures 
 whose comprehension depends not on a succession of events ; or 
 at least, if on a succession, on a short and self-evident one 
 I which admits a large variety of such circumstances, as all concur 
 / in the same individual point of time, and relate all to one prin- 
 ' cipal action. 
 
 As to such a subject, therefore, inasmuch as poetry is forced 
 to pass through the medium of compact, while painting applies 
 immediately through the medium of nature ; the one being 
 understood to all, the other to the speakers of a certain language 
 only : g inasmuch as natural operations must needs be more 
 affecting than artificial : inasmuch as painting helps our own 
 rude ideas by its own, which are consummate and wrought up to 
 the perfection of art ; while poetry can raise no other, than what 
 every mind is furnished with before : h inasmuch as painting shews 
 all the minute and various concurrent circumstances of the event 
 in the same individual point of time, as they appear in nature ; 
 while poetry is forced to want this circumstance of intelligibility, 
 by being ever obliged to enter into some degree of detail : inas- 
 much as this detail creates often the dilemma of either becoming 
 
 Note/, p. 28. curate thought upon what grace, heaven, 
 
 h When we read in Milton of Eve, that love, and dignity mean ; or ever enriched 
 
 Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, the mind with ideas of beauty, or asked 
 
 In ev'ry gesture dignity and love ; whence they are to be acquired, and by 
 
 we have an image, not of that Eve which what proportions they are constituted. On 
 
 Milton conceived, but of such an Eve only the contrary, when we view Eve as painted 
 
 as every one, by his own proper genius, is by an able painter, we labour under no 
 
 able to represent, from reflecting on those such difficulty ; because we have exhibited 
 
 ideas which he has annexed to these several before us the better conceptions of an artist, 
 
 sounds. The greater part, in the mean the genuine ideas of perhaps a Titian or a 
 
 time, have never perhaps bestowed one ac- Raphael. 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 
 
 35 
 
 tedious, to be clear ; or if not tedious, then obscure : lastly, in- 
 asmuch as all imitations more similar, more immediate, and more 
 intelligible, are preferable to those which are less so ; and for the 
 reasons above, the imitations of poetry are less similar, less imme- 
 diate, and less intelligible than those of painting. From all this 
 it will follow, that in all subjects, where painting can fully exert 
 itself, the imitations of painting are superior to those of poetry ; 
 and consequently, in all such subjects, that painting has the pre- 
 ference. 
 
 III. And now to compare poetry with music, allowing to 
 music the same advantage of a well-adapted subject, which has 
 already been allowed to painting in the comparison just pre- 
 ceding. 
 
 What such a subject is, has already been described. 1 And as 
 to preference, it must be confessed, that, inasmuch as musical 
 imitations, though natural, aspire not to raise the same ideas, 
 but only ideas similar and analogous ; k while poetic imitation, 
 though artificial, raises ideas the very same, inasmuch as the \ 
 definite and certain is ever preferable to the indefinite and uncer- 
 tain, and that more especially in imitations where the principal 
 delight ' is in recognising the thing imitated ; it will follow from 
 hence, that even in subjects the best adapted to musical imi- 
 tation, the imitation of poetry. will be still more excellent. 
 
 1 See chap. ii. sect. 2. 
 
 k Page 31. 
 
 1 That there is an eminent delight in 
 this very recognition itself, abstract from 
 any thing pleasing in the subject recognised, 
 is evident from hence, that, in all the 
 mimetic arts, we can be highly charmed 
 with imitations, at whose originals in na- 
 ture we are shocked and terrified. Such, 
 for instance, as dead bodies, wild beasts, 
 and the like. 
 
 The cause, assigned for this, seems to be 
 of the following kind. We have a joy, not 
 only in the sanity and perfection, but also 
 in the just and natural energies of our 
 several limbs and faculties. And hence, 
 among others, the joy in reasoning ; as 
 being the energy of that principal faculty, 
 our intellect or understanding. This joy 
 extends, not only to the wise, but to the 
 multitude. For all men have an aversion 
 to ignorance and error ; and in some degree, 
 however moderate, are glad to learn and to 
 inform themselves. 
 
 Hence, therefore, the delight arising from 
 
 these imitations ; as we are enabled, in each 
 of them, to exercise the reasoning faculty ; 
 and, by comparing the copy with the archi- 
 type in our minds, to infer that this is such 
 a thing, and that another: a fact remark- 
 able among children, even in their first and 
 earliest days. 
 
 T6 re yap /itjueTcrdaj, cr6fj.(pvrov rots 
 avdputirois tK Traitiwv ("ffrl, Kal rotirca 8ia<pe- 
 povffi ruv a\\ow C^ 
 
 fffri, Ka ras /j-affeis iroifirai 8ia 
 creajy ras irp&ras' Kal rb xa/petK rots 
 fj.ifjL-fnj.affi Ttdvras. ~S,Tjfj.f'iov 5e rovrov rb 
 TU>V epycov. *A yap avra 
 v, rovruv Tos cli<6vas ras 
 fj.d\i(rra TjKptj8a>/zevas, xaipo/j.fv Bewpovv- 
 res' oTov Bypicav re p.op<pas rwv aypicard- 
 T<av, Kal veKpwv. Atriar Se Kal TOUTOU, 
 '6ri fj.avBdvfiv ov p.6vov rots <f>i\off6(f>ois 
 TflSiffrov, a\\a Kal rois &\\ois dfJLoiws' 
 a\\' tirl jSpoxu KOivwvovffiv avrou. A<a 
 yap rovro xalpovai ras ef/coVas dpcavres, 
 '6ri ffvpfialvfi Oeupovvras navQdvew Kal 
 crv\\oyifcr6ai, rl eKaarrov' ofo*', Sri ouros 
 Arist. Poet. c. 4. 
 
 D 2 
 
3fi A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ON THE SUBJECTS WHICH POETRY IMITATES BY WORDS SIGNIFICANT, 
 BEING AT THE SAME TIME SUBJECTS NOT ADAPTED TO THE GENIUS OF 
 EITHER OF THE OTHER ARTS. THE NATURE OF THOSE SUBJECTS. 
 THE ABILITIES OF POETRY TO IMITATE THEM. COMPARISON OF 
 POETRY IN THESE SUBJECTS, FIRST WITH PAINTING, THEN WITH 
 MUSIC. 
 
 THE mimetic art of poetry has now been considered in two 
 views: first, as imitating by mere natural media; and in this it has 
 been placed on a level with music, but much inferior to painting. 
 It has been since considered as imitating through sounds signi- 
 ficant by compact, and that in such subjects respectively, where 
 painting and music have the fullest power to exert themselves. 
 Here to painting it has been held inferior, but to music it has 
 been preferred. 
 
 It remains to be considered, what other subjects poetry has 
 left, to which the genius of the other two arts is not so perfectly 
 adapted ; how far poetry is able to imitate them ; and whether, 
 from the perfection of its imitation, and the nature of the sub- 
 jects themselves, it ought to be called no more than equal to its 
 sister arts; or whether, on the whole, it should not rather be 
 called superior. 
 
 II. To begin, in the first place, by comparing it with painting. 
 
 The subjects of poetry, to which the genius of painting is not 
 adapted, are, all actions, whose whole is of so lengthened a 
 duration, rn that no point of time, in any part of that whole, can 
 be given fit for painting ; neither in its beginning, which will 
 teach what is subsequent ; nor in its end, which will teach what 
 is previous ; nor in its middle, which will declare both the pre- 
 vious and the subsequent. Also all subjects so framed, as to 
 lay open the internal constitution of man, and give us an insight 
 into characters," manners, passions, and sentiments. 
 
 The merit of these subjects is obvious. They must necessarily 
 
 ra For a just and accurate description of Sentiments are discoverable in all those 
 
 wholeness and unity, see Arist. Poet. chap, things, which are the proper business and 
 
 7 and 8 ; and Bossu, his best interpreter, end of speech or discourse. The chief 
 
 in his treatise on the Epic Poem, book ii. branches of this end are to assert and 
 
 chap. 9 1 1 . prove ; to solve and refute ; to express or 
 
 / B For a description of character, see be- excite passions ; to amplify incidents, and 
 
 low, note o, of this chapter. to diminish them. It is in these things, 
 
 As for manners, it may be said in general, therefore, that we must look for sentiment, 
 
 that a certain system of them makes a See Arist. Poet. c. 1 9 : "Effrt 5e Kara TT)V 
 
 character ; and that as these systems, by Aidi/otaf ravra, ocra virb rou \6yov Se? 
 
 being differently compounded, make each a Trapa(7Kva<r6rjvai. Mepir) Se TOUTOJJ', TO 
 
 different character, so is it that one man re airoSciKvvvat, Kal rb \veiv, KOI rb 
 
 truly differs from another. irdOri irapaa-Kevafeiv, Kal UTI p.4yfQos^ Kal 
 
 Passions are obvious ; pity, fear, anger, &c. fffj.iKp6ri\Ta. 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 37 
 
 of all be the most affecting, the most improving, and such of 
 which the mind has the strongest comprehension. 
 
 For as to the affecting part, if it be true, that all events more 
 or less affect us, as the subjects which they respect are more or 
 less nearly related to us, then surely those events must needs 
 be most affecting, to whose subjects we are of all the most 
 intimately related. Now such is the relation which we bear to 
 mankind ; and men and human actions are the subjects here 
 proposed for imitation. 
 
 As to improvement, there can be none surely (to man at 
 least) so great, as that which is derived from a just and decent 
 representation of human manners and sentiments. For what 
 can more contribute to give us that master-knowledge, without 
 which all other knowledge will prove of little or no utility ? 
 
 As to our comprehension, there is nothing certainly of which 
 we have so strong ideas, as of that which happens in the moral 
 or human world. For as to the internal part, or active prin- 
 ciple of the vegetable, we know it but obscurely ; because there 
 we can discover neither passion, nor sensation. In the animal 
 world, indeed, this principle is more seen, and that from the 
 passions and sensations which there declare themselves. Yet 
 all still rests upon the mere evidence of sense ; upon the force 
 only of external and unassisted experience. But in the moral 
 or human world, as we have a medium of knowledge far more 
 accurate than this, so from hence it is that we can comprehend 
 accordingly. 
 
 With regard, therefore, to the various eA r ents which happen 
 
 ' FNfiei 2ATTON. But further, be- the disasters being real, it can obtain the 
 
 sides obtaining this moral science from the same end. 
 
 contemplation of human life, an end com- It must, however, for all this, be con- 
 
 mon both to epic, tragic, and comic poetry, fessed, that an effect of this kind cannot 
 
 there is a peculiar end to tragedy, that of reasonably be expected, except among na- 
 
 eradicating the passions of pity and fear, tions, like the Athenians of old, who lived in 
 
 "Effrtv ovv rpaytySia p.ip.tiffis irpdl-etas a perpetual attendance upon these theatrical 
 
 (TTTouScuas Kal reAetas 5t' eAeou ical (j>6@ov representations. For it is not a single or 
 
 irepaivovcra rijv TWV Toiovrwv KaQrifj.a.rwv occasional application to these passions, but 
 
 KaQapffiv. Arist. Poet. c. 6. " Tragedy is a constant and uninterrupted, by which 
 
 the imitation of an action important and alone they may be lessened or removed, 
 perfect, through pity and fear working the It would be improper to conclude this 
 
 purgation of such-like passions." note, without observing, that the philosopher 
 
 There are none, it is evident, so devoid in this place by pity means not philan- 
 
 of these two passions, as those perpetually thropy, natural affection, a readiness to re- 
 
 conyersant, where the occasions of them are lieve others in their calamities and distress; 
 
 most frequent ; such, for instance, as the but, by pity, he means that senseless effe- 
 
 military men, the professors of medicine, minate consternation, which seizes weak 
 
 chirurgery, and the like. Their minds, by minds, on the sudden prospect of any thing 
 
 this intercourse, become, as it were, cal- disastrous ; which, in its more violent 
 
 lous ; gaining an apathy by experience, effects, is seen in shriekings, swoonings, &c. 
 
 which no theory can ever teach them. a passion, so far from laudable, or from 
 
 Now, that which is wrought in these operating to the good of others, that it is 
 
 men by the real disasters of life, may be certain to deprive the party, who labours 
 
 supposed wrought in others by the fictions under its influence, of all capacity to do the 
 
 of tragedy ; yet with this happy circum- least good office, 
 stance in favour of tragedy, that, without 
 
38 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 here, and the various causes by which they are produced ; in 
 other words, of all characters, manners, human passions, and 
 sentiments ; besides the evidence of sense, we have the highest 
 evidence additional, in having an express consciousness of some- 
 thing similar within ; of something homogeneous in the recesses 
 of our own minds ; in that which constitutes to each of us his 
 true and real self. 
 
 These, therefore, being the subjects, not adapted to the genius 
 of painting, it comes next to be considered, how far poetry can 
 imitate them. 
 
 And, here, that it has abilities clearly equal, cannot be 
 doubted ; as it has that for the medium of its imitation, through 
 which nature declares herself in the same subjects. For the 
 sentiments in real life are only known by men's discourse. !> 
 And the characters, manners, and passions of men, being the 
 prompters to what they say, it must needs follow, that their 
 discourse will be a constant specimen of those characters, 
 manners, and passions. 
 
 Format enim natura prius nos intus ad omnem 
 Fortunarum habitum ; juvat, aut impellit ad iram : 
 Post effert animi motus, interprete lingua. 1 
 
 Not only, therefore, language is an adequate medium of 
 imitation, but in sentiment it is the only medium; and in 
 manners and passions there is no other which can exhibit them 
 to us after that clear, precise, and definite way, as they in 
 nature stand allotted to the various sorts of men, and are found 
 to constitute the several characters of each/ 
 
 III. To compare, therefore, poetry, in these subjects, with 
 painting : inasmuch as no subjects of painting are wholly supe- 
 rior to poetry ; s while the subjects, here described, far exceed 
 the power of painting: inasmuch as they are, of all subjects, the 
 most affecting and improving, * and such of which we have the 
 
 P Page 36, note n. therefore, that recourse must be had, not to 
 
 i Hor. de Art. Poet. 108. painting, but to poetry. So^accurate a con- 
 
 r It is true, indeed, that (besides what is' ( ception of character can be gathered only 
 done by poetry) there is some idea of cha- from a succession of various and yet con- 
 racter, which even painting can communi- sistent actions ; a succession, enabling us 
 cate. Thus there is no doubt, but that to conjecture, what the person of the drama 
 such a countenance may be found by ^ will do in the future, from what already he 
 painters for ^Eneas, as would convey, upon | has done in the past. Now, to such an 
 view, a mild, humane, and yet a brave dis- = imitation, poetry only is equal ; because it 
 position. But then this idea would be is not bounded, like painting, to short, and, 
 vague and general. It would be concluded, as it were, instant events, but may imitate 
 only in the gross, that the hero was good, subjects of any duration whatever. See 
 As to that system of qualities peculiar to Arist. Poet. c. 6. "Errri Se $605 /xey rl> 
 ./Eneas only, and which alone properly con- TOIOVTOV, t> SrjAo? TT?J> vpoalpetriv OTTOM 
 Btitutes his true and real character, this ns la-rlv, Iv oTs OUK etrri 5rj\ov, el trpoai- 
 would still remain a secret, and be no way ptirai ^ -pevyei 6 \eyuv. See also the in- 
 discoverable. For how deduce it from the gcnious and learned Bossu, book iv. c. 4. 
 mere lineaments of a countenance ? Or, if 8 Pages 28 and 34. 
 it were deducible, how few spectators would ' Page 37. 
 there be found so sagacious? It is here, 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 39 
 
 strongest comprehension : further, inasmuch as poetry can most 
 accurately imitate them : u inasmuch as, besides all imitation, 
 there is a charm in poetry arising from its very numbers ; x 
 whereas painting has pretence to no charm, except that of 
 imitation only : lastly, (which will soon be shewn/) inasmuch as 
 poetry is able to associate music as a most powerful ally, of 
 which assistance painting is utterly incapable : from all this it 
 may be fairly concluded, that poetry is not only equal, but that 
 it is, in fact, far superior to its sister art of painting. 
 
 IV. But if it exceed painting, in subjects to which painting 
 is not adapted, no doubt will it exceed music, in subjects to 
 music not adapted. For here it has been preferred, 2 even in 
 those subjects which have been held adapted the best of all. 
 
 V. Poetry is, therefore, on the whole, much superior to either 
 of the other mimetic arts ; it having been shewn to be equally 
 excellent in the accuracy of its imitation; 51 and to imitate 
 subjects which far surpass, as well in utility, 6 as in dignity. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ON MUSIC, CONSIDERED NOT AS AN IMITATION, BUT AS DERIVING ITS 
 EFFICACY FROM ANOTHER SOURCE. ON ITS JOINT OPERATION BY THIS 
 MEANS WITH POETRY. AN OBJECTION TO MUSIC SOLVED. THE 
 ADVANTAGE ARISING TO IT, AS WELL AS TO POETRY, FROM THEIR 
 BEING UNITED. CONCLUSION. 
 
 IN the above discourse, music has been mentioned as an ally to 
 poetry. d It has also been said to derive its efficacy from 
 another source than imitation. 6 It remains, therefore, that 
 these things be explained. 
 
 Now, in order to this, it is first to be observed, that there are 
 
 u Page 38. 
 
 * That there is a charm in poetry, arising 
 from its numbers only, may be made evident 
 from the five or six first lines of the Para- 
 dise Lost ; where, without any pomp of 
 phrase, sublimity of sentiment, or the least 
 degree of imitation, every reader must find 
 himself to be sensibly delighted ; and that, 
 only from the graceful and simple cadence 
 of the numbers, and that artful variation of 
 the caesura, or pause, so essential to the 
 harmony of every good poem. 
 
 An English heroic verse consists of ten 
 semipecls, or half-feet. Now, in the lines 
 above mentioned, the pauses are varied 
 upon different semipeds in the order which 
 follows ; as may be seen by any, who 
 
 will be at the pains to examine 
 Paradise Lost, book i. 
 
 Verse 1" 
 2 
 3 
 
 
 Semiped 7 
 6 
 
 4 
 5 
 
 Chap, v 
 Chap, iv 
 Page 3* 
 Page 3' 
 
 Jltl^ ITS pciTISC 
 
 fall upon 
 
 i. 
 . sect 3. 
 J. 
 
 r. 
 
 5 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 See p. 36. and p. 30, note n. See also 
 
 p. 8,29. 
 
 Chap. v. sect. 3. 
 Page 31. 
 
. 
 
 40 A DISCOURSE ON 
 
 various affections which may be raised by the power of music. 
 There are sounds to make us cheerful, or sad ; martial, or 
 tender ; and so of almost every other affection which we feel. 
 
 It is also further observable, that there is a reciprocal operation 
 between our affections and our ideas ; so that, by a sort of natural 
 sympathy, certain ideas necessarily tend to raise in us certain 
 affections ; and those affections, by a sort of counter-operation, 
 to raise the same ideas. Thus, ideas derived from funerals, 
 tortures, murders, and the like, naturally generate the affection 
 of melancholy. And when, by any physical causes, that affec- 
 tion happens to prevail, it as naturally generates the same 
 doleful ideas. 
 
 And hence it is, that ideas derived from external causes, 
 have at different times, upon the same person, so different an 
 effect. If they happen to suit the affections which prevail 
 within, then is their impression most sensible, and their effect 
 most lasting. If the contrary be true, then is the effect con- 
 trary. Thus, for instance, a funeral will much more affect the 
 same man if he see it when melancholy, than if he see it when 
 cheerful. 
 
 Now this being premised, it will follow, that whatever happens 
 to be the affection or disposition of mind, which ought naturally 
 to result from the genius of any poem, the same, probably, it 
 will be in the power of some species of music to excite. But 
 whenever the proper affection prevails, it has been allowed that 
 then all kindred ideas, derived from external causes, make the 
 most sensible impression. The ideas, therefore, of poetry, must 
 needs make the most sensible impression, when the affections/ 
 peculiar to them, are already excited by the music. For here a 
 double force is made to cooperate to one end. A poet, thus 
 assisted, finds not an audience in a temper averse to the genius 
 of his poem, or, perhaps at best, under a cool indifference ; but 
 by the preludes, the symphonies, and concurrent operation of 
 the music in all its parts, roused into those very affections which 
 he would most desire. 
 
 An audience so disposed, not only embrace with pleasure the 
 ideas of the poet when exhibited, but, in a manner, even antici- 
 pate them in their several imaginations. The superstitious 
 have not a more previous tendency to be frightened at the sight 
 of spectres, or a lover to fall into raptures at the sight of his 
 mistress, than a mind, thus tempered by the power of music, to 
 enjoy all ideas which are suitable to that temper. 
 
 And hence the genuine charm of music, and the wonders 
 which it works through its great professors. 8 A power which 
 
 f Quintilian elegantly, and exactly ap- canit, totaque arte consentit cum eorum, 
 
 posite to this reasoning, says of music, quag clicuntur, affectibus. Inst. Orator. 1. i. 
 
 Namque et voce et modulatione grandia, c. 10. 
 elate, jucundu dulciter, moderata leniter s Such, above all, is George Frederic 
 
MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY. 41 
 
 consists not in imitations, and the raising ideas, but in the 
 raising affections to which ideas may correspond. There are 
 few to be found s*o insensible, I may even say so inhuman, as 
 when good poetry is justly set to music, not in some degree to 
 feel the force of so amiable an union ; but to the Muses 1 friends 
 it is a force irresistible, and penetrates into the deepest recesses 
 of the soul. 
 
 Pectus inaniter angit, 
 Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet. h 
 
 II. Now this is that source from whence music was said for- 
 merly to derive its greatest efficacy; 1 and here, indeed, not in 
 imitation, 14 ought it to be chiefly cultivated. On this account 
 also it has been called a powerful ally to poetry. 1 And, further, 
 it is by the help of this reasoning that the objection is solved, 
 which is raised against the singing of poetry, (as in operas, 
 oratorios, &c.) from the want of probability and resemblance to 
 nature. To one, indeed, who has no musical ear, this objection 
 may have weight ; it may even perplex a lover of music, if it 
 happen to surprise him in his hours of indifference. But when he 
 is feeling the charm of poetry so accompanied, let him be angry 
 (if he can) with that which serves only to interest him more 
 feelingly in the subject, and support him in a stronger and more 
 earnest attention ; which enforces, by its aid, the several ideas 
 of the poem, and gives them to his imagination with unusual 
 strength and grandeur. He cannot surely but confess, that he 
 is a gainer in the exchange, when he barters the want of a single 
 probability, that of pronunciation, (a thing merely arbitrary, and 
 everywhere different,) for a noble heightening 1 of affections which 
 are suitable to the occasion, and enable him to enter into the 
 subject with double energy and enjoyment. 
 
 III. From what has been said, it is evident, that these two arts 
 can never be so powerful singly, as when they are properly 
 united : for poetry, when alone, must be necessarily forced to 
 waste many of its richest ideas, in the mere raising of affections, 
 wben, to have been properly relished, it should have found those 
 affections in their highest energy ; and music, when alone, can 
 only raise affections which soon languish and decay, if not main- 
 tained and fed by the nutritive images of poetry. Yet must it 
 be remembered, in this union, that poetry ever have the pre- 
 
 Hanclel ; whose genius having been culti- its assertions in what it has offered con- 
 
 vated by continued exercise, and being it- cerning music. 
 
 self far the sublimest and most universal h Horat. Epist. 1. 1. ii. "211. 
 
 now known, has justly placed him without * Page 31. 
 
 an equal, or a second. This transient testi- k For the narrow extent, and little effi- 
 
 niony could not be denied so excellent an cacy of music, considered as a mimetic or 
 
 artist, from whom this treatise has bor- imitative art, see chap. ii. sect. 3. 
 
 rowed such eminent examples, to justify ' Page 39. 
 
42 A DISCOURSE ON MUSIC, &c. 
 
 cedence ; its utility," 1 as well as dignity, being by far the more 
 considerable. 
 
 IV. And thus much, for the present, as to mtisic," painting, and 
 poetry ; the circumstances in which they agree, and in which 
 they differ ; and the preference due to one of them above the 
 other two. 
 
 m Chapter v. sect. 2. n Page 27. 
 
CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 J. H. to F. S. 
 
 NATURE seems to treat man as a painter would his disciple, to 
 whom he commits the outlines of a figure lightly sketched, which 
 the scholar for himself is to colour and complete : a thus from 
 nature we derive senses, and passions, and an intellect, which 
 each of us for himself has to model into a character. And hence 
 (the reverse of every species beside) human characters alone are 
 infinitely various ; as various, indeed, as there are individuals to 
 form them : hence, too, the great diversity of systems, and of 
 doctrines, respecting the laws, and rules, and conduct of human 
 life. 
 
 It is in the history of these, my friend, you have so successfully 
 employed yourself: you have been studious to know, not so 
 much what Greeks, Romans, or Barbarians have done, as what 
 they have reasoned, and what they have taught. Not an epicure 
 has more joy in the memory of a delicious banquet, than I feel 
 in recollecting what we have discoursed on these subjects. 
 
 And here you cannot forget (for we were both unanimous) the 
 contempt in which we held those superficial censurers, who pro- 
 fess to refute, what they want even capacities to comprehend. 
 Upon the faith of their own boasting, (could that be credited,) 
 sentiments are exposed, opinions demolished, and the whole wis- 
 dom of antiquity lies vanquished at their feet. Like Opera 
 heroes, upon their own stage, they can with ease despatch a 
 lion, or discomfit a whole legion. But, alas ! were they to en- 
 counter, not the shadow, but the substance, what, think you, 
 would be the event then ? Little better, I fear, than was the 
 fortune of poor Priam, when the feeble old man durst attack 
 the youthful Pyrrhus : 
 
 Ut Phidias potest a primo instituere hominem, sed accepit a natura inchoatum : 
 
 signum, idque perficere ; potest ab alio in- hanc ergo intuens, debet institutum illud, 
 
 choatum accipere et absolvere : huic est quasi signum absolvere. Cic. de Fin. iv. 13. 
 
 sapicntia similis. Non cnim ipsa genuit p. 334. edit. Davis. 
 
44 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 Telum imbelle sine ictu 
 Conjecit : rauco quod protenus sere repulsum, 
 Et summo Clypei nequicquam umbone pependit. b 
 
 Among the many long-exploded and obsolete systems, there 
 was one, you may remember, for which I professed a great 
 esteem. Not in the least degree convinced by all I had heard 
 against it, I durst venture to affirm, that no system was more 
 plausible ; that grant but its principles, and the rest followed of 
 course ; that none approached nearer to the perfection of our 
 own religion, as I could prove, were there occasion, by authority 
 not to be controverted. As you, I knew, were the favourer of an 
 hypothesis somewhat different, so I attempted to support my 
 own, by reciting you a certain dialogue : not succeeding, how- 
 ever, so happily in the recollection, as I could wish, I have since 
 endeavoured to transcribe, what at that time I would have re- 
 hearsed. The result of my labour is the following narrative, 
 which I commit with confidence to your friendship and candour. 
 
 II. It was at a time when a certain friend, whom I highly 
 value, was my guest. We had been sitting together, entertaining 
 ourselves with Shakespear : among many of his characters, we 
 had looked into that of Wolsey. How soon, says my friend, 
 does the cardinal in disgrace abjure that happiness which he 
 was lately so fond of? Scarcely out of office, but he begins to 
 exclaim, 
 
 Vain pomp and glory of the world ! I hate ye. d 
 
 So true is it, that our sentiments ever vary with the season ; and 
 that in adversity we are of one mind, in prosperity of another. 
 As for his mean opinion, said I, of human happiness, it is a truth, 
 which small reflection might have taught him long before : there 
 seems little need of distress to inform us of this. I rather com- 
 mend the seeming wisdom of that eastern monarch, 6 who, in 
 the affluence of prosperity, when he was proving every pleasure, 
 was yet so sensible of their emptiness, their insufficiency to make 
 him happy, that he proclaimed a reward to the man who should 
 invent a new delight : the reward indeed was proclaimed, but 
 the delight was not to be found. If by delight, says he, you 
 mean some good, something conducive to real happiness, it might 
 have been found, perhaps, and yet not hit the monarch's fancy. 
 Is that, said I, possible ? It is possible, replied he, though it 
 had been the sovereign good itself : and, indeed, what wonder ? 
 Is it probable that such a mortal as an eastern monarch, such a 
 pampered, flattered, idle mortal, should have attention or ca- 
 pacity to a subject so delicate? A subject, enough to exercise 
 the subtlest and most acute ? 
 
 What then is it you esteem, said I, the sovereign good to be 2 
 It should seem, by your representation, to be something very 
 
 b -/Eneid. 1. ii. 544. Shakespear's Henry the Eighth. 
 
 c Viz. the Platonic. Tusc. Disp. v. 7. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 45 
 
 uncommon. Ask me not the question, said he, you know not 
 where it will carry us. Its general idea, indeed, is easy and 
 plain, but the detail of particulars is perplexed and long* ; passions 
 and opinions for ever thwart us; a paradox appears in almost 
 every advance. Besides, did our inquiries succeed ever so happily, 
 the very subject itself is always enough to give me pain. That, 
 replied I, seems a paradox indeed. It is not, said he, from any 
 prejudice which I have conceived against it ; for to man I esteem 
 it the noblest in the world : nor is it fori being a subject to which 
 my genius does not lead me ; for no subject at all times has more 
 employed my attention : but the truth is, I can scarce ever think 
 on it, but an unlucky story still occurs to my mind. "A certain 
 star-gazer, with his telescope was once viewing the moon, and 
 describing her seas, her mountains, and her territories. Says a 
 clown to his companion, ' Let him spy what he pleases, we are 
 as near to the moon as he and all his brethren. 1 " So fares it, 
 alas ! with these, our moral speculations. Practice too often 
 creeps, where theory can soar :* the philosopher proves as weak 
 as those whom he most contemns : a mortifying thought to such 
 as w r ell attend it. Too mortifying, replied I, to be long dwelt on. 
 Give us rather your general idea of the sovereign good : this is 
 easy, from your own account, however intricate the detail. 
 
 Thus then, said he, since you are so urgent, it is thus that I 
 conceive it. The sovereign good is that, the possession of which 
 renders us happy/ And how, said I, do we possess it ? Is it 
 sensual, or intellectual 2 There you are entering, said he, upon 
 the detail ; this is beyond your question. Not a small advance, 
 said I, to indulge poor curiosity ? Will you raise me a thirst, 
 and be so cruel not to allay it ? It is not, replied he. of my 
 raising, but your own. Besides, I am not certain, should I at- 
 tempt to proceed, whether you will admit such authorities as it 
 is possible I may vouch. That, said I, must be determined by 
 their weight and character. Suppose, said he, it should be man- 
 kind, the whole human race ; would you not think it something 
 strange, to seek of those concerning good, who pursue it a thou- 
 sand ways, and many of them contradictory ? I confess, said I, 
 it seems so. And yet, continued he, were there a point in which 
 such dissentients ever agreed, this agreement would be no mean 
 argument in favour of its truth and justness. But where, replied 
 I, is this agreement to be found ? 
 
 He answered me by asking, What, if it should appear that 
 there were certain original characteristics and preconceptions of 
 
 f See sect. 7. and note o. The reader will be pleased to observe, 
 
 B K-njtret yap ayaOutv, ot euSai'/ioves, that in all quotations from the Dissertations 
 
 euSafytoi/es : " By the possession of things of Epictetus, collected by Arrian, the author 
 
 good are the happy made happy." Pla- refers to the late edition in two volumes 
 
 ton. Conviv. vol. ii. p. 204. edit. Serrani. quarto, published by his learned and in- 
 
 Phileb. Plat. p. 60. B. See Arrian Epict. gcnious friend, Mr. Upton. 
 1. iii. c. 22. 
 
46 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 good,' 1 which were natural, uniform, and common to all men ; 
 whicn all recognised in their various pursuits; and that the 
 difference lay only in the applying them to particulars? 1 This 
 
 h The preconceptions here spoken of are 
 called by the Latins presnotiones, or an- 
 ticipationes; by the Greeks 7iy>oArji//eiy, or 
 fvvoiai, with the occasional epithets of 
 Koival, HfjKpvToi, or <pvo~iKai. 
 
 It is evident, that all men, without the 
 least help of art, exert a kind of natural 
 logic ; can in some degree refute, and prove, 
 and render a reason. 
 
 Now this cannot be (as the meanest pro- 
 ficient in logic well knows) without general 
 ideas, and general propositions, because a 
 syllogism of particulars is an impossibility ; 
 there must be therefore some natural faculty 
 to provide us these generals : this faculty 
 cannot be any of the senses, for they all 
 respect particulars only ; nor can it be the 
 reasoning or syllogizing faculty, for this 
 does not form such generals, but use them 
 when formed. There only, therefore, re- 
 mains the faculty called vovs, that is to 
 say, the inductive faculty ; the faculty, 
 which, by induction of similar individuals, 
 forms out of the particular and the many, 
 what is general and one. This species of 
 apprehension is evidently our first and 
 earliest knowledge ; because all knowledge 
 by reasoning dates its origin from it ; and 
 because, except these two, no other know- 
 ledge is possible. 
 
 As, therefore, every ear, not absolutely 
 depraved, is able to make some general 
 distinctions of sound ; and, in like manner, 
 every eye, with respect to objects of vision ; 
 and as this general use of these faculties, 
 by being diffused through all individuals, 
 may be called common hearing, and com- 
 mon vision, as opposed to those more ac- 
 curate energies, peculiar only to artists ; 
 so fares it with respect to the intellect. 
 There are truths, or universals, of so ob- 
 vious a kind, that every mind, or intellect, 
 not absolutely depraved, without the least 
 help of art, can hardly fail to recognise 
 them. The recognition of these, or at least 
 the ability to recognise them, is called 
 Koifbs vovs, " common sense," as being a 
 sense common to all, except lunatics and 
 ideots. 
 
 Further: as this power is called Koivbs 
 vovs, so the several propositions, which are 
 its proper objects, are called irpoA^ets, or 
 preconceptions, as being previous to all other 
 conceptions. It is easy to gather from what 
 has been said, that these irpoAi^ety must be 
 general, as being formed by induction ; as 
 also natural, by being common to all men, and 
 previous to all instruction. Hence, therefore, 
 their definition : y E<m 5' 77 Trp6\rj^/is, 
 
 4>y<ri/c?/ T>V /caflo'Aoy : " a preconception is 
 the natural apprehension of what is general, 
 or universal." Diog. Laert. 1. vii. s. 54. 
 See also Arrian. Epict. 1. i. c. 22. 1. iii. c. 6. 
 Cic. de Natura Deor. 1. i. c. 16, 17. Plut. 
 de Placit. Philosoph. 910. C. Aristot. de 
 Anim. iii. 11. 
 
 1 This was called tyappoy)) TWV irpoA^- 
 ^euv rats eirl p.4povs ov<riais ras (pvcriKas 
 jrpoXrjtyeis f(pap/j.6eu' TOIS firl pepovs ov~ 
 ffiais. Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 22. ed. Upt. See 
 an eminent instance, illustrating the truth 
 of this reasoning, in the same author, 1. iv. 
 c. 1. p. 545. 'Evi'oovfj.ev yap, on, &c. Boet. 
 de Cons. 1. iii. Prosa. ii. p. 106. 
 
 So Proclus, in his manuscript comment 
 on the first Alcibiades of Plato, p. 139. 'H 
 Kal aSidffTpocpos evvoia 
 
 wv yap TO eu, irapa TOVTW Kal TO avrapxes. 
 Kal &pa.s Srj ird\iv 'dircas evravQa Kal 6 'AA/- 
 &idSr]S KaTopBol /j.fv /caret rfyv p.eiova, 
 o~(pd\\Tai Sf Kara T)JV \<j.TTOva irpdracriv. 
 2,v\\oyifTai yap OVTCOS' tyh Sia crayta, 
 Kalyevos, Kal (pi\ovs, Kal TT\OVTOV fi'Sai/j-uv' 
 o fvSai/jLwv avevSe-fjs' fy&> (<pr)o~ly) averSe^s, 
 OVKOVV OTI [*(V o evSaifj.wv avevSefys, aides' 
 OTI 5e avrbs f'uSai^iav, \J/ev5eY rb youv 
 <rvjj.Trfpa(rfjLa jJ/evSes Sia r^jv e\drrova. Kal 
 OVTUS vp-f)(Tis Kal r~bv (piA-fiSovov, Kal rbv 
 (pikoxp-fj/uaTOV, Sia ravrrjv tyev8ofj.fvovs. o 
 fifv yap r)Sov}}V, 6 Se ^/ ) '?A taTa TiQcrai rb 
 ayaQ6v. OTI Se irav TO e^eTov ayaObi/, KOIVOV 
 fQ-Tiv auTo'is. /cat trw\6vrt (parai, ray /j.ev 
 /Meifavs TUV TrpoTctereo)*' e/ca<rrot Ti6fao~iv, 
 OTTO TO>V KOIV&V tvvoi&v Kal TOV \6yov TavTas 
 7rpoj3d\\ovTes, TO.S Se eAarTovs airb $a.v- 
 Tao~ias, airb ala-O^crews, ctTro TWV a\6y(av 
 irpo<ppovTai TraOoav' Sib Kal Tavrats ptv 
 SiatpepovTai irpbs a\\-f)\ovs, fKfivais Sf 
 &fjio(ppot'ovo~i. TO. IJLSV yap irdBi] fjLpifffj.ov Kal 
 SiaffTafffdos IffTiv atria TO?? i//uxa?s' TL- 
 TaviKa yap (&TI, Kal 8iaa"ira, Kal (rtrapaTTei 
 Tbv (V fjfuv vovv' o Se \6yos Koiv6s effTi 
 tray i, Kal f) TOV \6yov Trpofto\-f)' Kal Sia 
 TOVTO KOIN02 O EPMH2 'Iva 8)] Kal 
 yOiKas UVTOV ironjfftib/Lifda T^JV f^yvjO'iv. 
 
 " The universal and un perverted idea of 
 man characterizes happiness by self-suf- 
 ficiency : for with whomever well-being 
 exists, with them the self-sufficient exists 
 also. You see, therefore, how here again 
 Alcibiades is right as to his major proposition, 
 but mistaken as to the minor. For thus it 
 is he syllogizes : ' I, on account of my per- 
 son, and family, and friends, and Wealth, 
 am happy. The person happy is superior 
 to want ; therefore am I superior to want.' 
 Now that the person happy is superior to 
 
A DIALOGUE. 47 
 
 requires, said I, to be illustrated. As if, continued he, a com- 
 pany of travellers, in some wide forest, were all intending for 
 one city, but each by a rout peculiar to himself: the roads, in- 
 deed, would be various, and many, perhaps, false ; but all who 
 travelled would have one end in view. It is evident, said I, they 
 would. So fares it, then, added he, with mankind in pursuit 
 of good : the ways, indeed, are many, but what they seek is 
 one. 
 
 For instance : did you ever hear of any one, who, in pursuit of 
 their good, were for living the life of a bird, an insect, or a fish ? 
 None. And why not ? It would be inconsistent, answered I, 
 with their nature. You see, then, said he, they all agree in this, 
 that what they pursue, ought to be consistent, and agreeable to 
 their proper nature. So ought it, said I, undoubtedly. If so, 
 continued he, one preconception is discovered, which is common 
 to good in general ; it is, that " all good is supposed something 
 agreeable to nature." This, indeed, replied I, seems to be agreed 
 on all hands. 
 
 But again, said he, is there a man scarcely to be found of a 
 temper so truly mortified, as to acquiesce in the lowest, and 
 shortest necessaries of life ? who aims not, if he be able, at 
 something further, something better? I replied, scarcely one. 
 Do not multitudes pursue, said he, infinite objects of desire, 
 acknowledged every one of them to be in no respect necessaries ? 
 exquisite viands, delicious wines, splendid apparel, curious gar- 
 dens ; magnificent apartments adorned with pictures and sculp- 
 ture ; music and poetry, and the whole tribe of elegant arts ? 
 It is evident, said I. If it be, continued he, it should seem that 
 they all considered the chief or sovereign good, not to be that 
 which conduces to bare existence, or mere being ; for to this the 
 necessaries alone are adequate. I replied, they were. But if 
 not this, it must be somewhat conducive to that which is superior 
 to mere being. It must. And what, continued he, can this be, 
 but well-being? well-being, under the various shapes in which 
 differing opinions paint it ? Or can you suggest any thing else ? 
 
 want, is true ; but that he was happy, was positions are produced from imagination, 
 
 false. The conclusion, therefore, is false from sense, and from irrational passions, 
 
 through the minor proposition. And hence it is, that about these last they 
 
 ** It is thus also you will find the lover of differ one with another, while in the former 
 
 pleasure, and the lover of money, erring in they all agree. The passions, indeed, may 
 
 their reasonings through the same propo- be considered within the souls of men as 
 
 sition. For one of them lays down the the causes of division and distance ; for 
 
 good of man to be pleasure, the other to be they are Titanic, and distract and tear our 
 
 riches ; but that every thing desirable is intellect to pieces. But reason is the same 
 
 good, this they possess in common, and and common to all, as is also the faculty of 
 
 assent to on both sides. . speech, the medium of its promulgation. 
 
 " It may be said, indeed, universally, that And hence it is that Hermes (the type of 
 
 all individuals produce the general propo- rational discourse) is called 'common' and 
 
 sitions, which they lay down, from their 4 universal,' if we may be allowed to give of 
 
 common or universal ideas, and from the him an ethical explanation." 
 faculty of reason : but that their minor pro- 
 
48 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 I replied, I could not. Mark here, then, continued he, another 
 preconception, in which they all agree : the sovereign good is 
 somewhat conducive, not to mere being, but to well-being. I 
 replied, it had so appeared. 
 
 Again, continued he, what labour, what expense, to procure 
 those rarities which our own poor country is unable to afford 
 us I How is the world ransacked to its utmost verges, and 
 luxury and arts imported from every quarter I Nay, more, how 
 do we baffle nature herself; invert her order ; seek the vegetables 
 of spring in the rigours of winter, and winter's ice during the 
 heats of summer? I replied, we did. And what disappoint- 
 ment, what remorse, when endeavours fail ? It is true. If this, 
 then, be evident, said he, it should seem, that whatever we 
 desire as our chief and sovereign good, is " something which, as 
 far as possible, we would accommodate to all places and times."- 
 I answered, so it appeared. See, then, said he, another of its 
 characteristics, another preconception. 
 
 But further still ; what contests for wealth ? what scrambling 
 for property ? what perils in the pursuit, what solicitude in the 
 maintenance ? And why all this \ To what purpose, what end ? 
 Or is not the reason plain ? Is it not, that wealth may con- 
 tinually procure us whatever we fancy good ; and make that 
 perpetual, which would otherwise be transient ? I replied, it 
 seemed so. Is it not further desired, as supplying us from our- 
 selves, when, without it, we must be beholden to the benevolence 
 of others, and depend on their caprice for all that we enjoy ? 
 It is true, said I, this seems a reason. 
 
 Again ; Is not power of every degree as much contested for 
 as wealth ? Are not magistracies, honours, principalities, and 
 empire, the subjects of strife, and everlasting contention ? I 
 replied, they were. And why, said he, this ? To obtain what 
 end ? Is it not to help us, like wealth, to the possession of what 
 we desire ? Is it not further to ascertain, to secure our enjoy- 
 ments ; that when others would deprive us, we may be strong 
 enough to resist them ? I replied, it was. 
 
 Or to invert the whole, Why are there who seek recesses the 
 most distant and retired ? k fly courts and power, and submit to 
 parsimony and obscurity ? Why all this, but from, the same 
 intention ? From an opinion that small possessions, used mode- 
 rately, are permanent ; that larger possessions raise envy, and 
 are more frequently invaded ; that the safety of power and 
 dignity is more precarious than that of retreat ; and that there- 
 
 k Multi an tern ct sunt, et fuerunt, qui prium cst sic \;ivere, ut veils. Quare cum 
 
 earn, quara dico, tranquillitatem expetentcs, hoc commune fit potentiae cupidorum cum 
 
 a negotiis publicis se removerint, ad otium- iis, quos dixi, otiosis : alteri se adipisci id 
 
 que perfugerint. His idem propositum fuit, posse arbitrantur, si opes magnas habeant ; 
 
 quod regibus ; ut no qua re cgerent, ne cui alteri si contenti sint et suo, et parvo. Cic. 
 
 parerent, libortate uterentur : cujus pro- de Offic. 1. i. c. 20, 21. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 49 
 
 fore they have chosen what is most eligible upon the whole? 
 It is not, said I, improbable, that they act by some such motive. 
 
 Do you not see, then, continued he, two or three more pre- 
 conceptions of the sovereign good, which are sought for by all, 
 as essential to constitute it? And what, said I, are these? 
 That it should not be transient, nor derived from the will of 
 others, nor in their power to take away ; but be durable, self- 
 derived, and (and if I may use the expression) indeprivable. 
 I confess, said I, it appears so. But we have already found it 
 to be considered as something agreeable to our nature ; con- 
 ducive, not to mere being, but to well-being; and what we aim 
 to have accommodate to all places and times. We have. 
 
 There may be other characteristics, said he, but these I think 
 sufficient. See then its idea; behold it, as collected from the 
 original, natural, and universal preconceptions of all mankind. 
 The sovereign good, 1 they have taught us, ought to be some- 
 thing, " agreeable to our nature ; conducive to well-being ; ac- 
 commodate to all places and times ; durable, self-derived, and 
 indeprivable." Your account, said I, appears just. 
 
 1 The original preconceptions of the so- 
 vereign good here recited, may be justified 
 by the following authorities, from among 
 many which are omitted. 
 
 Agreeable to nature. Neque ulla alia in 
 re, nisi in natura, quaerendum esse illud 
 summum bonum, quo omnia referrentur. 
 Cic. Acad. 1. i. c. 5. p. 27. edit. Davis. 
 
 Conducive to well-being. Epictetus calls 
 that " truth or knowledge, which respects 
 our real happiness," (r^v a\-f)6eiav T^V 
 Trepl TIJS evSaifiovias) ; the " truth or know- 
 ledge which regards not mere living, but 
 which conduces to living well," (ou rfy 
 Trept TOV r,v, a\\a Tf]v irpbs rb fv ffv.) 
 Arrian. Epict. 1. i. c. 4. p. 28. edit. Upt. 
 At Koival Trept cvSaiuovias fvvoiai, rb ^v 
 Kara tyvffiv, /cat rbv Kara fyvffiv fiiov, 
 fvSaLUOviav \4yoVfft' irpbs 8e TOVTOIS, -rb 
 e<5 ?/!/, /cat TO e5 jStow, Kal r^v evfa'iav, 
 evSatuoviav <$>aa\v elvai : " Our common 
 preconceptions concerning happiness call it, 
 the living according to nature ; further 
 than this, they say it is living or existing 
 well, the life of well-being. Alex. Aphrod. 
 jrept ^i>X- p. 157. edit. Aid. 
 
 Accommodate to all plares and times. 
 Antoninus, speaking of that happiness which 
 he deemed our sovereign good, calls it some- 
 thing which was in our power, iravraxov 
 teal 8nr)VfKu>s, " everywhere and perpe- 
 tually," 1. vii. s. .54. 
 
 Durable,, and indeprivable. Nisi stabili 
 et fixo et permanente bono, beatus esse 
 nemo potest. Tusc. Disp. 1. v. c. 14. p. 372. 
 edit. Davis. So, immediately after, in the 
 same page : An dubium est, quin nihil sit 
 habendum in eo gencrc, quo vita boata 
 
 completur, si id possit amitti ? Nihil enim 
 interarescere, nihil exstingui, &c. Kal rls 
 a#TT/ i) etfpota, fyv 6 rv^iav fuiro8i<rat 
 Svi/arai, ov \eyu Katcrap ^ Kaurapos 
 (pi\os, a\\ci /co'pal, auA-TjT^s, Truperbs, &\\a 
 rpiffuvpia ; f) 5' evpota ovStv OUTUS *X ei 
 us TO 8irivKS Kal dj/e/nro'Sta'TOi' : " And 
 what sort of happiness is this, which any 
 thing intervening may embarrass ; I say 
 not Caesar, or Caesar's friend, but a crow, a 
 piper, a fever, a thousand things beside ? 
 Happiness, surely, implies nothing so much 
 as perpetuity, and being superior to hin- 
 derance or impediment." Arrian. Epict. 1. iv. 
 c. 4. p. 585. edit. Upt. See also 1. ii. c. 1 1. 
 p. 227. 
 
 Self-derived. Atque hoc dabitis, ut 
 opinor, si modo sit aliquid esse beatum, id 
 oportere totum poni in potestate sapientis: 
 nam, si amitti vita beata potest, bcata esse 
 non potest. Cic. de Fin. 1. ii. c. 27. p. 163. 
 Kal TO?S uev Kar' a\-f]9ftav KaKols "iva. u-r) 
 TrepiiriTrrr) 6 avQpcairos, &r' avry [of 0eoi] 
 rb TTU.V JlOevTo : " That man might not fall 
 into real evils, the gods have put the whole 
 in his own power." M. Ant. 1. ii. s. 11. 
 fi ydp (TTiVi o ^jreT iras avOpuiros ; 
 euffraO-fivai, fv8aiuovT)(rai, iravra us Qt\fi 
 iroiftv, //./ /cco\ueo"0at, /^'jS' avayKa^fcrdai : 
 " For what is it that every man seeks ? 
 To be securely fixed, to be happj r , to do all 
 things according to his own will, not to be 
 hindered, not to be compelled." Arrian. 
 Epict. 1. iv. c. 1. p. 539, 540. Aristotle 
 joins self-derived and indeprivable in his 
 idea of good : TayaObv 8e ot/ceTov ri Kal 
 Svo-aipaipfTov e?^at uavTfv6/j.fda. Eth. Nic. 
 1. i. c. 5. 
 
 1, 
 
50 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 It matters, continued lie, little, how they err in the applica- 
 tion ; if they covet that as agreeable to nature, which is in itself 
 most contrary ; if they would have that as durable, which is in 
 itself most transient ; that as independent, and their own, which 
 is most precarious and servile. It is enough for us, if we know 
 their aim ; enough, if we can discover, what it is they propose ; 
 the means and method may be absurd, as it happens. I an- 
 swered, their aim was sufficient to prove what he had asserted. 
 
 It is true, replied he, it is abundantly sufficient. And yet, 
 perhaps, even though this were ever so certain, it would not be 
 altogether foreign, were we to examine, how they act ; how 
 they succeed in applying these universals to particular subjects. 
 Should they be found just in the application, we need look no 
 further : the true sovereign good would of course be plain and 
 obvious ; and we should have no more to do, than to follow the 
 beaten road. It is granted, replied I : but what if they err ? 
 Time enough for that, said he, when we are satisfied that they 
 do. We ought first to inform ourselves, whether they may not 
 possibly be in the right. I submitted, and begged him to pro- 
 ceed his own way. 
 
 III. Will you, then, said he, in this disquisition into human 
 conduct, allow me this : That such, as is the species of life, which 
 every one chooses ; such is his idea of happiness, such his con- 
 ception of the sovereign good ? I seem, said I, to comprehend 
 you, but should be glad you would illustrate. His meaning, he 
 answered, was no more than this : if a man prefer a life of 
 industry, it is because he has an idea of happiness in wealth ; if 
 he prefers a life of gaiety, it is from a like idea concerning 
 pleasure. And the same, we say. holds true in every other 
 instance. I told him, it must, certainly. 
 
 And can you recollect, said he, any life, but what is a life of 
 business, or of leisure ? I answered, none. And is not the 
 great end of business either power or wealth ? It is. Must not 
 every life therefore of business be either political or lucrative ? 
 It must. Again, are not intellect and sense the souFs leading 
 powers? They are. And in leisure, are we not ever seeking 
 to gratify one or the other? We are. Must not every life 
 therefore of leisure be either pleasurable or contemplative? If 
 you confine pleasure, said I, to sense, I think it necessarily must. 
 If it be not so confined, said he, we confound all inquiry. 
 Allow it. 
 
 Mark, then, said he, the two grand genera, the lives of business 
 and of leisure : mark also the subordinate species ; the political 
 and lucrative, the contemplative and pleasurable." 1 Can you 
 think of any other, which these will not include? I replied, I 
 knew of none. It is possible, indeed, said he, that there may 
 be other lives framed, by the blending of these, two or more 
 
 m This fourfold distinction of lives is mentioned in Aristotle's Ethics, 1. i. c. .*>. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 51 
 
 of them together. But if we separate with accuracy, we shall find 
 that here they all terminate. I replied, so it seemed probable. 
 
 If, then, continued he, we would be exact in our inquiry, we 
 must examine these four lives, and mark their consequences. It 
 is thus only we shall learn, how far those, who embrace them, 
 find that good and happiness, which we know they all pursue. 
 I made answer, Tt seemed necessary, and I should willingly 
 attend him. 
 
 IV. To begin then, said he, with the political life. Let ns 
 see the good, usually sought after here. To a private man, it is 
 the favour of some prince, or commonwealth; the honours and 
 emoluments derived from this favour; the court and homage of 
 mankind ; the power of commanding others. To a prince, it is 
 the same thing nearly, only greater in degree ; a larger com- 
 mand ; a stricter and more servile homage ; glory, conquest, and 
 extended empire. Am I right in my description ? I replied, I 
 thought he was. Whether, then, said he, all this deserves the 
 name of good or not, I do not controvert. Be it one or the 
 other, it affects not our inquiry. All that I would ask concern- 
 ing it is this, do you not think it a good (if it really be one) 
 derived from foreign and external causes ? Undoubtedly, replied 
 I. It cannot come then from ourselves, or be self-derived ? It 
 cannot. And what shall we say as to its duration and stability? 
 Is it so firm and lasting, that we cannot be deprived of it ? I 
 should imagine, said I, quite otherwise. You insist not, then, 
 said he, on my appealing to history ? You acknowledge the fate 
 of favourites, of empires, and their owners? I replied, I did. 
 
 If so, said he, it should seem that this political good, which 
 they seek, corresponds not to the preconceptions of being durable 
 and indeprivable. Far from it. But it appeared, just before, 
 not to be self-derived. It did. You see, then, said he, that in 
 three of our preconceptions it entirely fails. So, indeed, said I, 
 it appears. 
 
 But, further, said he, we are told of this good, that in the 
 possession it is attended with anxiety; and that when lost, it is 
 usually lost with ignominy and disgrace ; nay, often with prose- 
 cutions and the bitterest resentments; with mulcts, with exile, 
 and death itself. It is frequenth r , said I, the case. How, then, 
 said he, can it answer that other preconception* of contributing 
 to our well-being? Can that contribute to w r ell-being whose con- 
 sequences lead to calamity, and whose presence implies anxiety? 
 This, it must be confessed, said I, appears not probable. 
 
 But, once more, said he, there are certain habits, or disposi- 
 tions of mind, called sincerity, generosity, candour, plain-dealing, 
 justice, honour, honesty, and the like. There are : and it has 
 been generally believed, that these are agreeable to nature. 
 Assuredly. But it has been as generally believed, that the po- 
 litical good we speak of, is often not to be acquired but by 
 habits contrary to these ; and which, if these are natural, must 
 
52 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 of necessity be unnatural. What habits, said I, do you mean? 
 Flattery, answered he, dissimulation, intrigue : upon oc- 
 casion, perhaps iniquity, falsehood, and fraud. It is possible, 
 indeed, said I, that these may sometimes be thought necessary. 
 How. then, said he, can that good be agreeable to nature, 
 which cannot be acquired, but by habits contrary to nature ? 
 Your argument, said I, seems just. 
 
 If, then, said he, we have reasoned rightly, and our conclusions 
 may be depended on, it should seem that the supposed good, 
 which the political life pursues, corresponds not, in any instance, 
 to our preconceptions of the sovereign good. I answered, so it 
 appeared. 
 
 V. Let us quit, then, said he, the political life, and pass to the 
 lucrative. The object of this is wealth. Admit it. And is it 
 not too often, said he, the case, that, to acquire this, we are 
 tempted to employ some of those habits which we have just 
 condemned as unnatural ? Such, I mean, as fraud, falsehood, in- 
 justice, and the like? It must be owned, said I, too often. 
 
 Besides, continued he, what shall we say to the esteem, the 
 friendship, and love of mankind ? Are they worth having ? Is 
 it agreeable, think you, to nature, to endeavour to deserve them ? 
 Agreeable, said I, to nature, beyond dispute. If so, then to 
 merit hatred and contempt, said he, must needs be contrary to na- 
 ture. Undoubtedly. And is there any thing which so certainly 
 merits hatred and contempt, as a mere lucrative life, spent in the 
 uniform pursuit of wealth? I replied, I believed there was no- 
 thing. If so, said he, then, as to corresponding with our pre- 
 conceptions, the lucrative good, in this respect, fares no better 
 than the political. It appears not. 
 
 And what shall we say as to anxiety? Is not both the pos- 
 session and pursuit of wealth, to those who really love it, ever 
 anxious? It seems so. And why anxious, but from a certainty 
 of its instability ; from an experience, how obnoxious it is to 
 every cross event ; how easy to be lost and transferred to others, 
 by the same fraud and rapine which acquired it to ourselves ? 
 This is, indeed, the tritest of all topics. The poets and orators 
 have long ago exhausted it. It is true, said I, they have. May 
 we not venture, then, said he, upon the whole, to pass the same 
 sentence on the lucrative life, as we have already on the political, 
 that it proposes not a good, correspondent to those preconcep- 
 tions, by which we would all be governed in the good, which we 
 are all seeking? I answered, we might justly. 
 
 VI. If, then, neither the lucrative life, nor the political, said 
 he, procure that good which we desire, shall we seek it from 
 the pleasurable ? Shall we make pleasure our goddess ? 
 
 Pleasure, 
 
 Whom love attends, and soft desire, and Avords 
 Alluring, apt the steadiest heart to bend." 
 
 11 Alluding to Homer, Iliad. 2. 214. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 53 
 
 So says the poet, and plausible his doctrine. Plausible, said I, 
 indeed. 
 
 Let it, then, continued he, be a pleasurable world ; a race of 
 harmless, loving animals; an Elysian temperature of sunshine and 
 shade. Let the earth, in every quarter, resemble our own dear 
 country ; where never was a frost, never a fog, never a day but 
 was delicious and serene. I was a little embarrassed at this un- 
 expected flight, until recollecting myself, I told him, (but still 
 with some surprise,) that, in no degree to disparage either my 
 country or my countrymen, I had never found either so exquisite 
 as he now supposed them. There are, then, it seems, said he, 
 in the natural world, and even in our own beloved country, such 
 things as storms and tempests, as pinching colds and scorching 
 heats. I replied, there were. And consequent to these, disease, 
 and famine, and infinite calamities. There are. And in the 
 civil or human world, we have discord and contention ; or, (as 
 the poet better describes it, ) 
 
 Cruel revenge, and rancorous despite, 
 Disloyal treason, and heart-burning hate. 
 
 We have. Alas ! then, poor pleasure ! where is that good, 
 accommodate to every time ; suited to every place ; self-derived, 
 not dependent on foreign external causes? Can it be pleasure, 
 on such a changeable, such a turbulent spot as this ? I replied, 
 I thought not. 
 
 And what, indeed, were the world, said he, modelled to a 
 temperature the most exact ? Were the rigours of the seasons 
 never more to be known ; nor wars, devastations, famines, or 
 diseases? Admitting all this, (which we know to be impossible,) 
 can we find still in pleasure that lengthened duration, which we 
 consider as an essential, to constitute the sovereign good ? Ask 
 the glutton, the drinker, the man of gaiety and intrigue, whether 
 they know any enjoyment not to be cancelled by satiety? 
 which does not hastily pass away into the tedious intervals of 
 indifference ? Or yielding all this, too, (which we know cannot 
 be yielded,) where are we to find our good, how possess it in 
 age ? in that eve of life, declining age, when the power of sense, 
 on which all depends, like the setting sun, is gradually for- 
 saking us ? 
 
 I should imagine, said I, that pleasure was no mean adversary, 
 since you employ, in attacking her, so much of your rhetoric. 
 Without heeding what I said, he pursued his subject. Beside, 
 if this be our good, our happiness, and our end, to what purpose 
 powers, which bear no relation to it? Why memory? why 
 reason ? Mere sensation might have been as exquisite, had we 
 been flies or earthworms. Or can it be proved otherwise ? I re- 
 plied, I could not say. No animal, continued he, possesses its 
 faculties in vain. And shall man derive no good from his best, 
 
 Spencer's Fairy Queen, book ii. cant. 7. stanz. 22. 
 
54 CONCEBNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 his most eminent ? from that, which, of all, is peculiar to him- 
 self? For as to growth and nutrition, they are not wanting to 
 the meanest vegetable ; and for senses, there are animals which, 
 perhaps, exceed us in them all. 
 
 VII. This seems, said I, no mean argument in favour of con- 
 templation. The contemplative life gives reason all the scope 
 which it can desire. And of all lives, answered he, would it 
 surely be the best, did we dwell, like Milton^s Uriel, in the sun's 
 bright circle. Then might we plan, indeed, the most romantic 
 kind of happiness. Stretched at ease, without trouble or mo- 
 lestation, we might pass our days contemplating the universe, 
 tracing its beauty ; lost in wonder, ravished with ecstacy, and I 
 know not what : but here, alas ! on this sublunary, this turbulent 
 spot, (as w r e called it not long since,) how little is this, or any 
 thing like it, practicable ? Fogs arise which dim our prospects, 
 the cares of life perpetually molest us : is contemplation suited 
 to a place like this ? It must be owned, said I, not extremely. 
 How, then, is it the sovereign good, which should be accom- 
 modate to every place ? I replied, it seemed not probable. 
 
 But, further, said he, can we enjoy the sovereign good, and be 
 at the same time vexed, and agitated by passion ? Does not this 
 seem a paradox? I answered, it did. Suppose, then, an event 
 were to happen, not an inundation or massacre, but an ac- 
 quaintance only drop a disrespectful word ; p a servant chance to 
 break a favourite piece of furniture : what would instruct us to 
 endure this? contemplation, theory, abstractions? Why not? 
 said I. No, replied he, with warmth, (quoting the poet,) not 
 
 Tho' all the stars 
 Thou knew'st by name ; and all the etherial powers. 
 
 For does not experience teach us, abundantly teach us, that our 
 deepest philosophers, as to temper and behaviour, are as very 
 children for the most part, as the meanest and most illiterate ? 
 A little more arrogance, perhaps, from presumption of what they 
 know, but not a grain more of magnanimity, of candour, and 
 calm endurance. 
 
 You are somewhat too severe, said I, in censuring of all. 
 There are better and worse among them, as among others. 
 The difference is no way proportioned, said he, to the quantity 
 of their knowledge ; so that whatever be its cause, it cannot be 
 imputed to their speculations. Besides, can you really imagine, 
 we came here only to think? r ls acting a circumstance which 
 
 P See Arrian Epict. 1. iv. c. 4. which % Par. Lost, book xii. 576. 
 chapter is peculiarly addressed to the seekers r Etenim cognitio contemplatioque na- 
 
 of leisure, retirement, and study. Part of turse inanca quodammodo atque inchoata 
 
 it has been already quoted, p. 49, note /. Kal sit, si nulla actio rerum consequatur. Ea 
 
 rit avrrj y efyota, &c. See also the same autem actio in hominum commodis tuendis 
 
 author, 1. iv. c. 1. p. 567. ITcDs a/coue/y, &c. nmxirne cernitur. Cic. de Offic. 1. i. c. 43. 
 
 and of the Dialogue here commented, The whole chapter, as well as the subse- 
 
 p. 45. quent, is well worthy of perusal. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 55 
 
 is foreign to our character? Why then so many social affec- 
 tions, which all of us feel, even in spite of ourselves ? Are we 
 to suppress them all, as useless and unnatural ? The attempt, 
 replied I, must needs be found impracticable. Were they once 
 suppressed, said he, the consequences would be somewhat strange. 
 We should hear no more of father, brother, husband, son, 
 citizen, magistrate, and society itself. And were this ever the 
 case, ill (I fear) would it fare with even contemplation itself. 
 It would certainly be but bad speculating, among lawless bar- 
 barians, unassociated animals, where strength alone of body was 
 to constitute dominion, and the contest came to be (as Horace 
 describes it, s ) 
 
 glandem atque cubilia propter, 
 Unguibus et pugnis, dein fustibus. 
 
 Bad enough, replied I, of all conscience. 
 
 It should seem, then, said he, that not even the best con- 
 templative life, however noble its object, was agreeable to our 
 present nature, or consistent with our present situation. I con- 
 fess, said I, you appear to have proved so. But if this be 
 allowed true of the best, the most excellent, what shall we say 
 to the mockery of monkery, the farce of friars, the ridiculous 
 mummery of being sequestered in a cloister ? This surely is too 
 low a thing, even to merit an examination. I have no scruples 
 here, said I, you need not waste your time. 
 
 VIII. If that, said he, be your opinion, let us look a little 
 backward. For our memory "s sake it may be proper to re- 
 capitulate. I replied, it would be highly acceptable. Thus, 
 then, said he, we have examined the four grand lives which 
 we find the generality of men embrace : the lucrative and the 
 political, the pleasurable and the contemplative. And we have 
 aimed at proving that, to such a being as man, with such a 
 body, such affections, such senses, and such an intellect ; placed 
 in such a world, subject to such incidents ; not one of these lives 
 is productive of that good which we find all men to recognise 
 through the same uniform preconceptions, and which, through 
 one or other of these lives, they all of them pursue. 
 
 IX. You have justly, said I, collected the sum of your in- 
 quiries. And happy, said he, should I think it, were they to 
 terminate here. I asked him, why? Because, replied he, to 
 insinuate first, that all mankind are in the wrong, and then to 
 attempt afterwards to shew one^s self only to be right, is a 
 degree of arrogance which I would not willingly be guilty of. 
 I ventured here to say, that I thought he need not be so dif- 
 fident; that a subject where one^s own interest appeared con- 
 cerned so nearly, would well justify every scruple, and even the 
 severest inquiry. There, said he, you say something, there you 
 encourage me indeed. For what ; are we not cautioned against 
 
 ' Sat. 3. 1. i. ver. .09. 
 
56 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 counterfeits, even in matters of meanest value ? If a piece of 
 metal be tendered us, which seems doubtful, do we not hesitate? 1 
 do we not try it by the test, before we take it for current? 
 And is this not deemed prudence? Are we not censured, if we 
 act otherwise ? How much more, then, does it behove us not to 
 be imposed on here? To be diffident and scrupulously exact, 
 where imposture, if once admitted, may tempt us to a far worse 
 bargain than ever Glaucus made with Diomede ? What bargain, 
 said I, do you mean ? The exchange, replied he, not of gold 
 for brass, but of good for evil, and of happiness for misery. But 
 enough of this : since you have encouraged me to proceed, we 
 are seeking that good, which we think others have not found. 
 Permit me thus to pursue my subject. 
 
 X. Every being on this our terrestrial dwelling, exists en- 
 compassed with infinite objects; exists among animals tame, 
 and animals wild ; among plants and vegetables of a thousand 
 different qualities ; among heats and colds, tempests and calms, 
 the friendships and discords of heterogeneous elements. What 
 say you ? Are all these things exactly the same to it ; or do they 
 differ, think you, in their effects and consequences ? They differ, 
 said I, widely. Some perhaps then, said he, are apt, congruous, 
 and agreeable to its natural state. I replied, they were. 
 Others are inapt, incongruous, and disagreeable. They are. 
 And others again are indifferent. They are. 
 
 It should seem, then, said he, if this be allowed, that to every 
 individual being, without the least exception, the whole mass of 
 things external, from the greatest to the meanest, stood in the 
 relations of either agreeable, disagreeable, or indifferent. I re- 
 plied, so it appeared. 
 
 But though this, continued he, be true in the general, it is 
 yet as certain, when we descend to particulars, that what is 
 agreeable to one species is disagreeable to another ; and not only 
 so, but perhaps indifferent to a third. Instances of this kind, he 
 said, were too obvious to be mentioned. 
 
 I replied, it was evident. Whence, then, said he, this diver- 
 sity? It cannot arise from the externals, for water is equally 
 water, whether to a man, or to a fish ; whether, operating on 
 the one, it suffocate, or on the other, it give life and vigour. 
 I replied, it was. So is fire, said he, the same fire, however 
 various in its consequences ; whether it harden or soften, give 
 pleasure or pain. I replied, it was. But if this diversity, con- 
 tinued he, be not derived from the externals, whence can it be 
 else ? Or can it possibly be derived otherwise than from the 
 peculiar constitution, from the natural state of every species 
 itself? I replied, it appeared probable. 
 
 Thus, then, said he, is it that every particular species is, itself 
 to itself, the measure of all things in the universe ; that as things 
 
 1 See Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 10. p. 110. 'Opure Kal cVi TOV /o^i<r/iTos, &c. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 57 
 
 vary in their relations to it, they vary too in their value ; and 
 that if their value be ever doubtful, it can no way be adjusted, 
 but by recurring with accuracy to the natural state of the 
 species, and to those several relations which such a state of 
 course creates. I answered, he argued justly. 
 
 XL To proceed, then, said he : though it be true, that every 
 species has a natural state, as we have asserted ; it is not true, 
 that every species has a sense or feeling of it. This feeling or 
 sense is a natural eminence or prerogative, denied the vegetable 
 and inanimate, and imparted only to the animal. I answered, 
 it was. 
 
 And think you, continued he, that as many as have this 
 sense or feeling of a natural state, are alienated from it, or in- 
 different to it ? u Or is it not more probable, that they are well 
 affected to it ? Experience, said I, teaches us, how well they 
 are all affected. You are right, replied he. For what would 
 be more absurd, than to be indifferent to their own welfare ; or 
 to be alienated from it, as though it was foreign and unna- 
 tural ? I replied, nothing could be more. But, continued he, if 
 they are well-affected to this their proper natural state, it 
 should seem, too, they must be well-affected to all those externals 
 which appear apt, congruous, and agreeable to it. I answered, 
 they must. And if so, then ill-affected or averse to such as 
 appear the contrary. They must. And to such as appear 
 indifferent, indifferent. They must. But if this, said he, be 
 allowed, it will follow, that in consequence of these appearances, 
 they will think some externals worthy of pursuit, some worthy 
 of avoidance, and some worthy of neither. It was probable, 
 said I, they should. 
 
 Hence, then, said he, another division of things external ; that 
 is, into pursuable, avoidable, and indifferent : a division only 
 belonging to beings sensitive and animate, because all, below 
 these, can neither avoid nor pursue. I replied, they could not. 
 
 If, then, said he, man be allowed in the number of these 
 sensitive beings, this division will affect man ; or, to explain more 
 fully, the whole mass of things external will, according to this 
 division, exist to the human species in the relations of pursuable, 
 avoidable, and indifferent. I replied, they would. 
 
 Should we therefore desire, said he, to know what these 
 things truly are, we must first be informed, what is man^s truly 
 natural constitution. For thus, you may remember, it was 
 settled not long since, that every species was its own standard ; 
 and that when the value of things was doubtful, the species was 
 
 u Placet his, inquit, quorum ratio mihi ab interitu, iisque rebus, quae interitum vi- 
 
 probatur, simul atque natum sit animal deantur afferre. Cic. deFin. 1. iii. c. 5. p. 211. 
 
 (hinc enim est ordiendum) ipsum sibi con- edit. Dav. See also 1. v. c. 9. De Offic. 1. i. 
 
 ciliari, et commendari ad se conservandum, c. 4. OiKiov(j.f6a irpbs avrovs fvdvs yc- 
 
 et suum stiitum, et ad ea, quae conservantiu v6^voi. Plut. Mor. p. 1038. B. 
 sunt ejus status, diligenda ; alienari autcm 
 
58 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 to be studied, the relations to be deduced which were conse- 
 quent to it, and in this manner the value of things to be ad- 
 justed and ascertained. I replied, we had so agreed it. I fear, 
 then, said he, we are engaged in a more arduous undertaking, a 
 task of more difficulty than we were at first aware of; but, 
 fortuna fortes, we must endeavour to acquit ourselves as well as 
 we are able. 
 
 XII. That man therefore has a body, of a figure and internal 
 structure peculiar to itself; capable of certain degrees of strength, 
 agility, beauty, and the like: this, I believe, is evident, and 
 hardly wants a proof. I answered, I was willing to own it. 
 That he is capable, too, of pleasure and pain; is possessed of 
 senses, affections, appetites, and aversions : this also seems 
 evident, and can scarcely be denied. I replied, it was ad- 
 mitted. We may venture, then, to range him in the tribe of 
 animal beings. I replied, we might. 
 
 And think you, said he, without society, you or any man 
 could have been born ? Most certainly not. Without society, 
 when born, could you have been brought to maturity ? Most 
 certainly not. Had your parents then had no social affections 
 towards you in that perilous state, that tedious infancy, (so much 
 longer than the longest of other animals,) you must have inevit- 
 ably perished through want and inability/ I must. You per- 
 ceive, then, that to society you and every man are indebted, not 
 only for the beginning of being, but for the continuance. We 
 are. 
 
 Suppose, then, we pass from this birth and infancy of man, to 
 his maturity and perfection ; is there any age, think you, so 
 self-sufficient, as that in it he feels no wants ? What wants, 
 answered I, do you mean? In the first and principal place, 
 said he, that of food; then perhaps that of raiment; and after 
 this, a dwelling, or defence against the weather. These wants, 
 replied I, are surely natural at all ages. And is it not agreeable 
 to nature, said he, that they should at all ages be supplied ? 
 Assuredly. And is it not more agreeable to have them well 
 supplied, than ill ? It is. And most agreeable, to have them 
 best supplied? Certainly. If there be then any one state 
 better than all others for the supplying these wants, this state, 
 of all others, must needs be most natural. It must. 
 
 And what supply, said he, of these wants shall we esteem the 
 meanest which we can conceive? Would it not be something 
 like this? Had we nothing beyond acorns for food, beyond a 
 rude skin for raiment, or beyond a cavern or hollow tree to pro- 
 vide us with a dwelling? Indeed, said I, this would be bad 
 enough. And do you not imagine, as far as this, we might 
 each supply ourselves, though we lived in woods, mere solitary 
 savages? I replied, I thought we might. 
 x Vid. Jambl. Protrept. 5G. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 59 
 
 Suppose, then, continued he, that our supplies were to be 
 mended; for instance, that we were to exchange acorns for 
 bread; would our savage character be sufficient here? Must 
 we not be a little better disciplined ? Would not some art be re- 
 quisite? The baker's, for example. It would. And previously to 
 the baker's, that of the miller? It would. And previously to the 
 miller's, that of the husbandman ? It would. Three arts, then, 
 appear necessary, even upon the lowest estimation. It is admitted. 
 
 But a question further, said he : can the husbandman work, 
 think you, without his tools ? Must he not have his plough, his 
 harrow, his reap-hook, and the like? He must. And must 
 not those other artists, too, be furnished in the same manner? 
 They must. And whence must they be furnished? From their 
 own arts ? Or are not the making tools, and the using them, two 
 different occupations? I believe, said I, they are. You may 
 be convinced, continued he, by small recollection : does agri- 
 culture make its own plough, its own harrow ? Or does it not 
 apply to other arts for all necessaries of this kind? It does. 
 Again : does the baker build his own oven, or the miller frame 
 his own mill I It appears, said I, no part of their business. 
 
 What a tribe of mechanics, then, said he, are advancing upon 
 us : smiths, carpenters, masons, mill-wrights ; and all these to 
 provide the single necessary of bread. Not less than seven or 
 eight arts, we find, are wanting at the fewest. It appears so. 
 And what, if to the providing a comfortable cottage, and raiment 
 suitable to an industrious hind, we allow a dozen arts more? 
 It would be easy, by the same reasoning, to prove the number 
 double. I admit the number, said I, mentioned. 
 
 If so, continued he, it should seem, that towards a tolerable 
 supply of the three primary and common necessaries, food, rai- 
 ment, and a dwelling, not less than twenty arts were, on the 
 lowest account, requisite. It appears so. 
 
 And is one man equal, think you, to the exercise of these 
 twenty arts ? If he had even genius, which we can scarce imagine, 
 is it possible he should find leisure ? I replied, I thought not. 
 If so, then a solitary, unsocial state, can never supply tolerably 
 the common necessaries of life. It cannot. 
 
 But what if we pass from the necessaries of life to the ele- 
 gancies ? to music, sculpture, painting, and poetry ? What if we 
 pass from all arts, whether necessary or elegant, to the large 
 and various tribe of sciences? to logic, mathematics, astronomy, 
 physics? Can one man, imagine you, master all this? Absurd, 
 said I, impossible. And yet in this cycle of sciences and arts 
 seem included all the comforts, as well as ornaments of life ; in- 
 cluded all conducive, either to being, or to well-being. It must 
 be confessed, said I, it has the appearance. 
 
 What, then, said he, must be done ? In what manner must we 
 be supplied? I answered, I knew not, unless we made a dis- 
 
60 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 tribution. Let one exercise one art, and another a different ; let 
 this man study such a science, and that man another. Thus the 
 whole cycle (as you call it) may be carried easily into perfection. 
 It is true, said he, it may ; and every individual, as far as his 
 own art or science, might be supplied completely, and as well as 
 he could wish. But what avails a supply in a single instance? 
 What in this case are to become of all his numerous other wants ? 
 You conceive, replied I, what I would have said, but partially. 
 My meaning was, that artist trade with artist ; each supply 
 where he is deficient, by exchanging where he abounds ; so that 
 a portion of every thing may be dispersed throughout all. You 
 intend then a state, said he, of commutation and traffic. I re- 
 plied, I did. 
 
 If so, continued he, I see a new face of things. The savages, 
 with their skins and their caverns, disappear : in their place I 
 behold a fair community rising. No longer woods, no longer soli- 
 tude ; but all is social, civil, and cultivated. And can we doubt 
 any further whether society be natural ? Is not this evidently 
 the state which can best supply the primary wants? It has ap- 
 peared so. And did we not agree, some time since, that this 
 state, whatever we found it, would be certainly of all others the 
 most agreeable to our nature? We did. And have we not 
 added, since this, to the weight of our argument, by passing 
 from the necessary arts to the elegant ; from the elegant to the 
 sciences ? We have. The more, said he, we consider, the more 
 shall we be convinced, that all these, the noblest honours and 
 ornaments of the human mind, without that leisure, that ex- 
 perience, that emulation, that reward, which the social state 
 alone we know is able to provide them, could never have found 
 existence, or been in the least recognised. Indeed, said I, I be- 
 lieve not. 
 
 Let it not be forgot, then, said he, in favour of society/ that to 
 it we owe, not only the beginning and continuation, but the well- 
 being, and (if I may use the expression) the very elegance and 
 rationality of our existence. I answered, it appeared evident. 
 
 And what, then, continued he, if society be thus agreeable to 
 our nature, is there nothing, think you, within us, to excite and 
 lead us to it ? No impulse, no preparation of faculties? It would 
 be strange, answered I, if there should not. It would be a sin- 
 gular exception, said he, with respect to all other herding species. 
 Let us, however, examine : pity, benevolence, friendship, love, 
 the general dislike of solitude, and desire of company ; are they 
 natural affections which come of themselves, or are they taught 
 us by art, like music and arithmetic? I should think, replied I, 
 
 y The whole argument to prove society also the same argument hinted at in the 
 
 natural to man, from p. 58, is taken from Protagoras of Plato, p. 322. C. edit. Serr. 
 
 the second book of Plato's Republic. See vol. i. 
 Plat. vol. ii. p. 369, &c. edit. Serrani. See 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 61 
 
 they were natural, because in every degree of men some traces 
 of them may be discovered. And are not the powers and ca- 
 pacities of speech, said he, the same 2 z Are not all men naturally 
 formed to express their sentiments by some kind of language I 
 I replied, they were. 
 
 If, then, said he, these several powers and dispositions are 
 natural, so should seem too their exercise. Admit it. And if 
 their exercise, then so too that state where alone they can be 
 exercised. Admit it. And what is this state but the social? 
 Or where else is it possible to converse, or use our speech ; to 
 exhibit actions of pity, benevolence, friendship, or love; to re- 
 lieve our aversion to solitude, or gratify our desire of being with 
 others 2 I replied, it could be nowhere else. 
 
 You see, then, continued he, a preparation of faculties is not 
 
 1 The argument in favour of society, S/Soj/rot THJUV inrb TTJS (ptxrews, irpbs rb Si 
 
 from our being possessed of \6yos, or the avr&v a-^ofiv^iv y^as a\\^\ois Trj 
 
 speaking faculty, seems to have been much ra vo^)fj.ara 'iva Kal Svvw/j.f6a 
 
 insisted on by the best authors of an- a\\*fi\ois, /cat ffv/niroXirfveffdai' 
 
 tiquity. yap wov 6 "AvBpwwos. " Ideas are images 
 
 AIOTI 8e iro\iTiKbv 6 *A.v9p(i)iros <aov, of things in the soul, and sounds are de- 
 
 clarative of these ideas. And for this 
 reason were these sounds imparted to us by 
 
 irdo-rjs /xeXiTTTjy Kal TTO.VTOS aye\aiov tyov 
 
 fj.a\\ov, $YI\OI>. OvQev yap, us 
 
 /uctTT/j' 77 (pixTis iroiei' \6yov 8e ftfatP v Af- nature, not only that we might indicate to 
 
 6p(DTros 6%et T&V (wwf . 'H ftfv olv <p(av)) each other these ideas, but that we might 
 
 rov r,Seos Kal Xvirypov ecrrl ffT}fj.f?ov. Sib be enabled to communicate and live in as- 
 
 rots o'AAots virdpxei Clots' fJ-^xP 1 7^P sociations : for man is by nature a social 
 rovrov rt <pvo~is avTcav f\-f)\vdev, Sxrre alff- animal." Ammon. in 1. de Interpr. p. 16. B. 
 
 Thus Cicero, speaking of human nature : 
 Omitto opportunitates habilitatesque reliqui 
 
 6dveo~6ai rov \vir-ripov Kal rjSfos, Kal ravra 
 (TT]fj.aivfiv aAATjAots. 'O 5e \6yos eVi rb 
 
 e<m rb <rv/j.<pfpov, Kal rb ftXafiepdv. corporis, moderationem vocis, orationis vim, 
 
 So-re al rb Si/catoi', Kal TO aSiKov. Tovro 
 yap Trpbs ra aAAa {ua TO?S avdpd>irois t^ioy, 
 T& /J.6VOV ayadov Kal KaKov, Kal SiKaiov Kal 
 d5f/cou alvQ-riffLv ex fiv ' 
 Trotel o'tKiav Kal ir6Xiv. 
 
 quae conciliatrix est humanae maxume so- 
 cietatis. De Legg. 1. i. c. P. p. 35. ed. Davis. 
 Again, in his Offices : Sed quae natura 
 
 * TOVTCDV Koivavia principia sint communitatis et societatis 
 The reason why humanae, repetendum altius videtur. Est 
 
 man is a social animal, more than any bee, enim primum, quod cernitur in universi 
 
 or any herding species whatever, is evident generis humani societate. Ejus enim vin- 
 
 from hence. Nature, we say, makes nothing culum est ratio, et oratio ; quae docendo, 
 
 in vain ; and man, of all animals, is only discendo, communicando, disceptando, di- 
 
 possessed of speech. Bare sound, indeed, judicando, conciliat inter se homines, con- 
 
 may be the sign of what is pleasurable or jungitque naturali quadam societate. De 
 
 painful, and for that reason it is common Offic. 1. i. c. 16. 
 
 even to other animals also : for so far we Thus too, in his treatise De Nat. Deor. : 
 
 perceive even their nature can go, that they Jam vero domina rerum (ut vos soletis 
 
 have a sense of those feelings, and signify dicere) eloquendi vis quam est praeclara, 
 
 them to each other. But speech is made quamque divina ? Quae primum efficit ut ea, 
 
 to indicate what is expedient, and what quae ignoramus, discere, et ea, quae scimus, 
 
 hurtful ; and, in consequence of this, what alios docere possimus. Deinde hac cohor- 
 
 is just and unjust. It is therefore given to tamur, hac persuademus, hac consolamur 
 
 men, because this, with respect to other afflictos,hac deducimus perterritos a timore, 
 
 animals, is to men alone peculiar, that of hac gestientes comprimimus, hac cupiditates 
 
 good and evil, just and unjust, they only iracundiasque restinguimus : haec, nos juris, 
 
 possess a sense or feeling. Now it is the legum urbium societate devinxit : haec a 
 
 participation or community of these which vita immani et fera segregavit. De Nat. 
 makes and constitutes both a family and a 
 
 polity." Aristot. Polit. 1. i. c. 2. 
 
 EiK6vs yap dcriv 3v rfj tyvxj) T&V "Tpay- 
 u.dr(av \ra vo'fjfji.ara'l' al 5e <p<ava\ rwv voi\- 
 
 fayyf\TiKai' Kal Sia TOVTO p. 260. A. ed. Serr. 
 
 Nat. 
 
 Deor. 1. ii. c. 59. p. 243. ed. Davis. See 
 also Quint. Inst. 1. ii. c. 16. and Alex. 
 Aphrod. trepl i//ux- P- 1 55. B. ed. Aid. Sanctii 
 Min. 1. i. c. 2. p. 15. Plat, in Sophista, 
 
62 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 wanting. We are fitted with powers and dispositions which have 
 only relation to society, and which, out of society, can nowhere 
 else be exercised. I replied, it was evident. You have seen, 
 too, the superior advantages of the social state above all others. 
 I have. 
 
 Let this then be remembered, said he, throughout all our 
 future reasonings, remembered as a first principle in our ideas 
 of humanity, that man by nature is truly a social animal. I 
 promised it should. 
 
 XIII. Let us now, said he, examine what further we can learn 
 concerning him. As social, indeed, he is distinguished from the 
 solitary and savage species ; but in no degree from the rest, of 
 a milder and more friendly nature. It is true, replied I, he is 
 not. Does he then differ no more from these several social 
 species, than they, each of them, differ from one another ? Must 
 we range them all, and man among the rest, under the same 
 common and general genus? I see no foundation, said I, for 
 making a distinction. 
 
 Perhaps, said he, there may be none ; and it is possible, too, 
 there may. Consider a little : Do you not observe in all other 
 species, a similarity among individuals? a surprising likeness, 
 which runs through each particular? In one species they are all 
 bold, in another all timorous ; in one all ravenous, in another all 
 gentle. In the bird kind only, what a uniformity of voice, in 
 each species, as to their notes ; of architecture, as to building 
 their nests ; of food, both for themselves and for supporting their 
 young. It is true, said I. And do you observe, continued he, 
 the same similarity among men ? Are these all as uniform, as to 
 their sentiments and actions? I replied, by no means. 
 
 One question more, said he, as to the character of brutes, if I 
 may be allowed the expression. Are these, think you, what we 
 behold them, by nature or otherwise? Explain, said I, your 
 question, for I do not well conceive you. I mean, replied he, is 
 it by nature that the swallow builds her nest, and performs all 
 the offices of her kind ; or is she taught by art, by discipline, or 
 custom? She acts, replied I, by pure nature, undoubtedly. 
 And is not the same true, said he, of every other bird and beast 
 in the universe ? It is. No wonder, then, continued he, as they 
 have so wise a governess, that a uniform rule of action is provided 
 for each species. For what can be more worthy the wisdom of 
 nature, than ever to the same substances to give the same law ? 
 It appears, said I, reasonable. 
 
 But what, continued he, shall we say as to man ? Is he too 
 actuated by nature purely? I answered, why not? If he be, 
 replied he, it is strange in nature, that with respect to man alone 
 she should follow so different a conduct. The particulars in other 
 species, we agree, she renders uniform ; but in our's, every par- 
 ticular seems a sort of model by himself. If nature, said' I, do 
 
A DIALOGUE. 63 
 
 not actuate us, what can we suppose else ? Are local customs, 
 said he, nature? Are the polities and religions of particular 
 nations, nature 2 Are the examples which are set before us, the 
 preceptors who instruct us, the company and friends with whom 
 we converse, all nature 2 No, surely, said I. And yet, said he, 
 it is evident, that by these, and a thousand incidental circum- 
 stances, equally foreign to nature, our actions, and manners, and 
 characters are adjusted. Who then can imagine, we are actuated 
 by nature only 2 I confess, said I, it appears contrary. 
 
 You see, then, said he, one remarkable distinction between 
 man and brutes in general. In the brute, nature does all ; in 
 man, but part only. It is evident, said I. 
 
 But further, continued he, let us consider the powers or facul- 
 ties possessed by each. Suppose I was willing to give a brute 
 the same instruction which we give a man. A parrot, perhaps, 
 or ape, might arrive to some small degree of mimicry ; but do 
 you think, upon the whole, they would be much profited or 
 altered 2 I replied, I thought not. And do you perceive the 
 same, said he, with respect to man? Or does not experience 
 shew us the very reverse 2 Is not education capable of moulding 
 us into any thing, of making us greatly good or greatly bad, 
 greatly wise or greatly absurd 2 The fact, said I, is indisput- 
 able. 
 
 Mark, then, said he, the difference between human powers 
 and brutal. The leading principle of brutes appears to tend in 
 each species to one single purpose ; to this, in general, it uni- 
 formly arrives ; and here, in general, it as uniformly stops : it 
 needs no precepts or discipline to instruct it ; nor will it easily 
 be changed, or admit a different direction. On the contrary, 
 the leading principle of man is capable of infinite directions, is 
 convertible to all sorts of purposes, equal to all sorts of subjects; 
 neglected, remains ignorant, and void of every perfection ; culti- 
 vated, becomes adorned with sciences and arts ; can raise us to 
 excel, not only brutes, but our own kind ; with respect to our 
 other powers and faculties, can instruct us how to use them, as 
 well as those of the various natures w r hich we see existing 
 around us. In a word, to oppose the two principles to each 
 other, the leading principle of man is multiform, originally unin- 
 structed, pliant and docile : the leading principle of brutes is 
 uniform, originally instructed, but, in most instances afterward, 
 inflexible and indocile. Or does not experience plainly shew and 
 confirm the truth of what we assert ? I made answer, it did. 
 
 You allow, then, said he, the human principle, and the brutal, 
 to be things of different idea. Undoubtedly. Do they not each, 
 then, deserve a different appellation 2 I should think so. Sup- 
 pose therefore we call the human principle, reason ; and the 
 brutal, instinct: would you object to the terms? I replied, 
 I should not. If not, continued he, then reason being peculiar to 
 

 64 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 man, or all the animals inhabiting this earth, may we not affirm 
 of him, hy way of distinction, that he is a rational animal ? 
 I replied, we might justly. 
 
 Let this, too, then be remembered, said he, in the course of our 
 inquiry, that man is by nature a rational animal. I promised it 
 should. 
 
 XIV. In consequence of this, said he, as often as there is 
 occasion, I shall appeal as well to reason, as to nature, for a 
 standard. What, said I, do you mean by nature? Its meanings, 
 replied he, are many and various. As it stands at present op- 
 posed, it may be enough perhaps to say, that nature is that 
 which is the cause of every thing, except those things alone 
 which are the immediate effects of reason. In other words, 
 whatever is not reason, or the effect of reason, we would con- 
 sider as nature, or the effect of nature. I answered, as he 
 so distinguished them, I thought he might justly appeal to 
 either. 
 
 And yet, continued he, there is a remarkable difference be- 
 tween the standard of reason, and that of nature ; a difference, 
 which at no time we ought to forget. What difference, said I, 
 do you mean ? It is this, answered he ; in nature, the standard 
 is sought from among the many; in reason, the standard is 
 sought among the few. You must explain, said I, your meaning, 
 for I must confess you seem obscure. 
 
 Thus, then, said he : suppose, as an anatomist, you were seeking 
 the structure of some internal part ; to discover this, would you 
 not inspect a number of individuals? I should. And would 
 you not inform yourself, what had been discovered by others? 
 I should. And suppose, after all, you should find a multitude 
 of instances for one structure, and a few singular for a different : 
 by which would you be governed ? By the multitude, said I, 
 undoubtedly. Thus, then, continued he, in nature the standard, 
 you see, exists among the many. I replied, it had so appeared. 
 
 And what, said he, were we to seek the perfection of sculp- 
 ture, or of painting? Where should we inquire then ? Among the 
 numerous common artists, or among the few and celebrated ? 
 Among the few, said I. What if we were to seek the perfection 
 of poetry, or oratory, where then? Among the few, still. 
 What if we were to seek the perfection of true argument, or a 
 sound logic ; where then ? Still among the few. And is not 
 true argument, or a sound logic, one of reason's greatest perfec- 
 tions? It is. You see, then, continued he, whence the standard 
 of reason is to be sought : it is from among the few," as we said 
 
 8 In omni enim arte, vel studio, vel cellent, rb eu, Kal (Tirdviov, ital 
 
 quavis scientia, vel in ipsa virtute, op- KCU Ka\6v. Eth. Nic. 1. ii. c. 9. rb yap 
 
 tumum quodque rarissimum est. Cic. de ffiraviov, & EufluSr^e, T'HJHOV. Plat, in 
 
 Fin. 1. ii. c. 25. p. 158. edit. Dav. Thus, Euthyd. p. 304. B. edit. Serr. 
 too, Aristotle joins the rare and the ex- 
 
A DIALOGUE. 65 
 
 before, in contradistinction to the standard of nature. I confess, I )( 
 said I, it appears so. 
 
 And happy, said he, for us, that Providence has so ordered it ; 
 happy for us, that what is rational, depends not on the multitude ; 
 nor is it to be tried by so pitiful a test as the bare counting of 
 noses. It is happy, said I, indeed : but whence, pray, the dif- 
 ference? Why are the many to determine in nature, and the 
 few, only, in reason? To discuss this at large, said he, would 
 require some time. It might insensibly perhaps draw us from 
 our present inquiry. I will endeavour to give you the reason in 
 as few words as possible; which, should they chance to be 
 obscure, be not too solicitous for an explanation. I begged him 
 to proceed his own way. 
 
 The case, said he, appears to be this : in natural works and 
 natural operations, we hold but one efficient cause, and that 
 consummately wise. This cause in every species recognising 
 what is best, and working ever uniformly according to this idea 
 of perfection, 6 the productions and energies, in every species 
 where it acts, are for the most part similar and exactly corre- 
 spondent. If an exception ever happen, it is from some hidden 
 higher motive, which transcends our comprehension, and which 
 is seen so rarely, as not to injure the general rule, or render it 
 doubtful and precarious. On the contrary, in the productions 
 and energies of reason, there is not one cause, but infinite ; as 
 many, indeed, as there are agents of the human kind. Hence 
 truth being but one, and error being infinite, and agents infinite 
 also ; what wonder they should oftener miss, than hit the mark ? 
 that multitudes should fail, where one alone succeeds, and truth 
 be only the possession of the chosen, fortunate few? You 
 seem to have explained the difficulty, said I, with sufficient 
 perspicuity. 
 
 Let us then go back, said he, and recollect ourselves ; that 
 we may not forget what it is we are seeking. I replied, most ^ 
 willingly. We have been seeking, continued he, the sovereign 
 good. In consequence of this inquiry, we have discovered, that / 
 all things whatever exist to the human species in the relations 
 
 b Thus Boethius, addressing the Deity : <pv<ret ov (pvcret, aAAtfc irapa (pvffiv rfj 8e 
 
 O qui perpetua mundum ratione g-ahernas^ KaQ6\ov, Kal (pixret ical Kara (pvffiv. 'H 
 
 Terrarum codique sector, qui tempus ok oevo fiev 7ctp p.epiK$i (pvffis evbs etSovs (Troxd-C*- 
 
 Ire jubes, stabelisqne manens das cunda TCU, /cat fj.iuv ar4p-r\aiv (pevyei. Aio rovro 
 
 moveri ; rf) p\v rov avQp&irov (pvffet rb repas ofoe 
 
 Quern non eoeterruB pepulerunt fingere -causes tpvtrei orrlv, otfre Kara (pvcriv rrj 5' '6\y 
 
 Mattrice fluitantis opus ; verum intdta summi tpvTft firel /jLrjSev T< iravrl irapa (pixTiv 
 
 Forma boni^livore carens: in curtcta sttperno (ovStv yap KUK^V ev TOJ iravrl) OVK tart 
 
 Ducts ab exemplo, pulchrum pulcherrinms irapa (pvfftv, aAAa tyvaei Kal Kara <pv<nv. 
 
 ipse JoanriM Gram, in Aristot. lib. ii. Natural. 
 
 Mundum mente gerens, similique in imagine Auscult. Nihil eni-m fieri sine causa 
 
 formans. potost: nee quicquam fit, quod fieri non 
 
 Consol. Philos. 1. iii. Metr. 9. potest : nee, si id factum est quod potuit 
 
 c MVj?reT 5e p^Sf TUTO [sc. TO repora] fieri, portentum debet videri. Cic. de Divio. 
 
 urapa. <pv<riv flalv, aAAa rf) uev /uept/cp i ii. c. 28. p. 1 89. edit. Davis. 
 
66 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 of either pursuable, avoidable, or indifferent. To determine 
 these relations with accuracy, we have been scrutinizing the 
 human nature ; and that, upon this known maxim, that every 
 species was its own proper standard ; and that where the value 
 of things was dubious, there the species was to be studied, and 
 the relations to be deduced, which naturally flow from it. The 
 result of this scrutiny has been, that we have first agreed man 
 to be a social animal; and since, to be a rational. So that if 
 we can be content with a descriptive, concise sketch of human 
 nature, it will amount to this, that man is a social rational 
 animal. d I answered, it had appeared so. 
 
 XV. If, then, said he, we pursue our disquisitions agreeably 
 to this idea of human nature, it will follow, that all things will 
 be pursuable, avoidable, and indifferent to man, as they respect 
 the being and welfare of such a social, rational animal. I re- 
 plied, they must. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, in the first place, said he, can be pursuable, 
 which is destructive of society. 6 It cannot. Acts, therefore, of 
 fraud and rapine, and all acquired by them, whether wealth, 
 power, pleasure, or any thing, are evidently, from their very 
 
 of all minds, considered as minds ; namely, 
 the unity of truth, their common object. 
 
 Again, every just and perfect society 
 stands on the basis of certain laws. But 
 law is nothing more, than right and perfect 
 reason, seen in bidding and forbidding, 
 according to the nature and essence of those 
 beings to which it is a law. If, therefore, 
 this universe be one whole, or general 
 society, there must be some common, ge- 
 neral law for its conduct and welfare ; and 
 this law must, of consequence, be some 
 right and perfect reason, which passes 
 through all things, and extends to every 
 part. Well therefore might Antoninus say, 
 in the beginning of this note, that every 
 thing rational, was of course social, since 
 reason and law appear to be the same, and 
 law to be the support and basis of all 
 society. Thus, too, Cicero : Sequitur, ut 
 eadern sit in his [sc. Diis] qua? humano 
 generi ratio ; eadem veritas utrobique sit ; 
 eademque lex, quae est recti prseceptio, 
 pravique depulsio. De Nat. Deor. 1. ii. 
 c. 31. p. 180. See also the same author, 
 De Leg. 1. i. c. 8, 12, 15. p. 29, 41, 51. 
 edit. Davis. De Fin. 1. ii. c. 14. p. 123. 
 See also Diog. Laert. 1. vii. s. 88. M. Anton. 
 1. v. c. 16. 1. vi. c. 23. Aristot. Polit. as 
 quoted in note z, p. 61. 
 
 e Si enim sic erimus affecti, ut propter 
 suum quisque emolumentum spoliet, aut 
 violet alterum, disrumpi necesse est earn, 
 quae maxime est secundum naturam, hu- 
 mani generis societatem. Cic. de Offic. 1. iii. 
 c. 5. 
 
 d Zaov \oyiKbv Kal 
 Kal Koivwvutbv, XoyiKbv Kal tf/j.fpov : these 
 are descriptions of humanity, which we 
 meet in every page of Epictetus and An- 
 toninus. 
 
 It seems, indeed, to have been a re- 
 ceived opinion of old, that so intimate was 
 the relation between these two attributes, 
 that wherever there was rationality, so- 
 ciality followed of course. Thus Antoninus : 
 fffri 8e rb XoyiKbv, ei'6i>s Kal iroXiTiK^v. 
 1. x. s. 2. And again, more fully : /cat 
 roivvv irav rb rrjs voepas (pv<r(i)s /j.4roxpv, 
 irpbs rb ffvyyevfs 6/j.ota)S oTreuSet, 3) Kal 
 /u.aAAoy ftffif) yap tcrri Kpelrrov irapd ra 
 #AAa, Toaovry Kal irpbs rb avyKpivaaQai 
 Tip oiKflff Kal ffvyKGiffOai eTOi/j.6repov. 
 1. ix. s. 9. 
 
 It is not perhaps foreign to the present 
 subject to observe, that were the eyes of 
 any two men whatever to view the same 
 object, they would each, from their dif- 
 ferent place, and their different organiza- 
 tion, behold it differently, and have a dif- 
 ferent image. But were all the minds in 
 the universe to recognise the same truth, 
 they would all recognise it as one, their 
 recognition would be uniform, and them- 
 selves in a manner would be one also. The 
 reason is, perception by the senses admits 
 of more and less, better and worse ; but 
 perception by the intellect, like truth, its 
 object, admits of no degrees, and is either 
 nothing at all, or else total, uniform, com- 
 plete, and one. Hence, therefore, one source 
 of the society, and, as it were, communion 
 
A DIALOGUE. 67 
 
 character, not fit to be pursued. They are not. But it is im- 
 possible not to pursue many such things, unless we are furnished 
 with some habit or disposition of mind, by which we are induced 
 to render to all men their own, and to regard the welfare and 
 interest of society. It is impossible. But the habit or dis- 
 position of rendering to all their own, and of regarding the 
 welfare and interest of society, is justice. It is. We may \ 
 therefore fairly conclude, that nothing is naturally pursuable, 
 but what is either correspondent to justice, or at least not con- 
 trary. I confess, said I, so it appears. 
 
 But, further, said he, it is possible we may have the best dis- 
 position to society; the most upright intentions; and yet, 
 through want of ability to discern and know the nature of 
 particulars, we may pursue many things inconsistent, as well 
 with our private interest, as the public. We may even pursue 
 what is right, and yet pursue it in such a manner, as to find our 
 endeavours fruitless, and our purposes to fail. I answered, it 
 was possible. But this would ill befit the character of a rational 
 animal. It would. It is necessary, therefore, we should be 
 furnished with some habit or faculty, instructing us how to 
 discern the real difference of all particulars, and suggesting the 
 proper means by which we may either avoid or obtain them. 
 It is. And what is this, think you, but prudence ? I believe, 
 said, I, it can be no other. If it be, said he, then it is evident 
 from this reasoning, that nothing is pursuable, which is not 
 correspondent to prudence. I replied, he had shewn it could 
 not. 
 
 But further still, said he, it is possible we may neither want 
 prudence nor justice to direct us ; and yet the impulses of ap- 
 petite, the impetuosities of resentment, the charms and allure- 
 ments of a thousand flattering objects, may tempt us, in spite of 
 ourselves, to pursue what is both imprudent and unjust. They 
 may. But if so, it is necessary, would we pursue as becomes 
 our character, that we should be furnished with some habit 
 which may moderate our excesses ; which may temper our 
 actions to the standard of a social state, and to the interest and 
 welfare, not of a part, but of the whole man. Nothing, said I, 
 more necessary. And what, said he, can we call this habit, but 
 the habit of temperance 1 You name it, said I, rightly. If you 
 think so, replied he, then nothing can be pursuable, which is not 
 either correspondent to temperance, or at least not contrary. 
 I replied, so it seemed. 
 
 Once more, continued he, and we have done : it is possible that 
 not only resentment and appetite, not only the charms and 
 allurements of external objects, but the terrors, too, and dread 
 of them, may mar the rectitude of our purposes. It is pos- 
 sible. Tyranny an4 superstition may assail us on one hand; 
 the apprehensions of ridicule, and a false shame, on the other : it 
 
 F 2 
 
68 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 is expedient, to withstand these, we should be armed with some 
 habit, or our wisest best pursuits may else at all times be de- 
 feated. They may. And what is that generous, manlike, and 
 noble habit, which sets us at all times above fear and danger ; 
 what is it but fortitude I I replied, it was no other. If so, 
 then, continued he, besides our former conclusions, nothing 
 further can be pursuable, as our inquiries now have shewn us, 
 which is not either correspondent to fortitude, or at least not 
 contrary. I admit, said I, it is not. 
 
 Observe, then, said he, the sum, the amount of our whole 
 reasoning : nothing is truly pursuable to such an animal as man, 
 except what is correspondent, or, at least, not contrary to justice, 
 prudence, temperance, and fortitude. I allow, said I, it appears 
 so. But if nothing pursuable, then nothing avoidable or indif- 
 ferent, but what is tried and estimated after the same manner. 
 For contraries are ever recognised through the same habit/ one 
 with another. The same logic judges of truth and falsehood ; 
 the same musical art, of concord and discord. So the same 
 mental habitudes, of things avoidable and pursuable. I replied, 
 it appeared probable. 
 
 To how unexpected a conclusion, then, said he, have our 
 inquiries insensibly led us ? In tracing the source of human ac- 
 tion, we have established it to be those four grand virtues, 5 
 which are esteemed, for their importance, the very hinges of all 
 morality. We have. 
 
 But if so, it should follow, that a life, whose pursuings and 
 avoidings are governed by these virtues, is that true and rational 
 
 r Ao/ce? 8e Kal ?) aiTarr), Kai T] eiriffT'hfjni Trepl ras 6pfj.as rov av6p(trjrov' TTJV 5e av- 
 
 rcov tvavriwv, f) avr}) fivai : " There seems Spetav, Trepl ras virofj.ovds' T^V Se SiKato- 
 
 to be one and the same error, and one and avvt\v^ ircpl ras aTro^e^areis : w The pri- 
 
 the same science, with respect to things mary virtues are four ; prudence, tern- 
 
 contrary." Arist. de Anim. 1. iii. c. 3. This, perance, fortitude, and justice : prudence is 
 
 by Themistius, in his Paraphrase, is thus employed in moral offices ; temperance, in 
 
 illustrated : Toil/ evavritav p.la effrlv eVt- men's natural appetites and pursuits ; for- 
 
 ffT-fi/j.1), Kal /nia ayvoia' 6 yap rb ayaObv titude, in endurings ; and justice, in dis- 
 
 co j ca<p\ifj.ov yiv(affK<i}V, Kal rb KUKbv $TI tributions." Eel. Ethic, p. 167. 
 
 fi\a$fpbv ffvvfjriararac Kal 6 irepl 0drfpov That the life according to virtue, was 
 
 f^aTraT(i>/j.evos, e^airaTarai Kal Trepl 6drf- deemed the life according to nature, appears 
 
 (sov : " Of things contrary there is one from what is said by the same author, in 
 
 science, and one ignorance. For thus, he the page following : Uaawv Se TOVTCDV T>V 
 
 who knows good to be something bene- apfrwv rb re\os slvai, rb uKoXovOcas rfj 
 
 ficial, knows evil, at the same time, to be <pvffi gjjv tKaaT-qv 5e TOVTM 8ia TUV 
 
 something pernicious ; and he who is de- iStcav wape^a-Oat rvyxavovra rbu avOpu- 
 
 ceived with respect to one of these, is de- irov : " The end of all these virtues is, to 
 
 ceived also with respect to the other." live agreeably to nature ; and each of them, 
 
 See the lo of Plato, p. 531. vol. i. edit, by those means which are peculiar to it- 
 
 Serr. self, is found to put a man in possession of 
 
 s Stobaeus, having told us, that of the this end." 
 
 virtues some were primary, some subordi- So likewise Cicero: Etenim quod sum- 
 
 nate, adds: irpcaras 5e rerrapas flvai, mum bonum a Stoicisdicitur,"convenienter 
 
 <f>p6vfl<TiV) (rci}())po(Tvj/r)V) avSpetat', SiKaio- naturae vivere," id habet hanc, ut opinor, 
 
 <rvvr\v at r^v filv <pp6^(riv, ire pi ra sententiam, "cum virtute congruere semper." 
 
 yiveo-Oai' rip Se ffoxppovvvrjv De Offic. 1. iii. c. 3. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 69 
 
 life, which we have so long been seeking ; that life, where the 
 value of all things is justly measured by those relations which 
 they bear to the natural frame, and real constitution of man- 
 kind : h in fewer words, a life of virtue appears to be the life ac- 
 cording to nature. It appears so. 
 
 But, in such a life, every pursuit, every avoiding, (to include 
 all,) every action, will of course admit of being rationally justi- 
 fied. It will. But that which, being done, admits of a rational 
 justification, 1 is the essence or genuine character of an office, or 
 moral duty. For thus, long ago, it has been defined by the best 
 authorities. 15 Admit it. If so, then a life according to virtue, 
 is a life according to moral offices or duties. It appears so. 
 But we have already agreed it to be a life according to nature. 
 We have. Observe, then : a life according to virtue, according 
 to moral offices, and according to nature, mean all the same 
 thing, though varied in the expression. Your remark, said I, 
 seems just. 
 
 XVI. We need never, therefore, replied he, be at a loss how 
 to choose, though the objects of choice be ever so infinite and 
 diversified. As far as nothing is inconsistent with such a life 
 and such a character, we may justly set existence before death, 
 prefer health to sickness, integrity of the limbs to being maimed 
 and debilitated, pleasure to pain, wealth to poverty, fame to dis- 
 honour, free government to slavery, power and magistracy to sub- 
 jection and a private state ; universally, whatever tends either 
 to being, or to well-being, we may be justified, when we prefer to 
 whatever appears the contrary. And when our several energies, 
 exerted according to the virtues just mentioned, have put us in 
 possession of all that we require ; ' when we enjoy, subjoined to 
 
 h See pages 56, 58, 66, 82, 83. yiyverai /car' aper^v rty 
 
 1 In the original, it is & irpax^v fv\oyov reActora-r^i/ eV fiiy reAe/y : " If this be 
 
 fax* 1 o.iro\oyia'fj<.6v. Diog. Laert. 1. vii. admitted, it follows, that human good or 
 
 s. 107. forcp irpaxOev f&\oyov e%6i TT]V happiness is the energizing of the soul ac- 
 
 a.Tfo\oyiav. Sext. Emp. Adv. Mathem. 1. cording to the best and most consummate 
 
 v ii. Thus rendered by Cicero : Officium id virtue, in a perfect and complete life." 
 
 esse dicunt, quod cur factum sit, ratio pro- Ethic. Nic. 1. i. c. 7. A perfect and com- 
 
 babilis reddi possit. De Offic. 1. i. c. 3. plete life, they explained to be such a life 
 
 The reason of its Greek name, KaQriKov, is as was no way deficient either as to its 
 
 given by Simplicius : Kad^Kovrd eorr ra duration, its bodily health, and its being 
 
 yiv6/j.ej/a Kara rot. riKovra Kal eVt/SaX- attended with a proper competence of ex- 
 
 \ovra: "Moral offices are those things ternal goods, and prosperity. By the best 
 
 which are done agreeably to what is fitting and most consummate virtue, they not only 
 
 and expedient." Simplic. in Ench. c. 37. meant that virtue which was in its kind 
 
 k By Tully, in his Offices, and by other most perfect, but which was the virtue also 
 
 authors of antiquity. of that part which is in each of us most 
 
 1 This was the idea of happiness adopted excellent. For there are virtues of the 
 
 by the old academy, or Platonics : Secun- body, such as strength and agility ; and 
 
 dum naturam vivere, sic affectmn, ut optime there are virtues of the senses, such as 
 
 affici possit, ad naturamque accommodatis- accurate seeing, accurate tasting ; and the 
 
 eime. Cic. de Fin. 1. v. c. 9. p. 370. The same of every faculty, from the lowest to 
 
 Peripatetics, who were originally of the that which is supreme. 
 
 same school, held the same. E< 8' ovru, The sovereign good, or happiness, here 
 
 rb a,vQpcS)iTivov ayaQbv iJ^X^ 5 eWpyeta spoken of, is again repeated, in other words 
 
70 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 a right and honest mind, both health of body and competence 
 of externals ; what can there be wanting to complete our hap- 
 piness, to render our state perfectly consonant to nature, or to 
 give us a more sovereign good than that which we now enjoy ? 
 Nothing, replied I, that I can at present think of. 
 
 There would be nothing, indeed, said he, were our energies never 
 to fail ; were all our endeavours to be ever crowned with due suc- 
 cess. But suppose the contrary ; suppose the worst success to the 
 most upright conduct, to the wisest rectitude of energies and ac- 
 tions. It is possible, nay, experience teaches us it is too often fact, 
 that not only the pursuers of what is contrary to nature, but that 
 those who pursue nothing but what is strictly congruous to it, 
 may miss of their aims, and be frustrated in their endeavours. 
 Inquisitors and monks may detest them for their virtue, and 
 pursue them with all the engines of malice and inhumanity. 
 Without these, pests may afflict their bodies ; inundations over- 
 whelm their property; or, what is worse than inundations, either 
 tyrants, pirates, heroes, or banditti. They may see their country 
 fall, and with it their bravest countrymen ; themselves pillaged, 
 and reduced to extremities, or perishing with the rest in the 
 general massacre. 
 
 Cadit et Ripheus, justissimus unus 
 Qui fuit in Teucris, et servantissimus sequi." 1 
 
 It must be owned, said I, this has too often been the case. 
 
 Or grant, continued he, that these greater events never happen ; 
 that the part allotted us be not in the tragedy of life, but in the 
 comedy. Even the comic distresses are abundantly irksome : 
 domestic jars, the ill offices of neighbours ; suspicions, jealousies, 
 schemes defeated ; the folly of fools ; the knavery of knaves : 
 
 page 71, where it is called, " the attaining called, the opinion of the old Academics and 
 
 the primary and just requisites of our na- Peripatetics. It is again repeated by the 
 
 ture, by a conduct suitable to virtue and same author : Honeste vivere, fruentem 
 
 moral office." rebus iis, quas primas homini natura con- 
 
 The primary and just requisites here ciliet. Acad. 1. ii. c. 42. p. 240. 
 
 mentioned, are all things requisite to the It is to be observed, that Cicero, speaking 
 
 use and enjoyment of our primary and of this hypothesis, says, that it proposed an 
 
 natural perfections. These primary and idea of happiness, which was not properly 
 
 natural perfections, mean the natural in our own power. Hoc non est positum in 
 
 accomplishments of both our mind and nostra actione : completur enim et ex eo 
 
 body. They were called by the Latins, genere vitae, quod virtute finitur, et ex iis 
 
 prima naturae, prima secundum naturam ; rebus quae secundum naturam sunt, neque 
 
 by the Greeks, r irptara. Kara tyvfTiv, TO sunt in nostra potestate. De Fin. 1. iv. c. 
 
 irpwra TTJS Qvffeus. In them were in- 6. p. 287. 
 
 eluded health, strength, agility, beauty, Hence, therefore, the deficiency of this 
 
 perfect sensations, memory, docility, in- doctrine. However justifiable, however 
 
 vention, &c. See Stob. Eel. Eth. p. 1 63. laudable its end, it could not insure a due 
 
 Cic. de Fin. 1. v. c. 7. p. 364. A. Gell. 1. success to its endeavours. And hence, 
 
 xii. c. 5. too, the force of what is objected to it in 
 
 A like sentiment of happiness, to this the Dialogue, in this and the following 
 
 here spoken of, is that mentioned by Cicero : page. 
 
 Virtute adhibita, frui primis a natura datis. m jEneid. 1. ii. 426. 
 De Fin. 1. ii. c. 11. p. 113. It is there 
 
A DIALOGUE. 71 
 
 from which, as members of society, it is impossible to detach 
 ourselves. 
 
 Where, then, shall we turn, or what have we to imagine ? We 
 have at length placed happiness, after much inquiry, in attaining 
 the primary and just requisites of our nature, by a conduct 
 suitable to virtue and moral office. But as to corresponding 
 with our preconceptions, (which we have made the test,) does 
 this system correspond better than those others which we have 
 rejected ? Has it not appeared, from various facts, too obvious to 
 be disputed, that, in many times and places, it may be absolutely 
 unattainable ? That in many, where it exists, it may in a mo- 
 ment be cancelled, and put irretrievably out of our power, by 
 events not to be resisted ? If this be certain, and I fear it can- 
 not be questioned, our specious long inquiry, however accurate 
 we may believe it, has not been able to shew us a good, of that 
 character which we require ; a good durable, indeprivable, and 
 accommodate to every circumstance : far from it, our speculations 
 (I think) rather lead us to that low opinion of happiness which, 
 you may remember, you expressed, when we first began the 
 subject. They rather help to prove to us, that instead of a 
 sovereign good, it is the more probable sentiment, there is no 
 such good at all. I should indeed, said I, fear so. For where, 
 continued he, lies the difference, whether we pursue what is con- 
 gruous to nature, or not congruous ; if the acquisition of one be 
 as difficult as of the other, and the possession of both equally 
 doubtful and precarious 2 If Caesar fall in attempting his 
 country's ruin ; and Brutus fare no better, who only fought 
 in its defence ? It must be owned, said I, these are melan- 
 choly truths ; and the instances which you allege too well con- 
 firm them. 
 
 We were in the midst of these serious thoughts, descanting 
 upon the hardships and miseries of life, when, by an incident 
 not worth relating, our speculations were interrupted. Nothing 
 at the time, I thought, could have happened more unluckily ; 
 our question perplexed, its issue uncertain, and myself impatient 
 to know the event. Necessity, however, was not to be resisted, 
 and thus for the present our inquiries were postponed. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 u BRUTUS perished untimely, and Caesar did no more.' 1 '' These 
 words I was repeating the next day to myself, when my friend 
 appeared, and cheerfully bade me good-morrow. I could not 
 
 n See page 44. 
 
72 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 return his compliment with an equal gaiety, being intent, some- 
 what more than usual, on what had passed the day before. Seeing 
 this, he proposed a walk into the fields. The face of nature, 
 said he, will perhaps dispel these glooms. No assistance on my 
 part shall be wanting, you may be assured. I accepted his pro- 
 posal ; the walk began, and our former conversation insensibly 
 renewed. 
 
 Brutus, said he, perished untimely, and Caesar did no more. 
 It was thus, as I remember, not long since you were expressing 
 yourself. And yet, suppose their fortunes to have been exactly 
 parallel, which would you have preferred? Would you have 
 been Caesar or Brutus? Brutus, replied I, beyond all controversy. 
 He asked me, why? Where was the difference, when their 
 fortunes, as we now supposed them, were considered as the 
 same ? There seems said I, abstract from their fortunes, some- 
 thing, I know not what, intrinsically preferable in the life and 
 character of Brutus. If that, said he, be true, then must we 
 derive it, not from the success of his endeavours, but from their 
 truth and rectitude. He had the comfort to be conscious that 
 his cause was a just one : it was impossible the other should have 
 any such feeling. I believe, said I, you have explained it. 
 
 Suppose, then, continued he, (it is but merely an hypothesis,) 
 suppose, I say, we were to place the sovereign good in such a 
 rectitude of conduct ; in the conduct merely, and not in the 
 
 As the conduct here mentioned implies Jovis. To which he subjoins, as above, 
 
 a conduct under the direction of a befitting Ergo ut ilia divina mens summa lex est ; ita 
 
 rule or law, and that, as opposed to wrong cum in homine est, perfecta est in mente 
 
 conduct, which has either no rule at all, or sapientis. De Leg. 1. ii. c. 4, 5. p. 88. 
 at least one erroneous, it may not be an im- It is in this sense the apostle tells us of 
 
 proper place to inquire, what was the ancient the Gentiles, or mankind in general, that 
 
 opinion concerning law universal ; that great they " shew the work of the law written in 
 
 and general law, which stood opposed to their hearts, their conscience also bearing 
 
 the municipal laws of particular cities and witness, and their thoughts the mean while 
 
 communities. accusing or else excusing one another." Rom. 
 
 Est quidem vera lex, recta ratio, naturae ii. 15. 
 
 congruens, diffusa in omnes, constans, sera- As Cicero, in his book of laws above 
 
 piterna, quae vocet ad officium jubendo, ve- cited, follows the Stoic discipline, so is it 
 
 tando a fraude deterreat nee erit alia lex agreeable to their reasoning, that he makes 
 
 Romae, alia Athenis, alia nunc, alia posthac ; the original natural law, of which we here 
 
 Bed et omnes gentes, et omni tempore una treat, to be the sovereign reason of the Deity 
 
 lex, et sempiterna, et immortalis continebit ; himself. Thus Chrysippus : Idem [scil. 
 
 unusque erit communis quasi magister, et Chrysippus] legis perpetuse et aeternae vim, 
 
 imperator omnium Deus. Ille hujus legis quae quasi dux vitae et magistra officiorum 
 
 inventor, disceptator, lator. Cui qui non sit, Jovem dicit esse. Nat. Deor. L i. c. 15. 
 
 parebit, ipse se fugiet, ac naturam hominis p. 41. 
 
 aspernabitur ; hoc ipso luet maximas poenas, So, by the same philosophers, in Laertius, 
 
 etiamsi caetera supplicia, quae putantur ef- we are ordered to live according to nature : 
 
 fugerit. Fragm. Cic. de Rep. 1. iii. ovtev evepyovvras wi> a-rrayopeveiv t-lwQev 6 
 
 Lex est ratio summa, insita in natura, v6fj.os 6 /coti/iv, o<nrep eVrtj/ 6 opebs \6yos 
 
 quad jubet ea quse facienda sunt, prohibet- 5i& irdvruv tpxdpevos, 6 avrbs &v T> Ait, 
 
 que contraria. What follows is worth re- KaQi}y^p.6vi rovry TTJS ru>v ovrwv (for '6\<av) 
 
 marking. Eadem ratio, cum est in hominis SioiKfofcos ovri "doing nothing forbidden 
 
 mente confirmata et confecta, lex est. Cic. by the universal law ; that is to say, by 
 
 de Leg. 1. i. c. 6. p. 22. ^ that right reason which passeth through all 
 
 Again : Lex vera ratio est recta summi things, and which is the same with Jove 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 73 
 
 event. Suppose we were to fix our happiness, not in the actual 
 attainment of that health, that perfection of a social state, that 
 fortunate concurrence of externals which is congruous to our 
 nature, and which we have a right all to pursue ; but solely fix 
 it in the mere doing whatever is correspondent to such an end, 
 even though we never attain, or are near attaining it. p In fewer 
 
 himself, the governor and conductor of this 
 universal administration." Laert. 1. vii. 
 s. 88. edit. Aldobrand. 
 
 Agreeably to this reasoning, Plutarch 
 corrects those who made AIKTJ a goddess, 
 and the assessor of Jove ; for, says he, 6 
 Zevs OVK e%6i fj.VT^jv AIKTJV irdpeSpov, a\\' 
 avTos A'IKT) Kal fjns e0Tt, Kal v6p.<av 6 
 Trpecr/JuTOToy Kal TeXeidraros, " Jove has not 
 Ai/crj or right for his assessor, but is himself 
 right, and justice, and of all laws the most 
 ancient and perfect." Moral, p. 781. B. 
 
 Thus Antoninus: TeAos Se XoyiK&v &<av, 
 Tb ireo~dai TO> rps Tr^Aews Kal Tro\iTtas 
 rrjs Trpeff/JuTctTTjs \6ycp Kal 6ccr/j.$: "The 
 end of rational animals is to follow the 
 reason and sacred law of that city and 
 most ancient polity," [in which all rational 
 beings are included.] 1. ii. s. 16. 
 
 The most simple account of this law, 
 which the Stoics gave, seems to be that re- 
 corded by Stobasus ; according to which 
 they called it \6yov, opdbv ovra, -rrpoffraKTi- 
 Kbv p.fv T&V TrojTjTewp, aTrayopevTiKbv 8e 
 riav ov Troi^reW, " right reason, ordaining 
 what is to be done, and forbidding what is 
 not to be done." Eel. Ethic. 178. See also 
 the notes of Turnebus and Davis upon Cic. 
 de Leg. 1. i. c. 6. 
 
 Having premised thus much concerning 
 law universal, it remains to say something 
 of that rectitude of conduct which is in this 
 part of the dialogue proposed as our happi- 
 ness. Rectitude of conduct is intended to 
 
 express the term KaTopOwffis, which Cicero 
 translates recta effectio : Kar6p6d)/j.a he 
 translates rectum factum. See De Fin. 1. iii. 
 c. 14. p. 242. Now the definition of Kardp- 
 6(Du.a was v6u.ov irpoo'Tayfj.a, "a thing com- 
 manded by law ;" to which was opposed 
 afj.dpTTjfjLa, "a sin or offence ;" which was 
 defined VOU.QV a.iray6pevu.a, "a thing for- 
 bidden by law." Plut. Mor. 1037. C. What 
 law is here meant, which thus commands or 
 forbids, has been shewn above. 
 
 Hence, therefore, may be seen the reason 
 why we have said thus much on the nature 
 and idea of law universal ; so intimate being 
 the union between this and right conduct, 
 that we find the latter is nothing more than 
 a perfect obedience to the former. 
 
 Hence, too, we see the reason, why in one 
 view it was deemed happiness, to be void of 
 error or offence, a.vau.apTt)TOV e?fot, as we 
 find it in Arrian. Epict. 1. iv. c. 8. p. 633. 
 
 For to be thus inculpable was the necessary 
 result of rectitude of conduct, or rather, in a 
 manner, the same thing with it. 
 
 I cannot conclude this note without re- 
 marking on an elegant allusion of Antoninus 
 to the primary signification of the word KOL- 
 T6p6u<ris, that is to say, KOTO op6bs, "right 
 onwards, straight, and directly forwards." 
 Speaking of the reasoning faculty, how, 
 without looking further, it rests contented 
 in its own energies, he adds, Ka6b KaTopOcb- 
 fffis at Toiavrai Trpdeis bvop.a.ovrai, r)\v 
 6p06Tf)Ta rrjs 65ov (nj/xotVouo-o*, " for which 
 reason are all actions of this species called 
 rectitudes, as denoting the directness of 
 their progression right onwards." 1. v. s. 14. 
 So again, in the same sense, evOe'iav irepai- 
 veiv, " to keep on the straight road." 1. v. 
 8.3. 1.x. s. 11. 
 
 One would imagine that our countryman, 
 Milton, had this reasoning in view, when, 
 in his nineteenth sonnet, speaking of his 
 own blindness, he says, with a becoming 
 magnanimity, 
 
 Yet I argue not 
 
 Against lieaveii's hand or will; nor bate one jot 
 Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer 
 ftight onwards. 
 
 The whole sonnet is not unworthy of pe- 
 rusal, being both sublime and simple. 
 
 P Thus Epictetus in Arrian, speaking of 
 address to men in power, and admitting 
 such address, when justified by certain mo- 
 tives, adds, that such address ought to be 
 made without admiration or flattery. Upon 
 this, an objector demands of him, irus ovv 
 Tv^d), ov Sfo/nai " but how, then, am I to 
 obtain that which I want?" The philo- 
 sopher answers, 'Eyh 8e <roi Ae'yo?, OTI &s 
 Tv6/Jivos airepxov oi>xl Se pAvov, Iva. 
 Trpdfys TO ffavTtf irpeirov; "Did I ever say 
 to thee, that thou shouldst go and address, 
 as though thou wert to succeed ; and not, 
 rather, with this only view, that thou 
 mightest do that which is becoming thy 
 character?" And soon after, when an ob- 
 jection is urged from appearance, and the 
 opinion of mankind, he answers, OVK oltrd* 
 OTI av})p Ka\bs Kal ayaObs ovSfv iroif? TOV 
 $6ai eVe/co, dAAo TOV ireirpaxOai Ka\us ; 
 "Knowest thou not, that a fair and good 
 man does nothing for the sake of appear- 
 ance, but for the sake only of having done 
 well and fairly?" Arr. Epict. 1. iii. c. 24. 
 p. 497, 498. This doctrine, indeed, seems 
 
74 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 words, what if we make our natural state the standard only to 
 determine our conduct, and place our happiness in the rectitude 
 of this conduct alone ? q On such an hypothesis (and we consider 
 it as nothing further) we should not want a good, perhaps, to 
 correspond to our preconceptions ; r for this, it is evident, would 
 be correspondent to them all. Your doctrine, replied I, is so 
 new and strange, that though you have been copious in explain- 
 ing, I can hardly yet comprehend you. 
 
 It amounts all, said he, but to this: place your happiness 
 where your praise is. I asked, where he supposed that ? Not, 
 replied he, in the pleasures which you feel, more than your dis- 
 grace lies in the pain ; not in the casual prosperity of fortune, 
 more than your disgrace in the casual adversity ; but in just 
 complete action throughout every part of life, whatever be the 
 face of things, whether favourable or the contrary. 
 
 But why, then, said I, such accuracy about externals? So 
 much pains, to be informed what are pursuable, what avoidable ? 
 It behoves the pilot, replied he, to know the seas and the 
 winds ; the nature of tempests, calms, and tides. They are the 
 subjects about which his art is conversant : without a just ex- 
 perience of them, he can never prove himself an artist. Yet we 
 look not for his reputation either in fair gales or in adverse, 5 but 
 
 to have been the basis of the Stoic morals ; 
 the principle which included, according to 
 these philosophers, as well honour and ho- 
 nesty, as good and happiness. Thus Cicero : 
 Facere omnia, ut adipiscamur quae secundum 
 naturam sint, etsi ea non adsequamur, id 
 esse et honestum, et solum per se expeten- 
 dum et sumraum bonum Stoici dicunt. De 
 Fin. 1. v. c. 7. p. 365, 366. To this is con- 
 sonant that sentiment of theirs in Plutarch : 
 TrfV fjikv (pvffiv avrrjv aSiafyopov slvai' rb 
 8e rrj tyvffei 6/j.o\oyf'ij/, aya66v. And 
 again : Tb ffiv Kara (pvaiv, re\os elvcu ra 
 Kara fyvffiv, a8id<j>opa eli/at. Plut. Mor. 
 1060. D. E. See below, note s. Socrates 
 was of the same opinion, as appears from all 
 parts of the Platonic and Xenophontean 
 Dialogues. Take one example out of many : 
 Tbv 8e aya6bv evre Kal Ka\S>s irpdrreiv & 
 kv Trpdrroi. rbv Se eS -nparrovra, /j.aKapi- 
 ovrf Kal fvSai/j.ova efi/ot. Gorg. Plat. p. 507. 
 edit. Serr. 
 
 So Proclus : Tlaffai yap a? rov o-novSaiov 
 trpdl^ets Trpbs avrbv e^oim TTJV avafyopdv 
 evpyf)o~as ovv evepyeriKtos Kal 0eo7rpe7rDs, 
 eV rf) frfpyeia rb reAos exec "All the 
 actions of the virtuous man have reference 
 to himself. When, therefore, he has ener- 
 gized beneficently and divinely, it is in the 
 very energy itself that he obtains his end." 
 This from the same MS. comment as is re- 
 ferred to, p. 46, note i. 
 
 1 It is in this sense we find it elegantly 
 
 said in Plutarch by the last-mentioned phi- 
 losophers, ffroix^Q- TTJS fvSaijuovias rr\v 
 <pvo~iv, Kal rb Kara fyvaiv, " that our natural 
 state, and what is consonant to it, are the 
 elements of happiness ;" and just before, 
 the same natural state is called rov KaO'f]- 
 KOVTOS apx^], Kal y'\7j rys aperris, "the 
 source of moral office, and the subjectrinatter 
 of virtue." Plut. Mor. 1069. E. F. Atque 
 etiam illud perspicuum est, constitui necesse 
 esse initium, quod sapientia, cum quid agere 
 incipiat, sequatur ; idque initium esse naturae 
 accommodatum : nam aliter appetitio, etc. 
 Cic. Acad. 1. ii. c. 8. p. 85, 86. Initia pro- 
 poni necesse esse apta et accommodata na- 
 turae, quorum ex selectione virtus possit ex- 
 istere. De Fin. 1. iv. c. 17. p. 316. Cum 
 vero ilia, quae officia esse dixi, proficiscantur 
 ab initiis naturae ; ea ad haec referri necesse 
 est: ut recte dici possit, omnia officia eo 
 referri, ut adipiscamur principia naturae ; 
 nee tamen ut hoc sit bonorum ultimum. De 
 Fin. 1. iii. c. 6. p. 217. 
 
 r Plutarch quotes the following sentiment 
 of Chrysippus, who patronised this idea of 
 good: rbv irept ayaOwv Kal KaK&v \6yov, 
 $>v avrbs tlcraysi Kal So/ctyta^et, av^uvo- 
 rarov efvcu (^rjcri r$ t'a>, Kal pahiffra r<ov 
 (^uruv a7rrea-0c irpo\-f)\Lt()j/. Plut. Mor. 
 1041. E. 
 
 8 What Quintilian says of rhetoric, may 
 with great propriety be transferred to mo- 
 rality. Noster orator, arsque a nobis finita, 
 
A DIALOGUE. 75 
 
 in the skilfulness of his conduct, be these events as they happen. 
 Ill like manner fares it with this the moral artist : he, for a sub- 
 ject, has the whole of human life ;* health and sickness, pleasure 
 and pain, with every other possible incident which can befall him 
 during his existence. If his knowledge of all these be accurate 
 and exact, so too must his conduct, in which we place his happi- 
 ness ; but if this knowledge be defective, must not his conduct 
 be defective also? I replied, so it should seem. And if his 
 conduct, then his happiness ? It is true. 
 
 You see, then, continued he, even though externals were as 
 nothing; though it was true, in their own nature, they were 
 neither good nor evil ; yet an accurate knowledge of them is, 
 from our hypothesis, absolutely necessary. Indeed, said I, you 
 have proved it. 
 
 He continued : inferior artists may be at a stand, because they 
 want materials ; from their stubbornness and intractability they 
 may often be disappointed. But as long as life is passing, and 
 nature continues to operate, the moral artist of life has, at all 
 times, all he desires. He can never want a subject fit to exercise 
 him in his proper calling ; and that, with this happy motive to 
 the constancy of his endeavours, that the crosser, the harsher, 
 the more untoward the events, the greater his praise, the more 
 illustrious his reputation. 
 
 All this, said I, is true, and cannot be denied : but one cir- 
 cumstance there appears, where your similes seem to fail. The 
 praise, indeed, of the pilot we allow to be in his conduct ; but it 
 
 non sunt posita in eventu. Tendit quidem not so the use of them. Arr. Epict. 1. ii. 
 
 ad victoriam, qui dicit : sed, cum bene dixit, c. 5. 
 
 etiamsi non vincat, id, quod arte continetur, Thus Horace : 
 
 effecit. Nam et gubernator vult salva nave Non possidentem multa vocaveris 
 
 in portum pervenire : si tamen tempestate Recte beatum ; rectius occupat 
 
 fuerit abreptus, non ideo minus erit guber- Nomen beati, qui Deorum 
 
 nator, dicetque notum illud ; " dum clavum Muneribus sapienter uti, 
 
 rectum teneam." Et medicus sanitatem aegri Duramque collet pauperiem pati, 
 
 petit : si tamen aut valetudinis vi, aut in- Pejusque leto flagitium timet : 
 
 temperantia segri, aliove quo casu summa Non ille, etc. 
 
 non contingit ; dum ipse omnia secundum Od. L iv. 9. 
 
 rationem fecerit, medicinae fine non excidit. Even the comic poet seems not to have 
 
 Ita oratori bene dixisse, finis est. Nam est been unacquainted with this doctrine : 
 
 ars ea in actu posita, non in eventu. Inst. CH. Quid narrat ? CL. Quid Me ? misenim 
 
 Orat. 1. ii. c. 17. seesse. 
 
 1 Ovaia TOV ayaQov, irpoalpfffis TTOIO.' CH. Afiserum? quern minus credere est ? 
 
 TOV KO.KOV Trpoaipeffis iroia. Tt olv TO Quid reliqui est, quin Jiabeat qua quidem in 
 ^Kr6s ; "TXai rfj irpocupeVei, Trepl as ava- homine dicuntur bonal 
 
 o~Tpe<j>ofj.evri T6v|eTat TOV I8iov ayadov j) Parentis, patriam incolumem, arnicas, genus, 
 KO.KOV : " The essence of good is a peculiar cognatos, divitias : 
 
 direction of mind, and the essence of evil is Atque hcec perinde sunt ut ittius animus, qui 
 a peculiar direction also. What, then, are ea possidet : 
 
 externals ? They serve as subjects to the Qui uti stit, ei bona ; illi, qui non utituv 
 mind's direction ; from conversing with recte, mala. 
 
 which it obtains its proper good or evil." Heauton. act. i. s. 2. v. 18. 
 
 Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 29. Again : At v\at Vid. Platon. in Euthydemo, p. 281. edit. 
 
 abidfyopoc f) 5e XP^ ffls O-VT&V OVK o8ta</>o- Serr. cV Kf<pa\ai(p 5', tyrjv, & KAetv/a, /ctv- 
 
 pos: "The subjects are indifferent, but Svvevei. 
 
76 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 is in the success of that conduct where we look for his happiness. 
 If a storm arise, and the ship be lost, we call him not happy, 
 how well soever he may have conducted. It is then only we 
 congratulate him, when he has reached the desired haven. 
 Your distinction, said he, is just ; and it is here lies the noble 
 prerogative of moral artists above all others. But yet I know 
 not how to explain myself, I fear my doctrine will appear so 
 strange. You may proceed, said I, safely, since you advance it 
 but as an hypothesis. 
 
 Thus, then, continued he, the end in other arts is ever distant 
 and removed : u it consists not in the mere conduct, much less in 
 a single energy, but is the just result of many energies, each of 
 which are essential to it. Hence, by obstacles unavoidable, it 
 may often be retarded ; nay, more, may be so embarrassed, as 
 never possibly to be attained. But in the moral art of life, the 
 very conduct is the end ; the very conduct, I say, itself, through- 
 out every its minutest energy ; because each of these, however 
 minute, partake as truly of rectitude, as the largest combination 
 of them, when considered collectively. Hence, of all arts, is this 
 the only one perpetually complete in every instant ; because it 
 needs not, like other arts, time to arrive at that perfection, at 
 which, in every instant, it is arrived already. Hence, by dura- 
 tion, it is not rendered either more or less perfect ; completion, 
 like truth, admitting of no degrees, and being in no sense capable 
 of either intension or remission. And hence, too, by necessary 
 connection, (which is a greater paradox than all,) even that 
 happiness, or sovereign good, the end of this moral art, is itself, 
 too, in every instant, consummate and complete ; is neither 
 
 u Sed in cseteris artibus cum dicitur ar- ra fad. M. Ant. 1. xi. s. 1. Et quemad- 
 
 tificiose, posterum quodam modo et conse- modum opportunitas (sic enira adpellemus 
 
 quens putandum est, quod illi eiriyevvr]- cvitaipiav) non fit major productione tem- 
 
 p.ariKbv appellant ; quod autera in quo sa- poris (habent enim suum modum quaecunque 
 
 pienter dicitur, id adprimo rectissime dici- opportuna dicuntur) sic recta effectio (KO.T- 
 
 tur : quicquid enim a sapiente proficiscitur, 6pQ<a<riv enim ita adpello, quoniam rectum 
 
 id continue debet expletum esse omnibus factum /car 6pO<0/j.a) recta igitur effectio, item 
 
 suis partibus ; in eo enim positum est id, convenientia, denique ipsum bonum, quod 
 
 quod dicimus esse expetendum. Nam ut in eo positum est ut naturae consentiat, 
 
 peccatum est patriam prodere, parentes vio- crescendi accessionem nullam habet. Ut 
 
 lare, fana depeculari, quae sunt in effectu : enim opportunitas ilia, sic haec de quibus 
 
 sic timere, sic maerere, sic in libidine esse, dixi, non fiunt temporis productione ma- 
 
 peccatum est, etiam sine effectu. Verum ut jora: ob eamque causam Stoicis non videtur 
 
 haec, non in posteris et in consequentibus, optabilior nee magis expetenda vita beata, 
 
 sed in primis continuo peccata sunt : sic ea si sit longa, quam si brevis : utunturque 
 
 quae proficiscuntur a virtute, susceptione simili, ut, si cothurni laus ilia est ad pedem 
 
 prima,non perfectione, recta sunt judicanda. apte convenire, neque multi cothurni paucis 
 
 Cic. de Fin. 1. iii. c. 9. p. 228. Tov iSiov anteporierentur, nee majores minoribus : 
 
 T\ovs Tu-yx avei [^ Ao7tK^ tyvxv] ^ vov sic quorum omne bonum convenientia atque 
 
 tut rb TOV fiiov irepas fTTiffTr}' ovfa Sxnrep opportunitate finitur, nee plura paucioribus, 
 
 irl opx'ho'ftos Kal vTroKpiffews Kal ruv roi- nee longinquiora brevioribus anteponentur. 
 
 OVTUV are\^s yivfrai TJ o\rj irpa^is, eai/ ri Cic. de Fin. 1. iii. c. 14. p. 242. See also 
 
 e7/co^p, a\\' f-jrl iravrbs pcpovs, Kal OTTOV Dio. Laert. 1. vii. s. 101. M. Ant. 1. vi. 
 
 b.v KOToArj^flf;, ir\rjpes Kal OTrpoerSees eavTrj s. 23. 1. iii. s. 7. Senec. Epist. 66. 
 rb irpoTtdcv Troie?' #<rre 
 
A DIALOGUE. 77 
 
 heightened or diminished by the quantity of its duration, but is 
 the same to its enjoyers, for a moment or a century. 
 
 Upon this I smiled. He asked me the reason. It is only to 
 observe, said I, the course of our inquiries. A new hypothesis 
 has been advanced : appearing somewhat strange, it is desired 
 to be explained : you comply with the request, and, in pursuit 
 of the explanation, make it ten times more obscure and unin- 
 telligible than before. It is but too often the fate, said he, of 
 us commentators. But you know in such cases what is usually 
 done : when the comment will not explain the text, we try 
 whether the text will not explain itself; this method, it is 
 possible, may assist us here. The hypothesis, which we would 
 have illustrated, was no more than this : that the sovereign good 
 lay in rectitude of conduct, and that this good corresponded to 
 all our preconceptions. Let us examine, then, whether, upon 
 trial, this correspondence will appear to hold ; and, for all that 
 we have advanced since, suffer it to pass, and not perplex us. 
 Agreed, said I, willingly, for now I hope to comprehend you. 
 
 II. Recollect, then, said he. Do you not remember that one 
 preconception of the sovereign good was, to be accommodate to 
 all times and places?" I remember it. And is there any time, 
 or any place, whence rectitude of conduct may be excluded?* 
 Is there not a right action in prosperity, a right action in ad- 
 versity? May there not be a decent, generous, and laudable 
 behaviour, not only in peace, in power, and in health ; but in 
 war, in oppression, in sickness, and in death ? There may. 
 
 And what shall we say to those other preconceptions ; to being 
 durable, self-derived, and indeprivable ? Can there be any good 
 so durable, as the power of always doing right ? Is there any 
 good conceivable, so entirely beyond the power of others ? Or, 
 if you hesitate, and are doubtful, I would willingly be informed, 
 into what circumstances may fortune throw a brave and honest 
 man, where it shall not be in his power to act bravely and 
 honestly ? y If there are no such, then rectitude of conduct, if a 
 good, is a good indeprivable. I confess, said I, it appears so. 
 
 But, further, said he, another preconception of the sovereign 
 good was, to be agreeable to nature. It was. And can any 
 thing be more agreeable to a rational and social animal, than 
 rational and social conduct? Nothing. But rectitude of con- 
 duct is with us rational and social conduct. It is. 
 
 Once more, continued he : another preconception of this good 
 was, to be conducive, not to mere-being but to well-being. 
 
 u In this and the subsequent pages, the pea-relv, Kal rots irapovffiv avOpdirots Kar a 
 
 general preconceptions of good are applied SiKaLOffvwjv irpocr^fpea'dai, M. Ant. 1. vii. 
 
 to the particular hypothesis of good, ad- s. 54. 
 
 vanced in this treatise. See before, p. 46, y M^/ceri olv pot \eye, TTCOS yevyrai ; & 
 
 47, 49. irws yap &j/ yfvrjrat, <rb avrb 6-f]<rets icaAwy, 
 
 x Ua.vrax.ov Kal SiriveK&s fat ffoi fffri, Kal fffrai ffoi rb atro&av euTv^r/jua. Arrian. 
 
 Kal rf) irapovffr) ffvufiatrei Ofoffffiws fva- Epict. 1. iv. c. 10. p. 650. 
 
78 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 Admit it. And can any thing, believe you, conduce so probably 
 to the well-being of a rational social animal, as the right exercise 
 of that reason, and of those social affections? Nothing. And 
 what is this same exercise, but the highest rectitude of conduct ? 
 Certainly. 
 
 III. You see, then, said he, how well our hypothesis, being 
 once admitted, tallies with our original preconceptions of the 
 sovereign good. I replied, it indeed appeared so, and could not 
 be denied. But who, think you, ever dreamt of a happiness like 
 this ? A happiness dependent, not on the success, but on the 
 aim ? Even common and ordinary life, replied he, can furnish 
 us with examples. Ask of the sportsman, where lies his enjoy- 
 ment? Ask whether it be in the possession of a slaughtered 
 hare, or fox? He would reject, with contempt, the very sup- 
 position : he would tell you, as well as he was able, that the joy 
 was in the pursuit, in the difficulties which are obviated, in the 
 faults which are retrieved, in the conduct and direction of the 
 chase through all its parts ; that the completion of their en- 
 deavours was so far from giving them joy, that instantly, at that 
 period, all their joy was at an end. For sportsmen, replied I, 
 this may be no bad reasoning. It is not the sentiment, said he, 
 of sportsmen alone. The man of gallantry not unoften has been 
 found to think after the same manner. 
 
 Meus est amor huic similis ; nam 
 Transvolat in medio posita, et fugientia captat. z 
 
 To these we may add the tribe of builders and projectors. Or 
 has not your own experience informed you of numbers, who, 
 in the building arid laying out, have expressed the highest de- 
 light ; but shewn the utmost indifference to the result of their 
 labours, to the mansion or gardens, when once finished and com- 
 plete ? 
 
 The truth, said I, of these examples is not to be disputed. 
 But I could wish your hypothesis had better than these to sup- 
 port it. In the serious view of happiness, do you ever imagine 
 there were any, who could fix it, (as we said before,) not on the 
 success, but on the aim? More, even in this light, said he, 
 than perhaps at first you may imagine. There are instances 
 innumerable, of men, bad as well as good, who having fixed, as 
 their aim, a certain conduct of their own, have so far attached 
 their welfare and happiness to it, as to deem all events in its 
 prosecution, whether fortunate or unfortunate, to be mean, con- 
 temptible, and not worthy their regard. I called on him for 
 examples.* 
 
 What think you, said he, of the assassin who slew the first 
 
 z Hor. Sat. ii. lib. i. 107. voteos,"&c. &c. The whole passage is worth 
 
 a See a long catalogue of these in Cicero's reading. Tusc. Disp. 1. v. c. 27. p. 400, 
 
 Tusculan Disputations : " Spartan boys, Bar- 401, etc. 
 
 barian sages, Indian wives, Egyptian de- 
 
A DIALOGUE. 79 
 
 prince of Orange ; and who, though brought by his conduct to 
 the most exquisite tortures, yet, conscious of what he had done, 
 could bear them all unmoved ? Or (if you will have a better 
 man) what think you of that sturdy Roman who would have 
 despatched Porsenna, and who, full of his design, and superior 
 to all events, could thrust a hand into the flames with the 
 steadiest intrepidity? I replied, that these indeed were very 
 uncommon instances. 
 
 Attend, too, continued he, to Epicurus dying, the founder of a 
 philosophy, little favouring of enthusiasm : " This I write you 
 (says he, b in one of his epistles,) while the last day of life is 
 passing, and that a happy one. The pains, indeed, of my body 
 are not capable of being heightened. Yet to these we oppose 
 that joy of the soul, which arises from the memory of our past 
 speculations/ 1 Hear him, consonant to this, in another place 
 asserting, that a rational adversity was better than an irrational 
 prosperity. 
 
 And what think you ? Had he not placed his good and hap- 
 piness in the supposed rectitude of his opinions, would he not 
 have preferred prosperity, at all rates, to adversity ? Would not 
 the pains, of which he died, have made his happiness perfect 
 misery? And yet, you see, he disowns any such thing. The 
 memory of his past life and of his philosophical inventions, were, 
 even in the hour of death, it seems, a counterpoise to support 
 him. It must be owned, said I, that you appear to reason 
 justly. 
 
 Pass from Epicurus, continued he, to Socrates. What are the 
 sentiments of that divine man, speaking of his own unjust con- 
 demnation ? " O Crito," says he, "if it be pleasing to the gods 
 this way, then be it this way." And again : " Anytus and Me- 
 litus, I grant, can kill me ; but to hurt or injure me, is beyond 
 their power." It would not have been beyond it, had he thought 
 his welfare dependent on any thing they could do ; for they 
 were then doing their worst : whence then was it beyond them ? 
 Because his happiness was derived not from without, but from 
 
 b TT?I/ fj.aKa.piav ayovres Kal lipa reAeu- Soon after, we have another sentiment of 
 
 raiav rjfj.epav TOV J8tou, typd(f>ofj.ev V/MV Epicurus, that a rational adversity was 
 
 Tavra' o-TpayyovpiaT* 7rap7j/coAou07j/cei Kal better than an irrational prosperity. The 
 
 SvffevTepiKo. TraflTj, u7repj8oA.V OVK OTTO- original words are, KpeiTTov etvai fv\o- 
 
 Xt'nrovra TOV eV eouTOty peyeBovs' avri- yia-Tws O.TVX^ r) aXoyiffrus curvx*?"- 
 
 TrapfTaTTCTO 5e Trafft rovrots rb Kara tyv- Dio. Laert. 1. x. s. 135. 
 
 xV x"P v >7r * r V T "*v yyov6Tuv rifj.iv c The three quotations in this page are 
 
 Sta\oyia-fj.S)v fj.v-fifj.ri. Dio. Laert. 1. x. s. taken from Plato : the first, from the Crito, 
 
 22. Cum ageremus vitae beatum et eundem quoted by Epictetus at the end of the En- 
 
 supremum diem, scribebamus haec. Tanti chiridion, and in many other places ; the 
 
 autem morbi aderant vesicae et viscerum, second, from the Apology, quoted as fre- 
 
 ut niliil ad eorum magnitudinem possit ac- quently by the same author ; the third, 
 
 ccdere. Compensabatur tamen cum his from the Menexcnus, or Epitaph. Plat, 
 
 omnibus animi laetitia, quam capiebam me- Opera, vol. ii. p. 248. edit. Serran. See also 
 
 moria rationum inventorumque nostrorum. Cic. Tuscul. 1. v. c. 12. 
 Cic. do Fin. 1. ii. c. 30. p. 173. 
 
80 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 within ; not from the success, which perhaps was due to the 
 rectitude of his life, but from that rectitude alone, every other 
 thing disregarded. He had not, it seems, so far renounced his 
 own doctrine, as not to remember his former words : that " to 
 whomever all things, conducive to happiness, are derived solely, 
 or, at least, nearly from himself, and depend not on the welfare 
 or adversity of others, from the variety of whose condition his 
 own must vary also : he it is, who has prepared to himself the 
 most excellent of all lives ; he it is, who is the temperate, the 
 prudent, and the brave ; he it is, who, when wealth or children 
 either come or are taken away, will best obey the wise man?s 
 precept ; for neither will he be seen to grieve, nor to rejoice in 
 excess, from the trust and confidence which he has reposed in 
 himself." You have a sketch, at least, of his meaning, though 
 far below his own Attic and truly elegant expression. I grant, 
 said I, your example ; but this and the rest are but single in- 
 stances. What are three or four in number, to the whole of 
 human kind 2 
 
 If you are for numbers, replied he, what think you of the 
 numerous race of patriots, in all ages and nations, who have 
 joyfully met death, rather than desert their country when in 
 danger?* 1 They must have thought surely on another happiness 
 than success, when they could gladly go where they saw death 
 often inevitable. Or what think you of the many martyrs for 
 systems wrong as well as right, who have dared defy the worst, 
 rather than swerve from their belief? 6 You have brought, in- 
 deed, said I, more examples than could have been imagined. 
 
 Besides, continued he, what is that comfort of a good conscience, 
 celebrated to such a height in the religion which we profess, but 
 the joy arising from a conscience of right energies ; f a conscience 
 of having done nothing, but what is consonant to our duty ? 
 I replied, it indeed appeared so. 
 
 Even the vulgar, continued he, recognise a good of this very 
 character, when they say of an undertaking, though it succeed not, 
 that they are contented ; that they have done their best, and can 
 
 d Sed quid duces et principes nomincm ; prius subierint, quam ibim aut aspidem aut 
 
 cum legiones scribat Cato saepe alacris in felem aut canem aut crocodilum violent : 
 
 eum locum profectas, unde redituras se non quorum etiam si imprudentes quidpiam fe- 
 
 arbitrarentur? Pari animo Lacedaemonii in cerint, poenam nullam recusent. Tuscul. 
 
 Thermopylis occiderunt : in quos Simonides, Disp. 1. v. c. 27. p. 402. See before, note a, 
 
 Die hospes Sparta, nos te hie vidisse ja- page 78. 
 
 centes, f It is probable, that some analogies of 
 
 Dum sanctis patriae leyibus obsequimur. this sort induced a father of the church 
 
 Tusc. Disp. 1. i. c. 42. (and no less a one than St. Jerome) to say 
 
 e That there may be a bigotted obstinacy of the Stoics, who made moral rectitude the 
 
 in favour of what is absurd, as well as a only good, Nostro dogmati in plerisque con- 
 
 rational constancy in adhering to what is cordant. Vid. Menag. in D. Laert. 1. vii. 
 
 right, those Egyptians above mentioned s. 101. p. 300. and Gatak. Praefat. in M. 
 
 may serve as examples. ^Egyptiorum mo- Anton. See also of this treatise, p. 44. 
 
 rem quis ignoret ? quorum imbutae mentes and below, note i. 
 
 pravitatis erroribus quamvis carnificinam 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 81 
 
 accuse themselves of nothing. For what is this, but placing 
 their content, their good, their happiness, not in the success of 
 endeavours, but in the rectitude ? If it be not the rectitude 
 which contents them, you must tell me what it is else. It ap- 
 pears, replied I, to be that alone. 
 
 I hope, then, continued he, that though you accede not to this 
 notion of happiness which I advance, you will at least allow it 
 not to be such a paradox as at first you seemed to imagine. 
 That, indeed, replied I, cannot be denied you. 
 
 IV. Granting me this, said he, you encourage me to explain 
 myself. We have supposed the sovereign good to lie in rectitude 
 of conduct. We have. And think you there can be rectitude 
 of conduct, if we do not live consistently? In what sense, said 
 I. would you be understood? To live consistently, 5 said he, is 
 the same with me, as to live agreeably to some one single and 
 consonant scheme, or purpose. Undoubtedly, said I, without 
 this, there can be no rectitude of conduct. All rectitude of con- 
 duct, then, you say, implies such consistence. It does. And 
 does all consistence, think you, imply such rectitude ? I asked 
 
 & To live consistently, is here explained 
 to be living according to some one single 
 consonant scheme or purpose ; and our good 
 or happiness is placed in such consistence, 
 upon a supposition that those who live in- 
 consistently, and without any such uniform 
 scheme, are of consequence miserable and 
 unhappy. Tb reAos 6 /Afv Z^VMV OVTUS 
 cbreSoJKe, rb 6fj.o\oyovfMV<i)s fjv' TOVTO 8' 
 fffrl KO.&" '<iva \6yov Kal ffvfjKptavoi/ fjv, &s 
 TOOV fj.axoiJ.cv cos &VTWV KaKo^aifJ-ovovvTuv. 
 Stob. Eel. Ethic, p. 171. 
 
 This consistence was called in Greek 
 6/u.o\oyia, in Latin convenient-la, and was 
 sometimes by itself alone considered as the 
 end. Tr7J> 6/j.oXoyiav \tyovcri reAos efrcu. 
 Stob. Eel. Ethic, p. 172. See also Cic. de 
 Fin. 1. iii. c. 6. p. 216. So also in the same 
 last-named treatise, c. vii. p. 220. Ut enim 
 histrioni actio, saltatori motus, non quivis, 
 sed certus quidam est datus : sic vita agenda 
 est certo genere quodam, non quolibet ; quod 
 genus conveniens consentaneumque dicimus. 
 Nee enim gubernationi autmedicinse similem 
 sapientiam esse arbitramur, sed actioni illi 
 potius, quam modo dixi, et saltationi ; ut in 
 ipsa arte insit, non foris petatur extremum, 
 id est, artis effectio. 
 
 It is upon this principle we find it a pre- 
 cept in Cicero's Offices: In primis autem 
 constituendum est, quos nos et quales esse 
 velimus, et in quo genere vitse. 1. i. c. 32. 
 So likewise in the Enchiridion of Epictetus, 
 c. 33 : rd^ov TWO. $877 x a P aKT ^P o~avr<a 
 teal rvirov, *bv <j)v\dys firi TC ereauT< &*^ 
 Kal av9p(t>irois fTrnvy^dvwv : "ordain to thy- 
 self some character and model of life, which 
 
 thou mayst maintain both by thyself, and 
 when thou art conversant with mankind." 
 
 So much indeed was rested upon this 
 principle of consistence, that even to be any 
 thing consistently, was held better than the 
 contrary. Thus Epictetus : eVa <re 8e? &v- 
 OpooTrov flvai, ^ ayaObv f) Ka.it6v' $ rb fiye- 
 P.OVIK&V (re Set Qfpyd&o-Oai rb <ravrov, t) 
 TO. Kr6s : "it behoves thee to be one uniform 
 man, either good or bad ; either to cultivate 
 thy own mind, or to cultivate things ex- 
 ternal." Arr. Epict. 1. iii. c. 15. p. 421. And 
 more fully than this does he express him- 
 self in a place subsequent ; where, having 
 first counselled against that false complai- 
 sance which makes us, to please mankind, 
 forget our proper character, and having re- 
 commended, as our duty, a behaviour con- 
 trary, he adds, et 8e ^ apeVet rat/ret, ti\os 
 aTroKXivov irl ravavria' yevov els TUV KI- 
 f cu'a>z', ets TUV fj.oi'x&v A.id<popa, 8' OVT(I> 
 Trp6(TUTra ov /j-iyvvrai' ov 8vva<Tai Kal 0rjp- 
 fftrrjv vTTOKpivaordaL Kal 'Aya/j.efj.vova. Air. 
 Epict. 1. iv. c. 2. p. 580. " But if what I 
 recommend to thee do not please, then turn 
 thee totally to all that is contrary ; become 
 a profligate of the most prostitute kind. 
 Characters so different are not to be blended : 
 thou canst not act at once Thersites and 
 Agamemnon. 
 
 So, too, Horace : 
 
 Quanta constantior idem 
 
 In vitiis, tanto levius miser, ac prior ille 
 
 Qui jam contento, jam laxo fune laborat. 
 Sat. vii. 1. ii. v. 18. 
 See also Characteristics, vol. i. p. 131. 
 
82 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 him, why not 2 It is possible, indeed, it may, said he, for aught 
 we have discovered yet to the contrary : but what if it should 
 be found that there may be numberless schemes, each in parti- 
 cular consistent with itself, but yet all of them different, and some, 
 perhaps, contrary 2 There may, you know, be a consistent life of 
 knavery, as well as a consistent life of honesty ; there may be 
 a uniform practice of luxury, as well as of temperance and ab- 
 stemiousness. Will the consistence, common to all of these lives, 
 render the conduct in each, right 2 It appears, said I, an ab- 
 surdity, that there should be the same rectitude in two contra- 
 Y'IQS. If so, said he, we must look for something more than mere 
 consistence, when we search for that rectitude which we at pre- 
 sent talk of. A consistent life indeed is requisite, but that alone 
 is not enough: we must determine its peculiar species, if we would 
 be accurate and exact. It indeed appears, said I, necessary. 
 
 Nor is any thing, continued he, more easy to be discussed. 
 For what can that peculiar consistence of life be else, than a life 
 whose several parts are not only consonant to each other, but to 
 the nature also of the being by whom that life has been adopted 2 
 Does not this last degree of consistence appear as requisite as 
 the former 2 I answered, It could not be otherwise. 
 
 You see, then, said he, the true idea of right conduct : it is not 
 merely to live consistently, but it is to live consistently with 
 nature. h Allow it. 
 
 But what, continued he, can we live consistently with nature, 
 and be at a loss how to behave ourselves? We cannot. And 
 can we know how to behave ourselves, if we know nothing of 
 what befalls us 2 nothing of those things and events which per- 
 petually surround and affect us 2 We cannot. You see, then, 
 continued he, how we are again fallen insensibly into that doc- 
 trine which proves the necessity of scrutinizing, and knowing the 
 value of externals. I replied, it was true. If you assent, said 
 he, to this, it will of course follow, that to live consistently with 
 nature, is to live agreeably to a just experience of those things 
 which happen around us. 1 It appears so. 
 
 But further still, said he : think you any one can be deemed 
 to live agreeably to such experience, if he select not, as far as 
 possible, the things most congruous to his nature 2 He cannot. 
 And, by the same rule, as far as possible, must he not reject 
 
 S rrj </>i5<rei ($v. Cle- Zyv /car' 
 
 anthes in Stob. Eel. Eth. p. 171. Con- ruv. Stob. Eel. Ethic. 171. Diog. Laert. 
 
 gruenter naturae convenienterque vivere. Cic. 1. vii. c. 87. His verbis [scil. vivere secun- 
 
 De Fin. 1. iii. c. 7. p. 221. The first descrip- dum naturam] tria significari Stoici dicunt. 
 
 tion of our end [to live consistently] was Unum ejusmodi, vivere adhibentem scien- 
 
 deemed defective, and therefore was this tiain earum rerum, quae natura evenirent. 
 
 addition made. See Stobaeus, in the place De Fin. 1. iv. c. 6. p. 286. See also the 
 
 cited. Arr. Epict. 1. iii. c. 1. p. 352. same treatise, 1. iii. c. 9. p. 227. 1. ii. c. 1 1. 
 
 1 TeAos fffrl rb bp-oXoyovfievus rri (pvffei p. 113. where it is expressed, Vivere cum 
 
 fjv #7Tp 6 Xptcwnros ffa^fffrepov fiov\6- intelligentia earum rerum quae natura eve- 
 
 fj.evos TTonjcrcu, f^veyKf rbv rp6irov TOVTOV, nirent. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 83 
 
 such as are contrary? He must. And that not occasionally, 
 as fancy, happens to prompt; but steadily, constantly, and without 
 remission. 1 should imagine so. You judge, said he, truly. 
 Were he to act otherwise in the least instance, he would falsify 
 his professions; he would not live according to that experi- 
 ence which we now suppose him to possess. I replied, he would 
 not. 
 
 It should seem, then, said he, from hence, as a natural conse- 
 quence of what we have admitted, that the essence of right 
 conduct lay in selection and rejection. So, said I, it has ap- 
 peared. And that such selection and rejection should be conso- 
 nant with our proper nature. It is true. And be steady and 
 perpetual, not occasional and interrupted. It is true. But if 
 this be the essence of right conduct, then too it is the essence of 
 our sovereign good ; for in such conduct we have supposed this 
 good to consist. We have. 
 
 See then, said he, the result of our inquiry. The sovereign 
 good, as constituted by rectitude of conduct, has, on our strictest 
 scrutiny, appeared to be this : to live perpetually selecting, as 
 far as possible, what is congruous to nature, and rejecting what 
 is contrary ; making our end that selecting and that rejecting 
 only. k It is true, said I, so it appears. 
 
 V. Before we hasten, then, further, said he, let us stop to 
 recollect, and see whether our present conclusions accord with our 
 former. We have now supposed the sovereign good to be recti- 
 tude of conduct, and this conduct we have made consist in a 
 certain selecting and rejecting. We have. And do you not 
 imagine that the selecting and rejecting, which we propose, as 
 they are purely governed by the standard of nature, are capable 
 in every instance of being rationally justified? I replied, I 
 thought they were. But if they admit a rational justification, 
 then are they moral offices or duties; for thus you remember 
 yesterday a moral office was defined. 1 It was But if so, to live 
 in the practice of them will be to live in the discharge of moral 
 offices. It will. But to live in the discharge of these, is the 
 same as living according to virtue, and living according to nature. 
 It is. So, therefore, is living in that selection, and in that re- 
 jection, which we propose. It is. 
 
 k 'O re 'Aj/TiVarpos, rb reAos /ceicrflat, tiis, quas posui, et si quae similes earum 
 'EP rep SnjvKcas Kal aTrapafidrus e/cAe- sint ; relinquitur, ut summum bonum sit, 
 ysffBai juez/ TCI Kara tyvaiv, a/re/cAe'/ecrflcu 8e vivere scientiam adhibentem earum rerum, 
 TO. Trapa (pvcriv, vtroXa/j.fidi'ei. Clem. Alex, quae natura eveniant, seligentem quae se- 
 Strom. 1. ii. p. 497. edit. Potter. This senti- cundum naturam, et quae contra naturam 
 ment was sometimes contracted, and ex- sunt rejicicntem, id est, convenienter con- 
 pressed as follows : rb evXoyurrfiv &> rais gruenterque naturae vivere. De Fin. 1. iiL 
 <lK\oyais : sometimes more concisely still, c. 9. p. 227. See also De Fin. 1. ii. c. 11. 
 by the single term rb evKoyunfiv. See p. 113. See also Diog. Laert 1. vii. c. 88. 
 Plutarch, 1071, 1072. Cicero joins this Stob. Eel. Eth. 171. 
 and the foregoing descriptions of happiness 1 Sup. page 69. 
 together: Circumscriptis igitur his senten- 
 
 G2 
 
84 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 We need never, therefore, be at a loss, said he, for a descrip- 
 tion of the sovereign good. We may call it, rectitude of conduct ; 
 if that be too contracted, we may enlarge, and say, it is to live 
 perpetually selecting and rejecting according to the standard of 
 our being. If we are for still different views, we may say, it is 
 to live in the discharge of moral offices ; m to live according to na- 
 
 concerning ends and happiness. 
 
 Those whose hypothesis we have fol- 
 lowed in this Dialogue, supposed it to be 
 virtue and consistent action, and that with- 
 out regard to fortune or success. But even 
 thev, who, from their hypothesis, made some 
 degree of success requisite ; who rested it 
 not merely on right action, but on a propor- 
 tion of bodily welfare, and good fortune con- 
 comitant ; even these made right action and 
 virtue to be principal. 
 
 Thus Archytas, according to the doctrine 
 of the Pythagorean school : euSatfjioa'vva 
 Xpaais aperas eV euruxia: "happiness is 
 the use or exercise of virtue, attended with 
 external good fortune." Opusc. Mytholog. 
 p. 678. Consonant to this sentiment, he 
 says, in the beginning of the same treatise, 
 6 /JLfV dyaQbs cu/iip OVK ev&fcas evSai/juav e' 
 avdynas eVnV 6 Se fvSaifj.coi', KOU ayaObs 
 avrip eVrt : " the good man is not of necessity 
 happy ; [because, upon this hypothesis, ex- 
 ternal fortune may be wanting ;] but the 
 happy man is of necessity good," [because, 
 upon the same hypothesis, without virtue 
 was no happiness.] Ibid. p. 673. Again : 
 alel yuei' yap KaKo5at/j,ovf avdyKa rbv Ka- 
 KbV) atre %X 01 uAcw (/ca/fais re yap avrif, 
 XpeeTcu) atre <nravioi: "the bad man (says 
 he) must needs at all times be miserable, 
 whether he have, or whether he want, 
 the materials of external fortune ; for if he 
 have them, he will employ them ill." Ibid, 
 p. 696. Thus we see this philosopher, 
 though he make externals a requisite to 
 happiness, yet still without virtue he treats 
 them as of no importance. Again : Suo 8' 
 <5Soi TejuvovTcti V Tw Qico* a 
 irorfpa^av 6 r\d^.ti)v e/3a8iei/ '( 
 a Se euSteii/OTepa, TO.V eTropeuero 
 Tav 3>v dperdv (papi St]\7Ja6ai (lege S^Aetr- 
 6ai, Dorice pro fle'Aeii') /uej> ravrav, 8u- 
 v acrOai Se K al r-fji/av : " there are two roads 
 in life, distinct from each other ; one the 
 rougher, which the suffering Ulysses went ; 
 the other more smooth, which was travelled 
 by Nestor. Now of these roads, (says he,) 
 Virtue desires indeed the latter ; and yet 
 is she not unable to travel the former." 
 Ibid. p. 696. From which last sentiment 
 it appears, that he thought virtue, even in 
 any fortune, was capable of producing at 
 least some degree of happiness. 
 
 As for the Socratic doctrine on this sub- 
 ject, it may be sufficiently seen by what is 
 
 8e (reXos ^arl) 
 iriT\ovVTa rjv. Laert. 
 1. vii. c. 88. Stob. Eel. Eth. 171. Officia 
 omnia servantem vivere. Cic. de Fin. 1. iv. 
 c. 6. p. 286. 
 
 Soon after we meet the phrases, " to live 
 according to nature ;" " to live according to 
 virtue." 'O TA\v<av reAos ?7re, rb o/xo- 
 Xoyov^vws rfj Qvffei fjv, oirep eVrl KO.T 
 operV ^rju. Laert. 1. vii. c. 87. Consentire 
 naturae ; ' quod esse volunte virtute, id est, 
 honestate vivere. De Fin. 1. ii. c. 11. p. 113. 
 Where, as has been already observed, page 
 69, and in the note, likewise, on the place, 
 we find the lives, according to nature and 
 virtue, are considered as the same. 
 
 However, to make this assertion plainer, 
 (if it be not, perhaps, sufficiently plain al- 
 ready,) it may not be improper to con- 
 sider what idea these philosophers had of 
 virtue. 
 
 In Laertius, (where he delivers the senti- 
 ments of Zeno and his followers,) virtue is 
 called Siddfffis bp.o\oyov^vt}^ "a consistent 
 disposition ;" and soon after, ^u%^ treiroi- 
 i\^f.vi] irpbs T^]V 6/j.o\oyiav Travrbs TOU fiiov : 
 "a mind formed to consistence through every 
 part of life." Laert. 1. vii. c. 89. 
 
 In Stobaeus, (according to the sentiments 
 of the same school,) it is called 5ta0e<m 
 \l/v%r)s ffv/jLtyuvos avrp irepl '6\ov rbv $(ov : 
 " a disposition of mind, consonant to itself 
 throughout the whole of life." Eel. Eth. 
 p. 167. 
 
 So Cicero, in his Laws : Constans et per- 
 petua ratio vitae, quae est virtus. 1. i. c. 17. 
 p. 55. 
 
 So Seneca, in his seventy-fourth epistle : 
 Virtus enim convenientia constat: omnia 
 opera ejus cum ipsa concordant, et congru- 
 unt. 
 
 Thus, therefore, consistence being the 
 essence of virtue, and, upon the hypothesis 
 here advanced, the essence also of happi- 
 ness ; it follows, first, that a virtuous life 
 will be a happy life : but if a happy one, 
 then, of course, a life according to nature ; 
 since nothing can be good which is contrary 
 to nature, nor, indeed, which is not conso- 
 nant, in strictest manner, to it. 
 
 And here (as a proper opportunity seems 
 to offer) we cannot but take notice of the 
 great similitude of sentiments: it may be 
 even said, the unanimity of almost all 
 philosophers, on this important subject 
 
A DIALOGUE. 85 
 
 ture ; to live according to virtue ; to live according to just ex- 
 perience of those things which happen around us. Like some 
 
 quoted from it in the Dialogue, page 80. 
 And as the sentiments, there exhibited, 
 are recorded by Plato, they may be called, 
 not only Socratic, but Platonic also. How- 
 ever, lest this should be liable to dispute, 
 the following sentiment is taken from Xe- 
 nocrates, one of Plato's immediate successors 
 in the old academy by him founded : Eevo- 
 Kpdrys (prjo'lv, EvSaifiova tlvai rbv r^v \]/v- 
 XV exoj'Ta <nrov8alav ravT-rjv yap cKaa-rw 
 flvai Salpova : " Xenocrates held that he 
 was eudcemon, or happy, who had a virtuous 
 mind; for that the mind was every one's 
 daemon or genius." Arist. Top. 1. ii. c. 6. 
 
 Here we see virtue made the principle of 
 happiness, according to the hypothesis of 
 the Dialogue. There is an elegant allusion 
 in the passage to the etymology of the word 
 EvSatij-ODV, which signifies both, [happy,] 
 and [possessed of a good genius or daemon ;] 
 an allusion which, in translating, it was not 
 possible to preserve. See below, note a. p. 9 1 . 
 
 As for the Peripatetic school, we find 
 their idea of happiness, as recorded by 
 Laertius, to be in a manner the same with 
 that of the Pythagoreans. It was xP^ ffts 
 aperrjs ev /3/w TeAei<jj, " the use or exercise 
 of virtue in a complete and perfect life." 
 Laert. 1. v. c. 30. We have already, in 
 note /, p. 69, cited the same doctrine (though 
 somewhat varied in expression) from the 
 founder of the Peripatetics, in his first book 
 of Ethics. So, again, we learn from him, 
 on irpdeis rives Kal eWpyetcu \eyovrai rb 
 rf\os, "that it is certain actions and ener- 
 gies which are to be deemed the end." 
 Ethic. Nic. 1. i. c. 8. And again : eoTt 
 yap avr^j f] evirpa^ia reAos : " for it is the 
 very rectitude of action which is itself the 
 end." Ibid. 1. vi. c. 5. And again : 'H eu- 
 8aifj.ovta evepyetd rts Iffri : " happiness is 
 a certain energizing." 1. ix. c. 9. And 
 more explicitly than all these passages, in 
 that elegant simile, 1. i. c. 8. ttxrirfp 8e 
 t O\v/j.irtd(riv ov% ot Ka\\i(TTOi Kal Ia"xyp6- 
 raroi (rrf<pavovvTai, <xAA' ot aycwi^o/uievoi 
 (rovrcav yap rives vitc&cnv') OU'TCO Kal ruv 
 4v rtf /3/y Ka\u>v Kal ayaOwv ol Trpdrrovres 
 opGus <?7r^)8oAot yiyvovrai : " for, as in the 
 Olympic games, not those are crowned who 
 are handsomest and strongest, but those 
 who combat and contend, (for it is from 
 among these come the victors ;) so, with 
 respect to things laudable and good in hu- 
 man life, it is the right actors only that at- 
 tain the possession of them." Nay, so 
 much did this philosopher make happiness 
 depend on right action, that though he re- 
 quired some portion of externals to that 
 felicity, which he held supreme ; yet still 
 
 it was honour and virtue which were its 
 principal ingredients. Thus, speaking of 
 the calamities and external casualties of 
 life, which he confesses to be impediments 
 to a happiness perfectly complete, he adds, 
 ofj-us 6 Kal (V rovrois 8iaAc/*7ret rb Ka\bv, 
 eiTfi8av (pfpp ris VK6\us TroAAas Kal /j.e- 
 yd\as drupes, ^ Si' ava\yr)(riav, aAAo 
 yevvdSas &v Kal /j.eya\6tyvxos. El 8' elvlv 
 at fvepyeiai Kvpiai rrjs CWTJS, KaOdirep efrro- 
 fjiev, ovSels &v yevoiro rcav jjiaKaptuv aO\ios' 
 ouSeVoTe yap Trpd^ei ra /j.io"r]Ta Kal </>ai)Aa. 
 Tbv yap oas a\f]dcas ayaObv Kal /j.<ppova 
 irdcras olofieda ras rv^as eucrxrj/i^ws <pf- 
 pfiv, Kal e/c ruv virapx^ v ' ra>v * 6 ^ T " KOL\- 
 \iffra TrpdrreiV /caflaTrep Kal crrparviybv 
 aya8bv rta irap6vri (TrparoireSy xP^l (r ^ at 
 TTO\[iiK(i>Tara, Kal ffKvror6^ov K rwv 80- 
 Bfvrwv (TKvrwv Ka\\icrrov vir68r)/j.a 7roie?i/, 
 rbv avrbv Se rp6irov Kal rovs &AAovs T^- 
 viras airavras* El 8' ovrcas, uQhios p.tv 
 ovSctrore yevoir' hv 6 v8aifjuav : "and yet, 
 even in such incidents, the fair principle of 
 honour and virtue shines forth, when a 
 man, with becoming calmness, endures many 
 and great misfortunes ; and that not through 
 insensibility, but being brave and mag- 
 nanimous. Nay, more, if it be true, as we 
 have already affirmed, that it is actions 
 which are predominant in constituting a 
 happy life, then can no one be completely 
 miserable, who is happy in his right 
 conduct, because he will never be the 
 actor of what is detestable and base. For 
 it is our opinion, that the man truly wise 
 and good endures all fortunes with becoming 
 decency, and from whatever happens to 
 arise, still frames the fairest actions ; like 
 as the good commander uses the army 
 which he happens to find, after the manner 
 most agreeable to the rules of war ; and 
 the shoemaker, from such skins as others 
 provide him, makes a shoe, the best that 
 can be made from such materials ; and so 
 in the same manner all other artists beside. 
 But if this be true, then he who is happy 
 in this rectitude of genius, can in no in- 
 stance be truly and strictly miserable." 
 Eth. Nic. 1..L c. 10. 
 
 As for Epicurus, though he was an advo- 
 cate for pleasure, yet so high was his opinion 
 of a wise and right conduct, that he thought 
 rational adversity better than irrational 
 prosperity. See Dial. p. 197. Hence, too, 
 he represented that pleasure, which he es- 
 teemed our sovereign happiness, to be as inse- 
 parable from virtue, as virtue was from that. 
 OVK effriv r)5e'ws f}v, avev rov Qpovifjuas, 
 Kal KoAws, Kal SiKaiws" ovSe (f>povi/J.as, Kal 
 KO\WS Kal 8iKaiws, avev rov ^Se'ws. " It is 
 
86 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 finished statue, we may behold it every way : it is the same 
 object, though variously viewed; nor is there a view, but is 
 natural, truly graceful, and engaging. 
 
 VI. I cannot deny, said I, but that as you now have explained 
 it, your hypothesis seems far more plausible than when first it 
 was proposed. You will believe it, said he, more so still, by 
 considering it with more attention. In the first place, though, 
 perhaps, it esteem nothing really good but virtue, nothing really 
 evil but vice, yet it in no manner takes away the difference and 
 distinction of other things. So far otherwise, it is for establishing 
 their distinction to the greatest accuracy. For were this neglected, 
 what would become of selection and rejection, those important 
 energies which are its very soul and essence ? Were there no 
 difference, there could be no choice. It is true, said I, there 
 could not. 
 
 Again, said he. It is no meagre, mortifying system of self- 
 denial ; it suppresses no social and natural affections, nor takes 
 away any social and natural relations; it prescribes no ab- 
 
 impossible to live pleasurably, without living 
 prudently, and honourably, and justly ; or 
 to live prudently, and honourably, and 
 justly, without living pleasurably." Epict. 
 in Laert. 1. x. s. 132. 
 
 To conclude the whole, our countryman 
 Thomas Hobbes, though he professedly ex- 
 plodes all this doctrine concerning ends, 
 yet seems insensibly to have established an 
 end himself, and to have founded it (like 
 others) in a certain energy or action. For 
 thus it is he informs us, in his treatise called 
 Human Nature, that there can be no con- 
 tentment, but in proceeding ; and that fe- 
 licity consisteth, not in having, but in pros- 
 pering. And again, some time after, having 
 admitted the comparison of human life to a 
 race, he immediately subjoins, "but this race 
 we must suppose to have no other goal, nor 
 other garland, but being foremost and in it." 
 
 And thus much as to the concurring 
 sentiments of philosophers on the subject of 
 ends, here treated. 
 
 n Cum enim virtutis hoc proprium sit, 
 earum rerum quae secundum naturam sint, 
 habere delectum ; qui omnia sic exaequa- 
 verunt, ut in utramque partem ita paria 
 redderent, uti nulla selectione uterentur, 
 virtutem ipsam sustulerunt. Cic. de Fin. 
 1. iii. c. 4. p. 207. 
 
 Quid autem apertius, quam, si selectio 
 nulla sit ab iis rebus, quae contra naturam 
 sint, earum rerum quae sint secundum natu- 
 ram, tollatur omnis ea, quae quaeratur lau- 
 deturque prudentia ? Cic. de Fin. 1. iii. c. 9. 
 p. 227. 
 
 Deinceps explicatur differentia rerum : 
 quam si non ullam esse diceremus, confun- 
 
 deretur omnis vita, ut ab Aristone ; nee 
 ullum sapientiae munus aut opus inveniretur, 
 cum inter eas res, quae ad vitam degendam 
 pertinerent, nihil omnino intercsset ; neque 
 ullum delectum haberi oporteret. Itaque 
 cum esset satis constitutum, id solum esse 
 bonum quod esset honestum, et id malum 
 solum quod turpe ; turn inter haec et ilia, 
 quae nihil valerent ad beate misereve viven- 
 dum, aliquid tamen, quo different, esse vo- 
 luerunt, ut essent eorum alia aestimabilia, 
 alia contra, alia neutrum. Ibid. 1. iii. c. 15. 
 p. 246. 
 
 Caetera autem, etsi nee bona nee mala 
 essent, tamen alia secundum naturam di- 
 cebat, alia naturae esse contraria : iis ipsis 
 alia interjecta et media numerabat. Acad. 
 1. i. c. 11. p. 46. See Dial, page 75. 
 
 As much has been said concerning the 
 Stoic apathy or insensibility with respect to 
 passion, it may not be improper to inquire, 
 what were their real sentiments on this 
 subject. 
 
 Tlaflos, which we usually render "a pas- 
 sion," is always rendered by Cicero, when 
 speaking as a Stoic, perturbatio, " a perturba- 
 tion." As such, therefore, in the first place, 
 we say it ought always to be treated. 
 
 The definition of the term irddos, as 
 given by these philosophers, was Sp^ 
 irteov&^ovffa., translated by Cicero, appe- 
 titus vehementior. Tusc. 1. iv. c. 9. p. 273. 
 Now this definition may be more easily 
 explained, if we first inquire, what they 
 meant by <5p/d?. 'O/yt^ they defined to be 
 <>opa ^vxfns eTTi TI, " a tendency or motion 
 of the soul toward something." Stob. Eel. 
 Ethic, p. 175. A irdOos, therefore, or "per- 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 87 
 
 stainings, no forbearances out of nature ; no gloomy, sad, and 
 lonely rules of life, without which it is evident men may be as 
 honest as with, and be infinitely more useful and worthy 
 members of society. It refuses no pleasure, not inconsistent 
 
 a passion ; and that such perturbation 
 meant an irrational and violent motion of 
 the soul, founded on opinion or judgment 
 which was erroneous and faulty. 
 
 Now from hence it follows, that the man 
 of perfect character (according to their hy- 
 pothesis) must of necessity be aTraOfys, 
 
 turbation" must have been, according to 
 their definition, a tendency or motion of the 
 soul, which was excessive and beyond 
 bounds. Stobaeus, from whom this defini- 
 tion is taken, in commenting upon it, ob- 
 serves, ov Ae'yet irefyvKv'ia ?rAeoi'aeii>, 
 aAA' tfSr) eV TrXeovdo'fj.u ovo~a' ov yap 
 8vvd/j.i, fj.a\\ov 8' eVepyeta, " that Zeno 
 (its author) does not call a Tlddos, some- 
 thing capable by nature to pass into excess, 
 but something actually in excess already, 
 as having its essence, not in mere capacity, 
 but in actuality." Eel. Eth. p. 159. 
 
 There is another definition of the same 
 term, which makes it to be ^ &\oyos Kal 
 irapa <pv<rif tyvxys Kivuffis, "a motion of 
 the soul, irrational and contrary to nature." 
 D. Laert. 1. vii. s. 1 10. Andronicus Rhodius 
 adds, to this latter definition, the words, Si' 
 vir6\r]fyiv KUKOV fy ayaOov, " from the opi- 
 nion of something good or evil." Tlepl TldO. 
 p. 523. So that its whole idea is as fol- 
 lows: "A perturbation, or Stoic passion, 
 is a motion of the soul irrational and con- 
 trary to nature, arising from the opinion of 
 something good or evil." These last words, 
 founding the ITa0os, or " perturbation," on 
 opinion, correspond to what Cicero says, 
 where he gives it as the sentiment of the 
 Stoic philosophers, omnes perturbationes 
 judicio fieri et opinione. Tusc. 1. iv. c. 7. 
 p. 276. Laertius informs us, that they 
 even made the perturbations themselves to 
 be judgments. Ao/cel 8e avrols TO. iraQy 
 Kplo~cis efyot. Laert. 1. vii. s. 111. He sub- 
 joins an instance to illustrate. 'Hre yap 
 <pi\apyvpla inroX-rj^/is effri TOV rb apyvpiov 
 Ka\bv elvai. " For thus (says he) the love 
 of money is the judgment or opinion, that 
 money is a thing good and excellent." 
 Plutarch records the same sentiment of 
 theirs, in a fuller and more ample manner. 
 Tlddos \6yos Trovripbs Kal d/c^AcKr-ros, e/c 
 (pav\f)s Kal Snjfj.aprr]iJ.fV7]s /cpiVecos ff(po- 
 Sp6rr)Ta Kal p(i}[j.T]v irpoo~\a/3ii>i'. " A per- 
 turbation is a vicious and intemperate rea- 
 soning, which assumes vehemence and 
 strength from bad and erroneous judgment." 
 Mor. p. 441. D. To these testimonies may 
 be added that of Themistius : Kal ov /ca/cws 
 ot airb ZTJVUVOS, ra Trddrj TTJS av0p(airivr)S 
 $ 1J X*i s r u Xoyov 5iao~Tpo<pas slvai Tt0e- 
 juei/ot, Kal \6yov Kpiffets }]/j.apTt]fj.evas. 
 Themist. Paraph, in Aristot. de Anima, 
 1. iii. p. 90. B. edit. Aldinae. 
 
 The substance of what is said above, 
 seems to amount to this ; that Iloflos, in a 
 Stoic sense, implied a perturbation, and not 
 
 apathetic," or void of perturbation. For 
 such a character, as has been shewn, implies 
 perfect rectitude of conduct. But perfect 
 rectitude of conduct implies perfect recti- 
 tude of judgment ; and such rectitude of 
 judgment excludes all error and wrong 
 judgment: but if error and wrong judg- 
 ment, then perturbation, of consequence, 
 which they suppose to be derived from 
 thence alone. 
 
 That this was the sense, in which they 
 understood apathy, we have their own 
 authority, as given us by Laertius. #a<ri 
 Se Kal cnraBr) flvat rbv (rotpbv, Sia TO avf/j.- 
 TTTWTOV tivai. Laert. 1. vii. p. 117. "They 
 say the wise man is apathetic, by being 
 superior to error ;" by being superior to 
 error, if they may be credited themselves ; 
 not, as for the most part we absurdly 
 imagine, by being superior to all sense, and 
 feeling, and affection. The sentence im- 
 mediately following the foregoing, looks 
 as if these philosophers had foreseen how 
 likely they were to be misunderstood. E?i/cu 
 Se Kal a\\ov aTraOri rbv (pavXov, eV 
 
 "There is also another sort of apathetic 
 man, who is bad; who is the same in 
 character as the hard and inflexible." To the 
 same purpose Epictetus. Ov Se? yap fj.e elf at 
 07ra07j, us avSpidvTa, a\\a ras (TxeVejs TTJ- 
 povvra, ras <u<n/cos Kal eiriBerovs, us eu- 
 <re?7, a>s vlbv, us aSeA02>j/, us irarfpa, us 
 TroXlr-r}v : "For I am not to be apathetic, 
 like a statue, but I am withal to observe 
 relations, both the natural and adventitious ; 
 as the man of religion, as the son, as the 
 brother, as the father, as the citizen." 
 Arr. Epict. 1. iii. c. 2. p. 359. 
 
 Immediately before this, he tells us in 
 the same chapter, UdOos yap a\\us ov 
 yivrrai, ej /*$) ope^eus airorvy-^avovff^s, i) 
 fKK\iffeus irepnrnrrov<Tr)s : " that a per- 
 turbation in no other way ever arises, but 
 either Avhen a desire is frustrated, or an 
 aversion falls into that which it would 
 avoid." Where it is observable, that he 
 does not make either desire or aversion, 
 FlaflTj, or "perturbations," but only the 
 cause of perturbations, when erroneously 
 conducted. 
 
88 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 with temperance; it rejects no gain, not inconsistent with justice ; p 
 universally, as far as virtue neither forbids nor dissuades, it 
 
 Agreeably to this, in the second chapter 
 of the Enchiridion, we meet with precepts 
 about the conduct and management of these 
 two affections, not a word is said about 
 lopping off either ; on the contrary, aversion 
 we are directed how to employ immediately, 
 and desire we are only ordered to suspend 
 for the present, because we want a proper 
 subject of fit excellence to excite it. 
 
 To this may be added, what the same 
 philosopher speaks, in his own person, 
 concerning himself. Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 21. 
 'Eyw p.ev apKovpai, ai/ 6peyu/j.ai Kal e/c- 
 K\iv(a /caret fyvffiv : " I, for my part, am 
 satisfied and contented, if I can desire and 
 avoid agreeably to nature." He did not 
 remain, it seems, dissatisfied, till he had 
 eradicated these affections ; but he was 
 satisfied in reducing them to their natural 
 use. 
 
 In Laertius we read recorded for a Stoic 
 sentiment, that as the vicious man had his 
 7ra077, or " perturbations ;" so, opposed to 
 these, had the virtuous his tviraOeiai, his 
 44 eupathies," or well- feelings, translated bv 
 Cicero constantice. The three chief of these 
 were /8ouA/?j<m, " will," defined ope|ts e#Ao- 
 yos, " rational desire ;" euAa/Seta, " cau- 
 tion," defined e/c/cAt <m ffaoyos, " rational 
 aversion ;" and x a pu> "joy?" defined Hirapffis 
 efaoyos, " rational exultation." To these 
 three principal eupathies belonged many 
 subordinate species ; such as evvoia, ayd- 
 jrrfais, cu'Sws, repots, fV(ppO(rvvij^ euflu/xta, 
 &c. See Laert. 1. vii. s. 115, 11 6. Andron. 
 Rhod. irepl TrdOwv. Cic. Tusc. 1. iv. c. 6. 
 
 Cicero makes Cato, under the character 
 of a Stoic, and in explaining their system, 
 use the following expressions. Pertinere 
 autem ad rem arbitrantur, intelligi natura 
 fieri, ut liberi a parentibus amentur: a 
 quo initio profectam communem humani 
 generis societatem persequuntur. De Fin. 
 1. iii. c. 19. The same sentiment of the 
 Stoics is recorded by Laertius. $acrl Se 
 
 (ot STCOi/COf) Kttl T^jV TTpbs TO. TfKVO. <$>l- 
 
 XoffTopyiav (pvffiK^v elvai auroTs : " They 
 say, parental affection is natural to them." 
 1. vii. s. 120. 
 
 Again, soon after, in the same treatise 
 De Finibus. Quodque nemo in summa 
 solitudine vitam agere velit, ne cum infinita 
 quidem voluptatum abundantia ; facile in- 
 telligitur, nos ad conjunctionem congrega- 
 tionemque hominum, et ad naturalem com- 
 munitatem esse natos. So Laertius : 'AAAa 
 fifv oi5' eV eprj/aa (0a<ri) /3tc6<reTat 6 
 (TirovScuos' KoivwviKbs yap (pixrei, Kal irpaK- 
 ni<6s. " The virtuous man (say they, the 
 Stoics) will never be for living in solitude ; 
 
 for he is by nature social, and formed for 
 action." 1. vii. s. 123. 
 
 Again, Cicero, in the above-cited trea- 
 tise. Cum autem ad tuendos conservandos- 
 que homines hominem natum esse videa- 
 mus ; consentaneum est huic naturae, ut 
 sapiens velit gerere, et administrare rem- 
 publicam ; atque ut e natura vivat, uxorem 
 adjungere, et velle ex ea liberos. Ne 
 amores quidem sanctos a sapiente alicnos 
 esse arbitrantur. Ut vero conservetur 
 omnis homini erga hominem societas, con- 
 junctio, caritas ; et emolumenta et detri- 
 menta communia esse voluerunt. De Fin. 
 1. iii. c. 20, 21. 
 
 In Epictetus, the leading duties or moral 
 offices of man, are enumerated as follows. 
 YlohirevecrOai, yafj.e?i>, TraiSoirote^trdai, Otbv 
 (refieiv, yovfuv eVt/xeAero^at, /cafloAou o/>e- 
 yeardcu, e/c/cAiVetz/, op/aa.^., acpopfj-yv, us 
 GKaffTov rovTiav Se? iroiciv, us Tre(pvKafj.V. 
 Arr. Epict. 1. iii. c. 7. p. 386. The same 
 sentiments may be found repeated both in 
 Stobseus and Laertius. 
 
 I shall only add one more sentiment of 
 these philosophers, and that is concerning 
 friendship. A4yov(ri Se /cat rfyv fyLXiav eV 
 /.(.6vois rots (TirovSaiois fivai : "" They say, 
 that friendship exists among the virtuous 
 only." Laert. 1. vii. s. 124. 
 
 The sum of these quotations appears to 
 be this ; that the Stoics, in the character 
 of their virtuous man, included rational 
 desire, aversion, and exultation ; included 
 love and parental affection ; friendship, and 
 a general charity or benevolence to all 
 mankind ; that they considered it as a 
 duty, arising from our very nature, not to 
 neglect the welfare of public society, but to 
 be ever ready, according to our rank, to 
 act either the magistrate or the private 
 citizen ; that their apathy was no more 
 than a freedom from perturbation, from 
 irrational and excessive agitations of the 
 soul ; and consequently that the strange 
 apathy, commonly laid to their charge, and 
 in the demolishing of which there have 
 been so many triumphs, was an imaginary 
 apathy, for which they were no way ac- 
 countable. 
 
 P The Stoics were so far from rejecting 
 wealth, when acquired fairly, that they 
 allowed their perfect man, for the sake of 
 enriching himself, to frequent the courts of 
 kings, and teach philosophy for a stipend. 
 Thus Plutarch from a treatise of Chrysip- 
 pus : Thy p&v votybv Kal /3a<rtAei$(rt ffvve- 
 (TtcrQai <f>rja'lv eVe/ca xpr)/j.aTHT/j.ov, Kal 
 ffo(piffTfv(TfLV eV apyvpiw. Mor. p. 1047. 
 F. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 89 
 
 endeavours to render life, even in the most vulgar acceptation, 
 as cheerful, joyous, and easy as possible. q Nay, could it mend 
 the condition of existence in any the most trivial circumstance, 
 even by adding to the amplest possessions the poorest meanest 
 utensil, it would in no degree contemn an addition even so 
 mean. r Far otherwise : it would consider, that to neglect the 
 least acquisition, when fairly in its power, would be to fall short 
 of that perfect and accurate conduct which it ever has in view, 
 and on which alone all depends. 
 
 And yet, though thus exact in every the minutest circum- 
 stance, it gives us no solicitude as to what rank we maintain in 
 life. Whether noble or ignoble, wealthy or poor ; whether 
 merged in business, or confined to inactivity, it is equally con- 
 sistent with every condition, and equally capable of adorning 
 them all. Could it indeed choose its own life, it would be 
 always that where most social affections might extensively be 
 exerted, and most done to contribute to the welfare of society. 5 
 But if fate order otherwise, and this be denied ; its intentions 
 are the same, its endeavours are not wanting ; nor are the 
 social, rational powers forgotten, even in times and circum- 
 stances where they can least become conspicuous. 
 
 It teaches us to consider life as one great important drama, 
 where we have each our part allotted us to act. 1 It tells us that 
 
 
 So likewise the Stoic Hecato, in his 
 treatise of Offices, as quoted by Cicero. 
 Sapientis esse, nihil contra mores, leges, 
 instituta facientem, habere rationem rei 
 familiaris. Neque enim solum nobis divites 
 esse volumus, sed liberis, propinquis, amicis, 
 maximeque reipublicse. Singulorum enim 
 facultates et copise, divitise sunt civitatis. 
 De Offic. 1. iii. c. 15. 
 
 <i Etenim quod summum bonum a Stoicis 
 dicitur, Convenienter naturae vivere, id 
 habet hanc (ut opinor) sententiam, Cum 
 virtute congruere semper : csetera autem, 
 quae secundum naturam essent, ita legere, 
 si ea virtuti non repugnarent. Cic. de 
 Offic. 1. iii. c. 3. 
 
 Alexander Aphrodisiensis, speaking of 
 the Stoic doctrine concerning the external 
 convenicncies and common utilities of life, 
 delivers their sentiment in the following 
 words : 'AAAa /cat Si'xa Kip.4vo)V aperfjs 
 
 T6 ffVV TOVTOIS KO.I (Xp6T7JS jU^I/TJS, ^SeTTOT* 
 
 &j/ rbv ffofpbv T^V Kf.\(upL(T^vf\v tXtffQcu, 
 el efoj avrtf Swarbv rrjv fj.era rwv aAAa>i/ 
 Aa$eT/. " Supposing there lay virtue on 
 the one side, attended with these externals, 
 and virtue on the other side, alone by 
 herself, the wise man would never choose 
 that virtue which was destitute and 
 single, if it was in his power to obtain 
 that other which was accompanied with 
 these advantages." Hepl tyvx- p. 157. 
 
 r Si ad illam vitam, quae cum virtute 
 degatur, ampulla aut strigilis accedat, sump- 
 turum sapientem earn vitam potius, cui haac 
 adjecta sint. De Fin. 1. iv. c. 12. p. 300. 
 
 s Itemque magis est secundum naturam, 
 pro omnibus gentibus (si fieri possit) con- 
 servandis aut juvandis maximos labores 
 molestiasque suscipere, imitantem Herculem 
 ilium, quern hominum fama, beneficiorum 
 memor, in concilio coelestium conlocavit, 
 quam vivere in solitudine, non modo sine 
 ullis molestiis, sed etiam in maximis volup- 
 tatibus, abundantem omnibus copiis ; ut 
 excellas etiam pulchritudine et viribus. 
 Quocirca optimo quisque et splendidissimo 
 ingenio longe illam vitam huic anteponit. 
 Cic. de Offic. 1. iii. c. 5. 
 
 1 Thus Aristo the Chian : Elvai yap 
 Ofj-oiov TW ayaBw v'iroKpirrj rbv aoQdv' 
 
 Trp6acairov avaXaprj, fKarepov vwoKpive- 
 " The wise 
 
 man s 
 
 like the good actor ; who, whether he 
 assume the character of Thersites or Aga- 
 memnon, acts either of the two parts with 
 a becoming propriety.'' 1 D. Laert. 1 vii. 
 s. 1GO. 
 
 This comparison of life to a drama or 
 stage-play, seems to have been a comparison 
 much approved by authors of antiquity. 
 See Epict. Enchirid. c. 17. and the notes of 
 the late learned editor Mr. Upton. See 
 

 90 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 our happiness, as actors in this drama, consists not in the length 
 of our part, nor in the state and dignity, but in the just, the 
 decent, and the natural performance. 
 
 If its aims are successful, it is thankful to Providence. It 
 accepts all the joys derived from their success, and feels them 
 as fully as those who know no other happiness. The only dif- 
 ference is, that having a more excellent good in view, it fixes not, 
 like the many, its happiness on success alone, u well knowing 
 that in such case, if endeavours fail, there can be nothing left 
 behind but murrnurings and misery. On the contrary, when 
 this happens, it is then it retires into itself, and reflecting on 
 what is fair, what is laudable and honest, (the truly beatific 
 vision, not of mad enthusiasts, but of the calm, the temperate, 
 the wise, and the good,) it becomes superior to all events ; x it 
 acquiesces in the consciousness of its own rectitude ; and, like 
 that mansion founded not on the sands but on the rock, it defies 
 all the terrors of tempest and inundation. 
 
 VII. Here he paused, and I took the opportunity to observe, 
 how his subject had warmed him into a degree of rapture ; how 
 greatly it had raised both his sentiments and his style. No 
 wonder, said he. Beauty of every kind excites our love and 
 admiration ; the beauties of art, whether energies or works ; the 
 beauties of nature, whether animal or inanimate. And shall we 
 expect less from this supreme beauty ; this moral, mental, and 
 original beauty ; of which all the res't are but as types or copies ? 
 Not however by high flights to lose sight of our subject, the 
 whole of what we have argued, may be reduced to this. 
 
 All men pursue good, y and would be happy, if they knew 
 how; not happy for minutes, and miserable for hours, but happy, 
 if possible, through every part of their existence. Either, there- 
 fore, there is a good of this steady durable kind, or there is none. 
 If none, then all good must be transient and uncertain; and if 
 so, an object of lowest value, which can little deserve either our 
 attention or inquiry. But if there be a better good, such a good 
 
 also M. Anton. 1. xii. s. 36 ; and the notes of the dissertations of Epictetus. Take an 
 
 of Gataker. Plat. Gorg. p. 512. vol. i. edit, example or two out of many. Averts 8' 
 
 Serr. afcr) iravrbs, rb Sico/ceii/ rb ayaObv, (f>evyeiv 
 
 u One of the wisest rules that ever was, rb Kanbv TOV yap aya6ov ffvyysvecntpov 
 
 with respect to the enjoyment of external ovSev. " It is the nature of every one to 
 
 good fortune, is that delivered by Epicte- pursue good, and fly evil for nothing is 
 
 tus ; to enjoy it, us SeSorot, Kal </)' offov more intimately allied to us than good." 
 
 SeSorew, " in such manner as it is given, Arr. Epict. 1. iv. c. 5. p. 606. Again, 1. ii. 
 
 and for such time as it is given ;" remem- c. 22. p. 313. Tlav Z&ov ovSevl ovrcas 
 
 bering that neither of these conditions we w/cetwrat, cos TCO iSict} crvfjuf>4pom. " To 
 
 have the power to command. See Arr. nothing is every animal so intimately allied, 
 
 Epict. 1. iv. c. 1. p. 556. See also p. 573. of as to its own peculiar welfare and interest." 
 
 the same. So Cicero : Omnes enim expetimus 
 
 x See before, note ?n, p. 8 5 ; #/xo>$ 5e Kal utilitatem, ad eamque rapimur, nee facere 
 
 ^ [ fr TOVTOIS 8ia\d/j.TTi, &c. aliter ullo modo possumus. De Offic. 1. iii. 
 
 \i ? This is a N principle adopted by all the c. 28. Platon. Gorg. p. 468. vol. i. edit. 
 \ Stoics, and inculcated through every part Serr. ibid. p. 499. E. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 91 
 
 as we are seeking ; like every other thing, it must be derived 
 from some cause ; and that cause must be either external, in- 
 ternal, or mixed, inasmuch as except these three, there is no 
 other possible. Now a steady, durable good, cannot be derived 
 from an external cause, by reason all derived from externals 
 must fluctuate, as they fluctuate. 2 By the same rule, not from 
 a mixture of the two : because the part which is external will 
 proportionally destroy its essence. What, then, remains but the 
 cause internal ; the very cause which we have supposed, when 
 we place the sovereign good in mind ; in rectitude of conduct ; 
 in just selecting and rejecting ? H There seerns, indeed, no other 
 cause, said I, to which we can possibly assign it. 
 
 Forgive me, then, continued he, should I appear to boast. 
 We have proved, or, at least, there is an appearance we have 
 proved, that either there is no good except this of our own ; 
 or that, if there be any other, it is not worthy our regard. It 
 must be confessed, said I, you have said as much as the subject 
 seems to admit. 
 
 VIII. By means, then, said he, of our hypothesis, behold one 
 of the fairest, and most amiable of objects ; behold the true and 
 perfect man : b that ornament of humanity, that god-like being, 
 who, without regard either to pleasure or pain, uninfluenced 
 equally by either prosperity or adversity, superior to the world 
 and its best and worst events, can fairly rest his all upon the 
 rectitude of his own conduct, can constantly, and uniformly, and 
 manfully maintain it ; thinking that, and that alone, wholly suf- 
 ficient to make him happy. 
 
 And do you seriously believe, said I, there ever was such a 
 character ? And what, replied he, if I should admit there never 
 was, is, or will be such a character ? that we have been talking 
 the whole time of a being not to be found ? 
 
 A faultless monster, which the world ne'er saw ? 
 
 Supposing, I say, we admit this, what then ? Would not your 
 
 z See before, pages 51, 52, 53. esset, id esse solum bonum, semper sit ne- 
 
 a Daemon, or genius, means every man's cesse est beatus, vereque omnia ista nomina 
 
 particular mind, and reasoning faculty, possideat, quae inrideri ab imperitis solent. 
 
 Aai/uwv oSros 5e &TTIJ/ 6 tKavrov vovs Rectius enim appellabitur rex, quam Tar- 
 
 Kal \6yos. M. Anton. 1. v. p. 27. Genium quinius, qui nee se nee suos regere potuit: 
 
 esse uniuscujusque animum rationalem ; et rectius magister populi, etc. Cic. de Fin. 
 
 ideo esse singulos singulorum. Varro in 1. iii. c. 22. p. 269. Ergo hie, quisquis est, 
 
 Fragm. It is from this interpretation of qui moderatione et con stantia quietus animo 
 
 genius, that the word, which in Greek ex- est, sibique ipse placatus ; ut nee tabescat 
 
 presses happiness, is elegantly etymologized molestiis, nee frangatur timore, nee sitienter 
 
 to mean "a goodness of genius or mind." Eu- quid expetens ardeat desiderio, nee alacri- 
 
 Saifiovia eVri Scu'yueoi/ ayaQts. M. Anton, tate futili gestiens deliquescat ; is est sa- 
 
 1. vii. s. 17. See Gataker on the place, piens, quern quaerimus, is est beatus: cui 
 
 The sentiment came originally from the old nihil humanarum rerum aut intolerabile ad 
 
 Academics. See before, page* 85, note m. demittendum animum, aut nimis laetabile 
 
 b Quam gravis vero, quam magnifica, ad ecferendum videri potest. Quid enim 
 
 quam constans conficitur persona sapientis? videatur oi magnum, &c. Tusc. Disp. 1. iv. 
 
 Qui, cum ratio docuerit, quod honestum c. 1 7. p. 298. 
 
92 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 system in each a case, said I, a little border upon the chimeri- 
 cal? I only ask the question. You need not be so tender, he 
 replied, in expressing yourself. If it be false, if it will not en- 
 dure the test, I am as ready to give it up as I have been to de- 
 fend it. He must be a poor philosopher, indeed, who, when he 
 sees truth and a system at variance, can ever be solicitous for 
 the fate of a system. 
 
 But tell me, I pray, Do you object to mine, from its perfection, 
 or from its imperfection ? From its being too excellent for human 
 nature, and above it ; or from its being too base, and below it ? 
 It seems to require, said I, a perfection to which no individual 
 ever arrived. That very transcendence, said he, is an argument 
 on its behalf. Were it of a rank inferior, it would not be that 
 perfection which we seek. Would you have it, said I, beyond 
 nature I If you mean, replied he, beyond any particular or in- 
 dividual nature, most undoubtedly I would. As you are a lover 
 of painting, you shall hear a story on the subject. 
 
 " In ancient days, d while Greece was flourishing in liberty and 
 arts, a celebrated painter, having drawn many excellent pictures 
 for a certain free state, and been generously and honourably re- 
 warded for his labours, at last made an offer to paint them an 
 Helen, as a model and exemplar of the most exquisite beauty. 
 The proposal was readily accepted, when the artist informed 
 them, that in order to draw one fair, it was necessary he should 
 contemplate many. He demanded, therefore, a sight of all their 
 finest women. The state, to assist the work, assented to his 
 request. They were exhibited before him, he selected the most 
 beautiful, and from these formed his Helen, more beautiful than 
 them all." 
 
 You have heard the fact, and what are we to infer? Or can 
 there be any other inference than this, that the standard of per- 
 fection, with respect to the beauty of bodies, was not (as this 
 artist thought) to be discovered in any individual; but being 
 dispersed by nature in portions through the many, was from 
 thence, and thence only, to be collected and recognised ? It 
 appears, said I, he thought so. The picture, continued he, is 
 lost, but we have statues still remaining. If there be truth in 
 the testimony of the best and fairest judges, no woman ever 
 equalled the delicacy of the Medicean Venus, nor man the 
 strength and dignity of the Farnhesian Hercules. It is gene- 
 rally, said I, so believed. 
 
 c Chrysippus seems to have been sensible assert, we appear to say things which look 
 
 of this, if we may judge from a passage of like fictions, and not such as are suitable 
 
 his preserved in Plutarch. Aib icai Sta TT\V to man and human nature." Mor. 1041. F. 
 ti7rep|8o\V roCre fj.ey<E0ovs teal rov KOL\\OVS, d See Cic. De Invent. 1. ii. c. 1. See also 
 
 vXaff^affi SoKov/iifi/ b^oia Xeyeii', Kal ov Maximus Tyrius, Diss. xxiii. p. 277. of the 
 
 Kara rbv avQpcanov Kal T^]V avQpwirivriv late quarto edition, and Xenoph. Memor. 
 
 fyvartv. " For this reason, through the ex- 1. iii. c. 10. 
 cessive greatness and beauty of what we 
 
A DIALOGUE. 93 
 
 And will you, said he, from this unparalleled and transcendent 
 excellence, deny these works of art to be truly and strictly na- 
 tural ? Their excellence, replied I, must be confessed by all ; 
 but how they can be called natural, I must own a little startles 
 me. That the limbs and their proportions, said he, are selected 
 from nature, you will hardly, 1 believe, doubt, after the story 
 just related. I replied, it was admitted. The parts therefore of 
 these works are natural. They are. And may not the same be 
 asserted, as to the arrangement of these parts ? Must not this, 
 too, be natural, as it is analogous, we know, to nature ? It must. 
 If so, then is the whole natural. So, indeed, said I, it should 
 seem. It cannot, replied he, be otherwise, if it be a fact beyond 
 dispute, that the whole is nothing more than the parts under 
 such arrangement. Enough, said I, you have satisfied me. 
 
 If I have, said he, it is but to transfer what we have asserted 
 of this subordinate beauty, to beauty of a higher order ; it is but 
 to pass from the external to the moral and internal. For here we 
 say. by parity of reason, that nowhere, in any particular nature, 
 is the perfect character to be seen entire. 6 Yet one is brave, 
 another is temperate, a third is liberal, and a fourth is prudent. 
 So that in the multitude of mixed imperfect characters, as be- 
 fore in the multitude of imperfect bodies, is expressed that idea, 
 that moral standard of perfection, by which all are tried and 
 compared to one another, and at last upon the whole are either 
 justified or condemned ; that standard of perfection, which can- 
 not be but most natural, as it is purely collected from individuals 
 of nature, and is the test of all the merit to which they aspire. 
 I acknowledge, said I, your argument. 
 
 I might add, said he, if there were occasion, other arguments 
 which would surprise you. I might inform you of the natural 
 preeminence and high rank of specific ideas ; f that every indi- 
 
 e The Stoics themselves acknowledged, et C. Laelius, sapientes fuerunt ; ne illi qui- 
 
 ns we learn from Clemens of Alexandria, dem septem : sed ex mediorum officiorum 
 
 that their 6 <ro<p&s, or " perfect man," was frequentia similituclinem quandam gerebant, 
 
 difficult to be found to an exceeding great speciemque sapientum. De Offic. 1. iii. c. 4. 
 
 degree ; Svffcuperos iravv fftyoSpa. Strom. Again, in his Laelius, speaking of the same 
 
 p. 438. Sextus Empiricus gives it as their consummate wisdom, he calls it, Sapientia 
 
 opinion, " that they had never as yet found quam adhuc mortalis nemo est consecutus. 
 him," fJ-*XP L TOV vvv avevperov OVTOS /car' So, too, Quintilian : Quod si defuit his 
 
 avTovs TOV (rocpov. Adv. Phys. p. 582. viris summa virtus, sic quserentibus, an 
 
 edit. Lipsiens. oratores fuerint, respondebo, quo modo 
 
 What Sextus says, seems to be confirmed Stoici, si interrogentur, an sapiens Zeno, 
 
 by Cicero, who, speaking in his Offices the an Cleanthes, an Chrysippus, respondeant ; 
 
 language of a Stoic, has the following ex- magnos quidem illos ac venerabiles ; non 
 
 pressions : Nee vero, cum duo Decii, aut duo tamcn id, quod natura hominis summam 
 
 Scipiones, fortes viri commemorantur, aut habet, consecutos. Inst. Orat. 1. xii. c. 1. 
 
 cum Fabricius Aristidesve justi nominantur; p. 721, 722. edit. Caper. 
 aut ab illis fortitudinis, aut ab his justitiae, So likewise Seneca : Scis, quern nunc 
 
 tan quam a sapientibus, petitur exemplum. bonum virum dicam ? Hujus secundae notae. 
 
 Nemo enim horum sic sapiens est, ut sa- Nam ille alter fortasse, tanquam phoanix, se- 
 
 pientem voluraus intelligi. Nee ii, qui sa- mel anno quingentesimo nascitur. Epist. 42. 
 pientes habiti sunt, et nominati ; M. Cato f See Cicero in his Orator, near the be- 
 
94 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 vidual was but their type, or shadow ; that the mind or intellect 
 was the region of possibles ; that whatever is possible, to the 
 mind, actually is ; nor any thing a nonenity, except what im- 
 plies a contradiction ; that the genuine sphere and genuine 
 cylinder, though forms perhaps too perfect ever to exist con- 
 joined to matter, were yet as true and real beings, as the grossest 
 objects of sense ; were the source of infinite truths, which wholly 
 depend on them, and which, as truths, have a being most un- 
 alterable and eternal. 8 But these are reasonings which rather 
 belong to another philosophy ; and if you are satisfied without 
 them, they are at best but superfluous. 
 
 He waited not for my answer, but proceeded as follows. It is 
 thus, said he, have I endeavoured, as far as in my power, to give 
 you an idea of the perfect character ; a character, which I am 
 neither so absurd as to impute to myself, nor so rigorous and 
 unfair as to require of others. We have proposed it only as an 
 exemplar of imitation, which though none we think can equal, 
 yet all at least may follow;' 1 an exemplar of imitation, which in 
 
 ginning : Sed ego sic statuo, nihil esse in 
 ullo genere tarn pulchrum, quo non, &c. &c. 
 See also the verses of Boethitis before cited, 
 note b. p. 65. 
 
 & 'AAA* tfy 
 
 aKpifi(TTpa Kal Kadap&rspa rcav 
 v<av eirivoslv Svi/arai, Kal yevvqv' TOV y' 
 ovv Qawo/jLevov KVK\OV fTriSLopOovrai, Kal 
 Ae*yei, KaQ6ffov OVTOS aTroAenreTat rov aKpi- 
 $ows, /cat SfjAoi', cos dpuxrd TI TOVTOV /caA- 
 Xiov ciAAo Kal T\ei6rpov e?8os' ov yap 
 TTOU fj.^Sevbs e<paiTTO/j.i''r), /iTjSe ejfs ri 
 Kadapwrcpov /SAeTroutra, TOVTO ywei> 08 
 fyriffiv OVT<I>S efoai /caA^, TOVTO Se ov iravrr) 
 icrov. avrca yap rip \eyeiv rawra, SeiKWcru' 
 us 6pa rb irdvTr) /caAoj' Kal Travrrf "LVOV. 
 " Our soul is able both to perceive and to 
 produce objects much more accurate and 
 pure than those which are visibly apparent. 
 It corrects, therefore, the apparent circle, 
 and says, now much that circle wants of 
 the perfect one ; and this it evidently does, 
 by beholding some form, which is fairer 
 than the visible one, and more perfect. It 
 is not, indeed, possible, that, without con- 
 nexion with any thing else, or without 
 looking upon something more pure, it should 
 say that this is not really fair, this is not in 
 every respect equal : for by these very as- 
 sertions, it proves that it beholds that which 
 is in every respect fair, and in every respect 
 equal." From the MS. Comment of Proclus 
 on the Parmenides, book iii. 
 
 The ancients held four methods or pro- 
 cesses in their dialectic for the investiga- 
 tion of truth: first, the divisive, (j] Siaipt- 
 TiK$7,) by which we divide and separate the 
 real attributes of being ; next, the definitive, 
 crj,) by which we bring them again 
 
 together, and by a just arrangement form 
 them into definitions ; thirdly, the demon- 
 strative, (j) aTToSet/CTi/c^,) in which we em- 
 ploy those definitions, and by syllogizing 
 through them, descend from causes to ef- 
 fects ; and, lastly, the analytic, (rj ava- 
 AurtK^,) in which, by an inverse process, 
 we unravel demonstrations, and so ascend 
 from effects to causes. 
 
 Now to all these methods they held 6*877, 
 that is, specific forms or ideas, to be indis- 
 pensably requisite, from their two im- 
 portant characters of permanence and com- 
 prehension. 
 
 Hence it is that Proclus, in the fifth book 
 of his" comment on the Parmenides, having 
 gone through the several methods above 
 mentioned, concludes with the following 
 remark : 
 
 Et apa /n'fi eTTt ra eiSyj, OVK effovrat at 
 Sia\fKriKol /j.e0oSoi, Ka6' as TO. ovra yiyvca- 
 ovS" '6irot Tpfyofj.V TT?J> Sidvotav 
 /' avrfj yap T) Swo/xts TTJS tyv^s fj.d- 
 \i<rra TroOovffa T)]V alriav firl TO. etSr] 
 Karatpevyei. "If therefore there are no 
 specific ideas or forms, there can be none of 
 those dialectic methods, by which we come 
 to the knowledge of things, nor shall we 
 know whither to direct our discursive 
 faculty ; for this is that power of the soul, 
 which, desiring above all others the cause 
 or reason of things, flies for that purpose to 
 forms or specific ideas. 
 
 h Seneca gives it as a general confession 
 of the greatest philosophers, that the doc- 
 trine they taught, was not quemadmodum 
 ipse viverent, sed quemadmodum vivendum 
 esset. De Vita Beata, c. 18. 
 
 There appears, indeed, to be one common 
 
A DIALOGUE. 95 
 
 proportion as we approach, so we advance proportionably in 
 merit and in worth ; an exemplar which, were we most selfish, 
 we should be fools to reject ; if it be true, that to be happy is 
 the ultimate wish of us all, and that happiness and moral worth 
 so reciprocally correspond, that there can be no degree of the 
 one, without an equal degree of the other. If there be truth, 
 said I, in your reasonings, it cannot certainly be otherwise. 
 
 He continued, by saying, the proficiency of Socrates, and, in- 
 deed, of every honest man, was sufficient to convince us, could 
 we be stedfast to our purpose, that some progress, at least, might 
 be made toward this perfection; 1 how far, we know not. The 
 field was open, the race was free and common to all ; nor was 
 the prize, as usual, reserved only to the first ; but all who run 
 might depend on a reward, having the voice of nature, would 
 they but listen, to assure them : k 
 
 Nemo ex hoc numero mihi non donatus abibit. 1 
 
 IX. Here he paused, and left me to meditate on what he had 
 
 power." He immediately explains what 
 this resemblance is : 'O{j.oi(acris 5e, SiKaiov 
 Kal offiov fj.era (f>povf](r(as ycvecrdai. " It 
 is the becoming just and holy, along with 
 wisdom or prudence." Plat. vol. i. p. 176. 
 edit. Serrani. See this sentiment explained 
 by Ammonius, in V. Voces Porph. p. 5. 
 See also Aristotle's Ethics, 1. x. c. 8. p. 
 465. 
 
 The gospel appears to favour the same 
 hypothesis. " Be ye therefore perfect, even 
 as vour Father which is in heaven is per- 
 fect." Matt. v. 48. 
 
 What has been above said, will be, it is 
 hoped, a sufficient apology for the tran- 
 scendence of the character described in the 
 Dialogue. 
 
 1 See Diog. Laert. 1. vii. c. .01. p. 420. 
 TeK/JL-fipiov Se rb v-jrapKrrjv flvat rfyv apfrrjv 
 TO yfVfcrdai sv TrpoKoirfj rovs irfpl 3<w- 
 Kparyv, Kal Aioyfvr)v^ &c. 
 
 k Verum ut transeundi spes non sit, 
 magna tamen est dignitas subsequendi. 
 Quinct. Inst. 1. xii. c. 11. p. 760. Exigo 
 itaque a me, non ut optimis par sim, sed 
 ut malis melior. Senec. de Vita Beata, c. 17. 
 Ot>8e yap MtAo> eao/icu, Kal opus OVK 
 ayueAa) TOU o^yxcm)?' ouSe K.polo'os, Kal 
 opus OVK d^ueAa) rrjs Kr-f)o~0)S' ovS' air\>s 
 $AAou rivos TTJS tTrtyueAetas, Sia r^]v airo- 
 yvcaffiv r&v aKpuv, a^to'rd/ji.eda. " For 
 neither shall I be Milo, and yet I neglect not 
 my body ; nor Croesus, and yet I neglect 
 not my estate : nor in general do we desist 
 from the proper care of any thing, through 
 despair of arriving at that which is supreme." 
 Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 2. See also Horat. Epist. 
 i. 1. i. 28, &c. 
 
 1 JEneid. L v. n. 305. 
 
 reasoning with respect to all models, exem- 
 plars, standards, correctors, whatever we call 
 them, and whatever the subjects, which they 
 are destined to adjust. According to this rea- 
 soning, if a standard be less perfect than the 
 subject to be adjusted, such adjusting (if it 
 may be so called) becomes a detriment. If it 
 be but equally perfect, then is the adjusting 
 superfluous. It remains, therefore, that it 
 must be more perfect, and that to any tran- 
 scendence, any accuracy conceivable. For 
 suppose a standard as highly accurate as 
 can be imagined. If the subjects to be ad- 
 justed have a nature suitable, then will 
 they arrive, by such standard, to a degree 
 of perfection, which through a standard 
 less accurate they could never possibly at- 
 tain. On the contrary, if the subjects be 
 not so far capable, the accuracy of the 
 standard will never be a hinderance, why 
 they should not become as perfect as their 
 nature will admit. 
 
 It seems to have been from some senti- 
 ments of this kind, that the Stoics adorned 
 their 6 ffo<t>bs, or " perfect character," with 
 attributes so far superior to ordinary hu- 
 manity. 'E/cetVos oA/3tos, e/celi/oy a.irpoa'- 
 Se^/s, GKewos avTapKi)s, /JLttKapios, re\ios: 
 " It was he was fortunate ; it was he was 
 above want ; it was he was self-sufficient, 
 and happy, and perfect." Plutarch. Mor. 
 1068. B. See note <?, p. 93. 
 
 Some philosophers have gone so far as 
 not to rest satisfied with the most perfect 
 idea of humanity, but so substitute, for our 
 exemplar, even the Supreme Being, God 
 himself. Thus Plato, in his Theaetetus, 
 makes the great object of our endeavours 
 to be 6/J.oia)(ris T< 6f(fj Kara TO Svvar^v, 
 " the becoming like to God, as far as in our 
 
96 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 spoken. For some time we passed on in mutual silence, till ob- 
 serving me, on my part, little inclined to break it, What, said 
 he, engages you with an attention so earnest ? I was wondering, 
 said I, whence it should happen, that in a discourse of such a 
 nature, you should say so little of religion, of providence, and a 
 deity. I have not, replied he, omitted them, because not inti- 
 mately united to morals; but because whatever we treat accurately, 
 should be treated separately and apart : multiplicity of matter 
 naturally tends to confusion. They are weak minds, indeed, 
 which dread a rational suspense ; and much more so, when, in the 
 event, it only leads to a surer knowledge, and often strengthens 
 the very subject on which we suspend. Could I, however, repeat 
 you the words of a venerable sage, (for I can call him no other,) 
 whom once I heard disserting on the topic of religion, and whom 
 still I hear whenever I think on him, you might accept, perhaps, 
 my religious theories as candidly as you have my moral. I 
 pressed him to repeat them, with which he willingly complied. 
 
 The speaker, said he, whose words I am attempting to relate, 
 and whom for the present I name Theophilus, was of a cha- 
 racter truly amiable in every part. When young, he had been 
 fortunate in a liberal education ; had been a friend to the Muses, 
 and approved himself such to the public. As life declined, he 
 wisely retired, and dedicated his time almost wholly to con- 
 templation ; yet could he never forget the Muses, whom once he 
 loved. He retained in his discourse (and so in the sequel you 
 will soon find) a large portion of that rapturous, anti-prosaic 
 style, in which those ladies usually choose to express themselves. 
 
 We were walking, not (as now) in the cheerful face of day, 
 but late in the evening, when the sun had long been set. Cir- 
 cumstances of solemnity were not wanting to affect us ; the poets 
 could not have feigned any more happy : a running stream, an 
 ancient wood, a still night, and a bright moonshine. I, for my 
 own part, induced by the occasion, fell insensibly into a reverie 
 about inhabitants in the moon ; from thence I wandered to other 
 heavenly bodies, and talked of states there, and empires, and I 
 know not what. 
 
 Who lives in the moon, said he, is perhaps more than we 
 can well learn ; it is enough, if we can be satisfied, by the help of 
 our best faculties, that intelligence is not confined to this little 
 earth which we inhabit ; that though men were not, the world 
 would not want spectators to contemplate its beauty, and adore 
 the wisdom of its Author. 
 
 " This whole universe itself is but one city or commonwealth ; m 
 
 m 'O K6ff/j,os OVTOS fj.ia ird\is fffri. Arr. So Cicero : Universus hie mundus una 
 
 Epict. 1. iii. c. 24. p. 486. This was a -civitas comraunis Deorum atque hominum 
 
 Stoic doctrine, of which Epictetus and the existuraandus. De Leg. 1. i. c. 7. p. 29. 
 
 emperor Marcus made perpetual mention. See De Fin. 1. iii. c. 19. De Nat. Deor. 
 
 See of the last, 1. xii. s. 36. 1. ii. c. 62. 
 
A DIALOGUE. 97 
 
 a system of substances variously formed, and variously actuated 
 agreeably to those forms ; a system of substances both immensely 
 great and small, rational, animal, vegetable, and inanimate. 
 
 " As many families make one village, many villages one pro- 
 vince, many provinces one empire; so many empires, oceans, 
 wastes, and wilds combined, compose that earth on which we live. 
 Other combinations make a planet or a moon ; and these, again, 
 united, make one planetary system. What higher combinations 
 subsist, we know not : their gradation and ascent it is impossible 
 we should discover. Yet the generous mind, not deterred by this 
 immensity, intrepidly passes on through regions unknown, from 
 greater system to greater, till it arrive at that greatest, where 
 imagination stops, and can advance no further. In this last, this 
 mighty, this stupendous idea, it beholds the universe itself, of 
 which every thing is a part ; and, with respect to which, not the 
 smallest atom is either foreign or detached." 
 
 " Wide as its extent, is the wisdom of its workmanship ; not 
 bounded and narrow, like the humbler works of art : these are all 
 of origin no higher than human. We can readily trace them to 
 their utmost limit, and with accuracy discern both their beginning 
 and their end. But where the microscope that can shew us from 
 what point wisdom begins in nature 2 Where the telescope that 
 can descry to what infinitude it extends ? The more diligent our 
 search, the more accurate our scrutiny, the more only are we 
 convinced, that our labours can never finish ; that subjects inex- 
 haustible remain behind, still unexplored. 
 
 " Hence the mind truly wise, quitting the study of particulars, 
 
 olv *<mv oi'nws arifj.ov Kal coloured by good, and partaking of it. The 
 
 <$>av\ov, t> fj.^ /Aere'xet rov ayaOov, KaiteiOev opinions, indeed, of ordinary men are 
 
 exet rty yivtaw tirsl K&J' T^V V\T\V ftirois, ashamed to refer little and contemptible 
 
 cvpfafts KOI ravri]v o.yaQ6v K&.V aurb rb things to the [primary and] divine cause, 
 
 fca/f<V, i>pj)ffis Kal TOVTO fjLrex oJ/ oyaQov looking [in their reasonings] to the nature 
 
 nvbs, Kal ouSe &\\cas virovrrivai Swd^evoy, of the subjects, not to the power of the 
 
 3) r$ aya6(a xP UVJ/ ^'f JiV0 ^ Ka * ^fra\a/ji- cause ; and [to this necessary consequence] 
 
 ftdvov ayaQov nv6s. a\\' al p.lv rwv av- that if it be productive of the greater effects, 
 
 Qpuircav 86ai fffUKpa Kal evr\rj rrjs Betas much more so is it of the inferior. But 
 
 alrias QaTrreiv Qaia"%uvovrai) irpbs rty those, on the contrary, who are truly phi- 
 
 rovrtav airofrKcirovffai fyvffiv, ov irpbs rty losophers, referring all things, both great 
 
 ^Keivijs S6va/j.iv^ Kal ori TWV p.ti6v<av ovcra and small, that exist in the universe, to a 
 
 yivvriTiKT] iro\\cf irXeov fffrl T&V e\a<r<r6- Providence, behold nothing fit to be rejected 
 
 v<av ol Se ovrcas <f)i\6ffo(j)oi, -KO.VTO. 8<ra irep in this mansion of Jove ; but all things good, 
 
 fffriv fv rep K6<Tfj.<t) Kal fieyd\a Kal vpiKpa as having been established by a Providence, 
 
 irpovolas ^|a//ovT6y, ovfev arifj.ov, ou8e and fair, as having been produced by a 
 
 tv T&> ofaco rov Aibs dpuffiv, cause which is divine." Proclus, in his 
 
 travra ayaQa, KaQ6ffov CK irpovoias manuscript Comment on the Pannenides of 
 
 7j/ce, Kal /coAa, Kar alriav yeyov6ra Plato. 
 
 Oelav. "There is, therefore, nothing The Platonics, considering science as 
 
 ignoble and base, which doth not participate something ascertained, definite, and steady, 
 
 of the good principle, and hath not from would admit nothing to be its object which 
 
 thence its origin. Should you even instance was vague, infinite, and passing. For this 
 
 matter, you will find even that to be good ; reason they excluded all individuals, or ob- 
 
 should you instance evil itself, you will jects of sense, and (as Ammonius expresses 
 
 find that also participating of some good, it) raised themselves, in their contempla- 
 
 and no otherwise able to subsist, than as tions, from beings particular, to beings uni- 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 as knowing their multitude to be infinite and incomprehensible, 
 turns its intellectual eye to what is general and comprehen- 
 sive, and through generals learn to see and recognise whatever 
 exists. 
 
 "It perceives, in this view, that every substance, of every 
 degree, has its nature, its proper make, constitution, or form by 
 which it acts, and by which it suffers. It perceives it so to fare 
 with every natural form around us, as with those tools and in- 
 struments by which art worketh its wonders. The saw is 
 destined to one act, the mallet to another; the wheel answers 
 this purpose, and the lever answers a different : so nature uses 
 the vegetable, the brute, and the rational, agreeably to the 
 proper form and constitution of every kind. The vegetable pro- 
 ceeds with perfect insensibility ; the brute possesses a sense of 
 what is pleasurable and painful, but stops at mere sensation, and 
 is unable to go further. The rational, like the brute, has all the 
 powers of mere sensation, but enjoys, superadded, a further 
 transcendent faculty, by which it is made conscious, not only of 
 what it feels, but of the powers themselves, which are the sources 
 of those very feelings : a faculty, which, recognising both itself 
 and all things else, becomes a canon, a corrector, and a standard 
 universal. 13 
 
 versal ; and which, as such, from their own 
 nature, were eternal and definite. The 
 whole passage is worth transcribing. Efyrj- 
 TCU '6n }) <>iAo<ro</>to, yvGxris trdvrwv ruv 
 OVTWV fj ovra 4ffTiv. 'EgfjTirjorai' olv ol 
 <pi\6<ro$oii rtva oz/ rp6irov yevoavrai ruv 
 6vr<av ^iriffr^fj.ovfs' Kal eVeiS^ fcapav TO 
 Kara /ie'pos yevnra Kal </>0opTo fora, eVi 5e 
 Kal oVeto, T) Se 7rto"T^/wrj ai8i<avre Kal TTC- 
 (av etrrl yvwffis (rb yap yvuffrbv 
 virb TTJS yvitxrtws TreptAoju/SdVeo'- 
 Gat' rb Se oVeipo*', cbrepiATjTTTOJ/) avfiyayov 
 eavrobs airb r&v p.epiKS>v eVl TO Kad6\ov, o- 
 'iSia ovra Kal TreTrepooTieVo. 'ls yap (priffiv 6 
 n\ar(ov, 'ETrnTTTj//,?? eJfprjTat, irapa rb fls 
 'Eiriffraffiv r}fjLas Kal '6pov riva Trpodyeiv ruv 
 TrpaypaTcaV rovro Se iropi6p.e6a Sid rrjs 
 fls TO Ka06\.ov avaSpo/j-Tis* Ammonius, in 
 his Preface to Porphyry's Isagoge, p. 14. 
 edit. 8vo. 
 
 Consonant to this, we learn, it was the 
 advice of Plato, with respect to the progress 
 of our speculations and inquiries, when we 
 proceed synthetically, that is to say, from 
 first principles downwards, that we should 
 descend from those higher genera, which 
 include many subordinate species, down to 
 the lowest rank of species, those which in- 
 clude only individuals. But here it was 
 his opinion that our inquiries should stop, 
 and, as to individuals, let them wholly 
 alone ; because of these there could not 
 possibly be any science. Aib /we%pt TUV 
 rb T<av ytviK(ara.rwv Kariov- 
 
 TravecrOai 
 Se yap av TTOTC 
 Porphyr. 
 
 ras < jrapK\VTO 6 
 TO Se aireipd <pr)(nv 
 yeveffOai TOVTUV 
 Isagog. c. 2. 
 
 Such was the method of ancient phi- 
 losophy. The fashion at present appears 
 to be somewhat altered, and the business of 
 philosophers to be little else than the col- 
 lecting, from every quarter, into voluminous 
 records, an infinite number of sensible, par- 
 ticular, and unconnected facts ; the chief 
 effect of which is to excite our admiration. 
 So that if that well-known saying of an- 
 tiquity be true, " it was wonder which in- 
 duced men first to philosophize," we may 
 say that philosophy now ends whence origi- 
 nally it began. 
 
 P See before, p. 63. In Epictetus, 1. L 
 c. 1. p. 6. the dvvafus Aoyt/c^, or "reasoning 
 power," is called the power ^ Kal avr^v 0eo>- 
 povffa, Kal r* &\\a iravTa. So Marcus : TO 
 iSia rrjs \oyiKrjs ^v^ns' eot/TV fy?, * av ~ 
 T^V Smpflpot, &c.: "the properties of the 
 reasoning soul are, it beholdeth itself, it form- 
 eth itself," &c. 1. xi. c. 1 . So again Epictetus : 
 y?rep i*.\v rov dpqv Kal aKoveiy., Kal vfy Ala 
 uTrep avrov rov f)v, Kal TUV (rvvepyuv irpbs 
 OWT^), uTrep Kapiriav frpuv, virep otvov, virep 
 t'Aoiou evxapiffrei T$ Qew' ^i^vt\<ro 5* '6n 
 a\Xo ri aoi Se'Sco/ce Kpfirrov a.ira.VTWV TOV- 
 TWf, rb xpTlvfatvov OUTO?S, rb SoKifj-dfrv, 
 Tb r)]v a\lav eKaffrov Xoytov/nevov : " for 
 seeing, for hearing, and, indeed, for life it- 
 self, and the various means which cooperate 
 
A DIALOGUE. 99 
 
 " Hence to the rational alone is imparted that master-science, 
 of what they are, where they are, and the end to which they are 
 destined. q 
 
 " Happy, too happy, did they know their own felicity ; did 
 they reverence the dignity of their own superior character, and 
 never wretchedly degrade themselves into natures to them sub- 
 ordinate/ And yet, alas ! it is a truth too certain, that as the 
 rational only are susceptible of a happiness truly excellent, so 
 these only merge themselves into miseries past endurance. 
 
 " Assist us, then, thou Power Divine, with the light of that 
 reason by which thou lighten est the world ; by which grace and 
 beauty is diffused through every part, and the welfare of the 
 whole is ever uniformly upheld ; that reason, of which our own 
 is but a particle or ^spark, 8 like some Promethean fire, caught 
 from heaven above./ So teach us to know ourselves, that we 
 may attain that knowledge which alone is worth attaining. 
 Check our vain, our idle researches into the laws, and natures, 
 and motions of other beings, till we have learnt and can practise 
 those which peculiarly respect ourselves. Teach us to be fit 
 actors in that general drama where thou hast allotted every 
 being, great and small, its proper part, the due performance of 
 which is the only end of its existence. 1 
 
 " Enable us to curb desire within the bounds of what is 
 natural. Enable us even to suspend it till we can employ it to 
 our emolument. Be our first work to have escaped from wrong 
 opinion and bad habit ; u that the mind, thus rendered sincere 
 
 to its support ; for the fruits of the earth, for when we call men, by way of reproach, 
 
 wine and oil ; for all these things be thank- sheepish, bearish, hoggish, ravenous, &c. 
 ful to God : yet be mindful that he hath s At tyvxa-l fJ-ff ofceas flfflv frSeSefievai 
 
 given thee something else, which is better Kal avvatyeis T$ 0e<, tire avrov /j.6pia oScrcw, 
 
 than all these ; something which is to use Kal oTrooTrdV/AOTO. Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 14. p. 
 
 them, to prove them, to compute the value 81. 'O Sal/j.(av 9 or e/cdVry irpoffrar-nv ical 
 
 of each. Arr. Epict. 1. ii. c. 23. p. 321. j)yefj.6va 6 Zfvs eSco/cev, a7roV7rao>ia eavrov' 
 
 1 See Arr. Epict. 1. ii. c. 24. p. 337. See ovros 5e fffnv & e/cdVrou vovs Kal \6yos. 
 
 also 1. i. c. 6. p. 36; and^Pers. Satyr, iii. Mar. Ant. 1. v. s. 27. Humanus autem 
 
 66. animus, decerptus ex mente divina, cum nullo 
 
 r See Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 3. p. 21. Ato alio nisi cum ipjso Deo (si hoc fas est dictu) 
 
 TOUT??!/ rV avyy4viav, ol /j.ev airoK\i- comparari potest. Tusc. Disp. 1. v. c. 13. p. 
 
 i/aj/res, XVKOIS '6^0101 yiv^fQa^ atriffroi Kal 371. 
 
 firifiov\oi Kal /3Aaj8epoi* of 8e \fovffiv, a- * See before, p. 89, and note t. See also 
 ypioi Kal 6-npKaSeis Kal aHj^epor of irAei- Arr. Epict. 1. iii. c. 22. p. 444. 2i tf\ios 
 ovs 5* r)/j.)v aAcoTre/ces, &c. w Through this el* 5uj>ao"at, &c. The passage is sublime 
 affinity, (he means our affinity to the body, and great, but too long to be here inserted, 
 or baser part,) some of us, degenerating, be- u 'ATroVxov irore iravrairacriv ope'lews, 
 come, like wolves, faithless, and treacherous, 'Iva irore Kal ev\6y<as 6pex&fis. " Abstain 
 and mischievous ; others, like lions, fierce, for a time from desire altogether, that in 
 and savage, and wild ; but the greater part time thou mayst be able to desire ration- 
 turn foxes, little, fraudulent, wretched ani- ally." Arr. Epict. L iii. c. 13. p. 414. 
 mals." Cum autem duobus modis, id est, Again the same author : ~S,T}p.tpov opfj-et OVK 
 aut vi aut fraude fiat injuria ; fraus, quasi fXP^ (Ta l J - l/ -> fKK\lffi irpbs /xoVa TO Trpoaip*- 
 vulpeculse, vis, leonis videtur. Cic. de Offic. riKa. " To-day my faculty of desire I have 
 1. i. c. 19. See also Arr. Epict. 1. ii. c. 9. not used at all ; my aversion I have em- 
 p. 210. In our own language we seem to ployed with respect only to things which 
 allude to this degeneracy of human nature, are in my power," 1. iv. c. 4. p. 588. See 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 and incorrupt, may with safety proceed to seek its genuine 
 good and happiness. 
 
 " When we are thus previously exercised, thus duly prepared, 
 let not our love there stop where it first begins ; but insensibly 
 conduct it, by thy invisible influence, from lower objects to 
 higher, till it arrive at that supreme, where only it can find 
 what is adequate and full. x Teach us to love thee, and thy 
 divine administration ; to regard the universe itself as our true 
 and genuine country, not that little casual spot where we first 
 drew vital air. y Teach us each to regard himself but as a part of 
 this great whole; a part which, for its welfare, we are as 
 patiently to resign, as we resign a single limb for the welfare of 
 our whole body. 2 Let our life be a continued scene of acqui- 
 escence and of gratitude : of gratitude for what we enjoy ; of 
 acquiescence in what we suffer ; as both can only be referable to 
 that concatenated order of events, which cannot but be best, as 
 being by thee approved and chosen. 
 
 " Inasmuch as futurity is hidden from our sight,* we can have 
 no other rule of choice, by which to govern our conduct, than 
 what seems consonant to the welfare of our own particular 
 natures. If it appear not contrary to duty and moral office, 
 (and how should we judge but from what appears?) thou 
 
 also Enchir. c. 2. and Charact. v. iii. p. 202. 
 Plat. Gorg. 505. B. vol. i. edit. Serr. Tlepl 
 86 i/'vxV - 
 
 Horace seems also to have alluded to this 
 doctrine : 
 
 Virtus est, vitiumfugere ; et sapientia prima, 
 Stultitia caruisse. ' Epist. i. 1. i. v. 41. 
 
 x See Plat. Symp. p. 210. vol. iii. edit. 
 Serrani. Ae? yap, e^T/, rbv opdws Uvra 
 tirl rovro 7iymy/ia, &px*<rQat, & * 
 
 > See Arrian. Epict. 1. i. c. 9. p. 51. 
 Socrates quidem, cum rogaretur, cujatem 
 se esse diceret, Mundanum, inquit : totius 
 enim mundi se incolam et civem arbitra- 
 batur. Tusc. Disp. L v. c. 37. p. 427. 
 
 * riws olv \fyerai rwv eVrtfc nva Kara 
 (pvcriv, &c. " In what sense, then, (says the 
 philosopher, since all is referable to one 
 universal Providence,) are some things 
 called agreeable to our nature, and others 
 the contrary ? The answer is, They are so 
 called, by considering ourselves as detached, 
 and separate from the whole. For thus 
 may I say of the foot, when considered so 
 apart, that it is agreeable to its nature to 
 be clean and free from filth. But if we 
 consider it as a foot, that is, as something 
 not detached, but the member of a body, it 
 will behove it both to pass into the dirt, 
 and to trample upon thorns, and even upon 
 occasion to be lopped off for the preserva- 
 tion of the whole. Were not this the case, 
 it would be no longer a foot. Something, 
 therefore, of this kind should we conceive 
 
 with respect to ourselves. What art thou? 
 A man. If thou consider thy being as 
 something separate and detached, it is 
 agreeable to thy nature, in this view of 
 independence, to live to extreme age, to be 
 rich, to be healthy. But if thou consider 
 thyself as a man, and as the member of a 
 certain whole ; for the sake of that whole, 
 it will occasionally behove thee, at one 
 while to be sick, at another while to sail 
 and risk the perils of navigation, at another 
 while to be in want, and at last to die 
 perhaps before thy time. Why, therefore, 
 dost thou bear these events impatiently ? 
 Knowest thou not, that after the same 
 manner as the foot ceaseth to be a foot, so 
 dost thou, too, cease to be longer a man ?" 
 Arr. Epict. 1. ii. c. 5. p. 191. 
 
 a Mexpis Uv a8r)\d /J.QI rj ra ea}s, ael roav 
 fv^vfarrepeav exoyuat, irpbs rb Tvyx aviv 
 TUV Kara. <f)v<nv' aurbs ydp fj? 6 6ebs TOIOV- 
 rwv e/cAe/CTi/ci// eVotT/cW et Se ye rjSfiv, 
 &TI voffeiv fj.ot Ka6eifjt.apTai vvv, Kal &pfj.<av 
 "av 67r' avr6' Kal yap 6 7roiy, fl <ppevas f?X 6I/ 
 S>p/u.a av eVi rb 7rf]\ovffdai* Arr. Epict. 1. 
 ii. c. 6. p. 195. It appears that the above 
 sentiment was of Chrysippus. In the tenth 
 chapter of the same book we have it re- 
 peated, though in words somewhat different. 
 Ata TOVTO KaXus \lyovffiv ot <pi\o(ro(J)ol, 
 #TJ, &c. So Seneca : Quicquid acciderit, sic 
 ferre, quasi tibi volueris accidere. Debu- 
 isses enim velle, si scisses omnia ex decreto 
 Dei fieri. Nat. Qusest. iii. in prsefat. 
 
A DIALOGUE; . 101 
 
 canst not but forgive us, if we prefer health to sickness ; the 
 safety of life and limb to maiming or to death. But did we 
 know that these incidents, or any other, were appointed us; were 
 fated in that order of uncontrollable events by which thou 
 preservest and adornest the whole ; it then becomes our duty to 
 meet them with magnanimity, to cooperate with cheerfulness 
 in whatever thou ordainest; that so we may know no other 
 will than thine alone, and that the harmony of our particular 
 minds with thy universal, may be steady and uninterrupted 
 through the period of our existence. 5 
 
 '' Yet since to attain this height, this transcendent height, is 
 but barely possible, if possible, to the most perfect humanity ; c 
 regard what within us is congenial to thee ; raise us above our- 
 selves, and warm us into enthusiasm. But let our enthusiasm 
 be such as befits the citizens of thy polity; liberal, gentle, 
 rational, and humane not such as to debase us into poor and 
 wretched slaves, as if thou wert our tyrant, not our kind and 
 common father ; much less such as to transform us into savage 
 beasts of prey, sullen, gloomy, dark, and fierce ; d prone to 
 persecute, to ravage, and destroy, as if the lust of massacre 
 could be grateful to thy goodness. Permit us, rather, madly to 
 avow villany in thy defiance, than impiously to assert it under 
 colour of thy service. Turn our mind's eye from every idea of 
 this character ; from the servile, abject, horrid, and ghastly, to 
 the generous, lovely, fair, and godlike. 
 
 " Here let us dwell ; be here our study and delight. So 
 shall we be enabled, in ttoe silent mirror of contemplation, to 
 behold those forms which are hidden to human eyes that 
 animating wisdom which pervades and rules the whole 6 that 
 law irresistible, immutable, supreme, which leads the willing, 
 and compels the averse, to cooperate in their station to the 
 general welfare that magic divine/ which, by an efficacy past 
 
 b Elvat 5' avrb rovro TTJV rov eySai/xofos f Kal rb xaoy*a odv rov Xeovros, Kal rb 
 
 aper^v Kal etipoiav fiiov, '6rav navra Trpdr- 5ij\.7)T'f]piov, Kal Traffa KaKovpyla, &s &KavQa^ 
 
 Trjrai Kara T^]V (Tv^caviav rov Trap' eKaorry us jSjp/Sopos, ^Kfivwv eTTiyVvf]fj.ara ruv 
 
 8aifj.ovos irpbs T^V TOV 8\ov SIOIKTJTOV /Sou- ffefj.viav Kal naXiav' fj.^j ovv aura a\\6rpia 
 
 \r)ffiv: " The virtue of a happy man, and TOUTOV, ov o-f/Seis, <j>avraov a\\a TT]V 
 
 the felicity of life, is this ; when all things ifdvrwv irriy^v tiriXoyifyv. M. Ant. 1. vi. 
 
 are transacted in harmony of a man's genius, s. 36. See also 1. iv. s. 44; 1. iii. s. 2. 
 
 with the will of him who administers the "tiffirep yap al Koj/iySi'cu (</>rjo-t^) finypdfj.- 
 
 whole." Diog. Laert. 1. vii. c. 88. p. 418. yuara ye\oia fyfpovffiv, a Kaff eaura yueV 
 
 This is what Epictetus calls r^vavrov /3ou- eVrt ^avAa, T<j3 6 '6\<p Troi-f]/j.aTi x^P lv Tiva 
 
 \f](Tiv ffwdpiLoffcu TOIS yivofjifvois., "to irpoaTiQyffiv' OVTUI \}/ffias fry avri]v e'(/>' 
 
 attune or harmonise one's mind to the eavrys rr)v KaKiav, TOIS S' &\\ois OVK 
 
 things which happen." Diss. 1. ii. c. 14. p. &xp'n ffr ^ s ^ (rTl ' Chrysip. apud Plutarch, p. 
 
 242. 1065. D. 
 
 c See before, page 92, &c. See also notes Ov5e n yiyverai epyov tirl x^ovl <rov 
 
 c, p. 92 ; and c, p. 93. Adf/Aa?, 
 
 d See before, note r, p. 99. Ovre /car' alOfpiov Qsiov Tr6hov, ovr* 
 
 e This power is called by the emperor tr/tvrcf, 
 
 Marcus, ibi/ Sia rijsovo~ias i-i)Kovra. \6yov, H\})v oirdo'a pt^ovoi Kcutol 
 Kal olnovo^ovvro. rb irav. 1. v. s. 32. 
 
HAPPINESS: 
 
 comprehension, can transform every appearance, the most 
 hideous, into beauty, and exhibit all things fair and good to 
 thee, Essence Increate, who art of purer eyes than ever to 
 behold iniquity. g 
 
 " Be these our morning, these our evening meditations with 
 these may our minds be unchangeably tinged h that loving 
 thee with a love most disinterested and sincere ; enamoured of 
 thy polity, and thy divine administration; welcoming every 
 event with cheerfulness and magnanimity, as being best, upon 
 the whole, because ordained of thee ; proposing nothing of our- 
 selves but with a reserve that thou permittest ; ! acquiescing in 
 every obstruction, as ultimately referable to thy providence in 
 a word, that working this conduct, by due exercise, into perfect 
 habit, we may never murmur, never repine ; never miss what 
 we would obtain, or fall into that which we would avoid'; k but 
 being happy with that transcendent happiness of which no one 
 can deprive us, and blest with that divine liberty which no 
 tyrant can annoy, we may dare address thee with pious confi- 
 dence, as the philosophic bard of old, 
 
 ' Conduct me, thou, of beings cause divine, 
 Where e'er I'm destin'd in thy great design. 
 Active I follow on : for should my will 
 Resist, I'm impious ; but must follow still.' " ' 
 
 In this manner did Theophilus, said he, pursue the subject to 
 which I had led him. He adorned his sentiments with expres- 
 sions even more splendid than I have now employed. The 
 
 'AAA& o-b Kal ra irepia-ara eiri<TTa<rai apna hension is universal and complete. It seems 
 
 flelvat, to be from this reasoning that Themistius 
 
 Kal Koffpeiv rb aKocr/j.a' Kal ov </>/Aa ffol asserts, TipiceTepos yap vovs, oi>x & T& 
 
 <{>i\a ea-TLV. TrAetcw vou>v, aAA' 6 ra a/ietVw : " The more 
 
 T n5e yap els fv airavra ffvvfip/j.oKas eV0Aa respectable mind is not that which per- 
 
 KaKoiviv, ceiveth the greater number of objects, but 
 
 "flffd' '4va ytyvcffOai irdvruv \6yov alfv the better and more excellent ones." Them. 
 
 e6vT<av. fors. e<Wo. in Aristot. de Anim. p. 92. edit. Aid. 
 Cleanthis Hymn, apud Steph. in Poesi h Ed-jTrerai yap virb r<av ^avrafftwv TJ 
 
 Philos. p. 49, 50. i/,uxi M. Ant. 1. v. s. 16. 
 
 [The reader will observe, that the fourth l Me(? v-irej-aiptffews. See Epict. En- 
 
 of the above verses is supplied by the Mis- chirid. c. 2. M. Ant. 1. iv. s. 1 ; 1. v. s. 20. 
 
 cell. Observationes Criticse, vol. vii. from a Seneca translates it, " cum exceptione." 
 
 manuscript of Vossius, at Leyden.] See De Beneficiis, 1. iv. s. 34. 
 
 S An ear that was to hear a musical k MifjTe opy6/j.evoj/ airorvyxdveiv, /irjr' 
 
 discord alone, would have ideas of disso- KK\ivovra TrfpnriirTeu/. Arr. Epict. 1. iii. 
 
 nance unknown to that ear which, along c. 12. p. 404. 
 
 with the discord, was to hear its prepara- iy Aye 5e yu', 5 Zeu, Kal 06 y' 
 
 tion and resolution. An eye that was to "OTTOI irof? vfuv cl/ui ^lareray^vo 
 see only the words, "venis et caeco car- 'GS ttyoyticu 7' &OKVOS- $v Se 76 ^ 
 pitur," would have ideas of absurdity un- KaKbs yev6/j.evos., ouSei/ ^TTOV tyo 
 known to the eye which was to behold the Cleanthes in Epict. Ench. c. 52. 
 
 verse entire : Thus translated by Seneca : 
 
 Vulnus alit venis, et cceco carpitur igni. Due me, parens, celsique dominator poli, 
 
 Numerous are the ideas of defect, error, Quocunque placuit : nulla parendi mora est : 
 
 absurdity, falsehood, &c. all referable to Adsum impiger,fac nolle: comitabor gemens, 
 
 this class ; ideas which arise purely from Malusque patiar, quod bono licuit pati. 
 partial and incomplete comprehension, and Epist. 107. 
 
 which have no existence where the compre- 
 
A DIALOGUE. 103 
 
 speaker, the speech, the happy circumstances which concurred, 
 the night's beauty and stillness, with the romantic scene where 
 we were walking, all together gave the whole such an energy and 
 solemnity, as it is impossible you should feel from the coldness 
 of a bare recital. I, continued he, for my own part, returned 
 home sensibly touched, and retained the strongest feelings of 
 what I had heard till the following morning. Then the busi- 
 ness of the day gently obliterated all, and left me by night as 
 little of a philosopher as I had ever been before. 
 
 X. And is it possible, said I, so soon to have forgotten what 
 seems so striking and sublime, as the subject you have been 
 now treating? It is habit, replied he, is all in all. m It is practice 
 and exercise which can only make us truly any thing. Is it 
 not evidently so in the most common vulgar arts 2 Did mere 
 theory alone ever make the meanest mechanic ? And is the 
 supreme artist of life and manners to be formed more easily 
 than such a one I Happy for us, could we prove it near so easy. 
 But believe me, my friend, good things are not so cheap. 
 Nothing is to be had gratis, much less that which is most 
 valuable. 
 
 Yet, however, for our comfort, we have this to encourage us, 
 that, though the difficulty of acquiring habits be great and 
 painful, yet nothing so easy, so pleasant, as their energies, when 
 once wrought by exercise to a due standard of perfection. I know 
 you have made some progress in music. Mark well what you 
 can do, as a proficient this way : you can do that, which, without 
 habit, as much exceeds the wisest man, as to walk upon the 
 waves, or to ascend a cliff perpendicular. You can even do it 
 with facility; and (lest you should think I flatter) not you 
 yourself alone, but a thousand others beside, whose low rank 
 and genius no way raise them above the multitude. If then you 
 are so well assured of this force of habit in one instance, judge 
 not in other instances by your own present insufficiency. Be 
 not shocked at the apparent greatness of the perfect moral cha- 
 
 m 'AAAo TroAATjs e% 6t XP^ av Tro-pa(TK^vT]S severest exercise and preparation, and not 
 
 Kal ir6vov TroAAot) Kal /j.adri/j.dTui'. Ti ofiv; rashly plunge into things which are no way 
 
 eA7n'ets, on TT]V iJ.yi<TTT)v re'xPTjv airb suitable." Ejusd. Dissert. 1. i. c. 2. p. 18. 
 
 bxiytav eVrii/ airoXa&eLV : " But (says one, See also the same author, 1. i. c. 1 5. p. 86 ; 
 
 with respect to the virtuous character) L, ii. c. 14. p. 243. Sed ut nee raedici, nee 
 
 there is need of much preparation, of imperatores, nee oratores, quamvis artis prse- 
 
 much labour and learning. And what ? cepta perceperint, quidquam magna laude 
 
 Dost thou expect it should be possible dignum sine usu et exercitatione consequi 
 
 (answers the philosopher) to obtain, by little possunt : sic officii conservandi prascepta 
 
 pains, the chiefest, greatest art ?" Arr. traduntur ilia quidem (ut facimus ipsi ;) 
 
 Epict. L i. c. 20. p. 111. "A(pvcD 5e ravpos sed rei magnitude usum quoque exercitatio- 
 
 ov 7/I/6TCU, oi5e yevvaios avOpcoiros' dAAa nemque desiderat. Cic. de Offic. 1. i. c. 18. 
 
 Se? xe/ua<r/cfj(Tcu, Trapa<rKevd(Taff6ai, Kal /ir; 'H 8" 1 yOuc)) e eOovs irepiyivtrai' '6Q*v Kal 
 
 e'lKrj irpocnrrjSav tirl rd jtiTjSey irpoa"f)Kovra. Tovvo^a e<r%r7/ee. Ethic. Nicom. 1. ii. c. 1. 
 
 " No robust and mighty animal is complete n ripoT/ca ovSev yivcrai. Arr. Epict. 1. 
 
 at once ; nor more is the brave and gene- iv. c. 10. p. 653. The same sentiment is 
 
 rous man. It is necessary to undergo the often repeated by the same author. 
 
104 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 racter, when you compare it to the weakness and imperfection 
 of your own. On the contrary, when these dark, these me- 
 lancholy thoughts assail you, immediately turn your mind to the 
 consideration of habit. Remember how easy its energies to 
 those who possess it ; and yet how impracticable to such as pos- 
 sess it not. 
 
 It must be owned, said I, that this is a satisfaction, and may 
 be some kind of assistance in a melancholy hour. And yet this 
 very doctrine naturally leads to another objection. Does not 
 the difficulty of attaining habit too well support a certain as- 
 sertion, that, defend virtue as we will, it is but a scheme of 
 self-denial 2 
 
 By self-denial, said he, you mean, I suppose, something like 
 what follows : appetite bids me eat ; reason bids me forbear. 
 If I obey reason, I deny appetite ; and appetite being a part 
 of myself, to deny it, is a self-denial. What is true thus in 
 luxury, is true also in other subjects ; is evident in matters of 
 lucre, of power, of resentment, or whatever else we pursue by 
 the dictate of any passion. You appear, said I, to have stated 
 the objection justly. 
 
 To return then to our instance, said he, of luxury. Appetite 
 bids me eat ; reason bids me forbear. If I obey reason, I deny 
 appetite ; and if I obey appetite, do I not deny reason 2 Can I 
 act either way, without rejecting one of them 2 And is not reason 
 a part of myself, as notoriously as appetite 2 
 
 Or to take another example : I have a deposit in my hands. 
 Avarice bids me retain ; conscience bids me restore. Is there 
 not a reciprocal denial, let me obey which I will 2 And is not 
 conscience a part of me, as truly as avarice 2 
 
 Poor self indeed must be denied, take which party we will. 
 But why should virtue be arraigned of thwarting it, more than 
 vice her contrary ?. Make the most of the argument, it can come 
 but to this : if self-denial be an objection to virtue, so is it to 
 vice ; if self-denial be no objection to vice, no more can it be to 
 virtue. A wonderful and important conclusion indeed ! 
 
 He continued, by saying, that the soul of man appeared not 
 as a single faculty, but as compounded of many ; that as these 
 faculties were not always in perfect peace one with another, so 
 there were few actions which we could perform, where they 
 would be all found to concur. What then are we to do 2 
 Suspend till they agree 2 That were indeed impossible. Nothing 
 therefore can remain, but to weigh well their several preten- 
 sions ; to hear all that each has to offer in its behalf; and finally 
 to pursue the dictates of the wisest and the best. This done, as 
 for the self-denial, which we force upon the rest : with regard 
 to our own character, it is a matter of honour and praise ; with 
 regard to the faculties denied, it is a matter of as small weight, 
 as to contemn the noise and clamours of a mad and senseless 
 
A DIALOGUE. 105 
 
 mob, in deference to the sober voice of the worthier, better 
 citizens. And what man could be justified, should he reject 
 these, and prefer a rabble ? 
 
 XL In this place he paused again, and I took occasion to 
 acknowledge, that my objection appeared obviated. As the 
 day advanced apace, he advised that we might return home ; 
 and walking along leisurely, thus resumed to himself the dis- 
 course. 
 
 I dare say, continued he, you have seen many a wise head 
 shake, in pronouncing that sad truth, How we are governed all 
 by interest. And what do they think should govern us else? 
 Our loss, our damage, our disinterest \ Ridiculous, indeed ! We 
 should be idiots in such case, more than rational animals. The 
 only question is, where interest truly lies ? For if this once be 
 well adjusted, no maxim can be more harmless. 
 
 " I find myself existing upon a little spot, surrounded every 
 way by an immense unknown expansion. Where am I ? What 
 sort of place do I inhabit ? Is it exactly accommodated, in every 
 instance, to my convenience ? Is there no excess of cold, none of 
 heat, to offend me ? Am I never annoyed by animals, either of 
 my own kind, or a different I Is every thing subservient to me, 
 as though I had ordered all myself? No, nothing like it; the 
 furthest from it possible. The world appears not then originally 
 made for the private convenience of me alone ? It does not. 
 But is it not possible so to accommodate it, by my own parti- 
 cular industry ? If to accommodate man and beast, heaven and 
 earth; if this be beyond me, it is not possible. What consequence 
 then follows \ Or can there be any other than this ? If I seek an 
 interest of my own, detached from that of others ; I seek an 
 interest which is chimerical, and can never have existence. 
 
 " How then must I determine 2 Have I no interest at all ? If 
 I have not, I am a fool for staying here. It is a smoky house, 
 and the sooner out of it, the better. p But why no interest? 
 Can I be contented with none, but one separate and detached ? 
 Is a social interest joined with others such an absurdity, as not 
 to be admitted?" 1 The bee, the beaver, and the tribes of herding 
 
 See of the Dialogue, pages 90 and 105. same time promote the latter. Toiavri)v 
 
 See also notes s and q. <f>v<nv rov \oyiKov uov KarfffKcuacrfv^ 'iva 
 
 P Kairvos tern' a.ir4f>x o l jiai ' M. Ant. 1. v. nrfisvbs ruv iSitav ayadiav Svrnrai rvy- 
 
 c. 29. See Art. Epict. 1. i. c. 25. p. 129. x^ vfiv ^ 6 * M rt ' ls T ^ foivbv w(f>f\ifju)f 
 
 'i As the Stoics, above all philosophers, irpoff^epijrai' ofirtas OVKCTI a.Koivuvf)Tov 
 opposed a lazy inactive life, so they were ylverai, rb iravra avrov eVe/co iroteiv. 
 perpetually recommending a proper regard " God hath so framed the nature of the 
 to the public, and encouraging the practice rational animal, that it should not be able 
 of every social duty. And though they to obtain any private goods, if it contribute 
 made the original spring of every particular not withal something profitable to the corn- 
 man's action, to be self-love, and the pros- munity. Thus is there no longer any 
 pect of private interest ; yet so intimately thing unsocial, in doing all things for the 
 united did they esteem this private interest sake of self." Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 19. p. 106. 
 with the public, that they held it impos- The Peripatetic doctrine was much the 
 sible to promote the former, and not at the same. Tlavrwv 8e ciyutAAa>/ieV&>j/ irpbs rb 
 
106 
 
 CONCERNING HAPPINESS: 
 
 animals, are enough to convince me, that the thing is, somewhere 
 at least, possible. How then am I assured, that it is not equally 
 true of man? Admit it; and what follows? If so, then honour 
 and justice are my interest; 1 " then the whole train of moral 
 virtues are my interest ; without some portion of which, not even 
 thieves can maintain society. 3 
 
 " But further still ; I stop not here, I pursue this social in- 
 terest as far as I can trace my several relations. I pass from 
 my own stock, my own neighbourhood, my own nation, to the 
 whole race of mankind, as dispersed throughout the earth. Am 
 I not related to them all by the mutual aids of commerce, by 
 the general intercourse of arts and letters, by that common 
 nature of which we all participate? Again, I must have food 
 and clothing. Without a proper genial warmth, I instantly 
 perish. Am I not related, in this view, to the very earth itself? 
 To the distant sun, from whose beams I derive vigour? to that 
 stupendous course and order of the infinite host of heaven, by 
 which the times and seasons ever uniformly pass on ? Were this 
 order once confounded, I could not probably survive a moment ; 
 so absolutely do I depend on this common general welfare. 
 
 "What then have I to do, but to enlarge virtue into piety? 4 
 
 ffTiv 77 Koivtovia. "Ori yap rb SiKaiov 
 ffvvf-^ci r^v KOivtaviav, STjAtfo/ fffriv firl 
 rtav aSiKtardrcav tivai SoKOvvrW ovrot 
 84 flffiv 01 \Tf]ffrai' oTs r/ irpbs aXX'fjXovs 
 Koivcavia virb SiKaiocrvvr^s (Twfcrai TTJS irpbs 
 aAArjAous. Aid re yap rb /^ irXsovfKrtiv 
 aAATjAovs, Kal Sia rb /XT^ tJ/euSefrflat, Kal Sia 
 rb ri/j.av rb Kpetrrov SOKOVV, Kal rb ra 
 ffvyKfip.fva (pvXarreijs, Kal Sia rb fiof}8fiv 
 ro?s aardeve(rrepois, Sia ravra -f] irpbs aXX'f)- 
 Xovs avrois Koivowia O'VULU.GVGI' &v TTCLV 
 rovvavriov els ovs aSiKovffi iroiovffiv. " It 
 is necessary, society being natural, that 
 justice should be natural also, by which 
 society exists. For that justice holds so- 
 ciety together, is evident in those who 
 appear of all the most unjust ; such, I mean, 
 as robbers or banditti, whose society with 
 each other is preserved by their justice to 
 each other. For by not aspiring to any 
 unequal shares, and by never falsifying, and 
 by submitting to what appears expedient, 
 and by justly guarding the booty amassed 
 together, and by assisting their weaker 
 companions, by these things' it is that their 
 society subsists ; the contrary to all which 
 they do by those whom they injure." Alex. 
 Aphrod. ircpl tyvx- p. 156. edit. Aid. See 
 also Plat, de Repub. 1. i. p. 351. vol. xL 
 edit. Serrani. 
 
 1 All manner of events, which any way 
 affect a man, arise either from within him- 
 self, or from causes independent. In the 
 former case, he maintains an active part ; 
 in the latter, a passive. The active part of 
 
 Ka\bv, KOI 8ia.Tivo/j,ev<i)V ra 
 Trpdrrfiv, Koivrj T' Uv iravrl efy TO. Seovra, 
 Kal iSlct KdffT<f ra fjieyiffTa T>V ayaOcav, 
 ffrre/j T] apfT^i TOIOVTOV fore Sxrre rbv /j.ev 
 ayaQbv, 8e? tyiXawrov elvai' Kal yap avrbs 
 ovf)(reTai TO. KaXa Trpdrruv, Kal rovs &X- 
 \ovs a)(pfX-f)(rei : " Were all to aim jointly 
 at the fair principle of honour, and ever 
 strive to act what is fairest and most laud- 
 able, there would be to every one in com- 
 mon whatever was wanting, and to each 
 man in particular of all goods the greatest, 
 if virtue deserve justly to be so esteemed. 
 So that the good man is necessarily a friend 
 to self: for by doing what is laudable, he 
 will always himself be profited, as well as 
 at the same time be beneficial to others." 
 Ethic. Nicom. 1. ix. c. 8. 
 
 r Thus Cicero, after having supposed a 
 social common interest to be the natural in- 
 terest of man, subjoins immediately, Quod si 
 ita est, una continemur omnes et eadem lege 
 naturae. Idque ipsum si ita est, certe violare 
 alterum lege naturae prohibemur. De Offic. 
 1. iii. c. 6. 
 
 8 Cujus (sc. Justitise) tanta vis est, ut 
 ne illi quidem, qui maleficio et scelere pas- 
 cuntur, possint sine ulla particula justitiae 
 vivere. Nam qui eorum cuipiam, qui una 
 latrocinantur, furatur aliquid aut eripit, is 
 sibi ne in latrocinio quidem relinquit locum. 
 Ille autem qui archipirata dicitur, nisi sequa- 
 biliter prsedam, &c. De Offic. 1. ii. c. 11. 
 
 'AAA' evriv avdyKr), fyvffiKris ovfff)s TTJS 
 S) elvai <f)u<ret Kal TO. Si'/ccua, 8t' wi/ 
 
A DIALOGUE. 
 
 107 
 
 Not only honour and justice, and what I owe to man, is my 
 interest ; but gratitude also, acquiescence, resignation, adoration, 
 and all I owe to this great polity, and its greater Governor, our 
 common Parent. 
 
 " But if all these moral and divine habits be my interest, I 
 need not surely seek for a better. I have an interest compatible 
 with the spot on which I live : I have an interest which may 
 exist, without altering the plan of Providence ; without mending 
 or marring the general order of events." I can bear whatever 
 happens with manlike magnanimity ; can be contented, and 
 fully happy in the good which I possess ; and can pass through 
 this turbid, this fickle, fleeting period, without bewailings, or 
 envyings, or murmurings, or complaints. 11 
 
 And thus, my friend, have you my sentiments, as it were, 
 abridged ; my sentiments on that subject which engages every 
 one of us. For who would be unhappy? Who would not, if he 
 
 his character seems chiefly to be the care of 
 virtue, for it is virtue which teaches us 
 what we are to act or do ; the passive part 
 seems to belong more immediately to piety, 
 because by this we are enabled to resign 
 and acquiesce, and bear with a manly 
 calmness whatever befalls us. As therefore 
 we are framed by nature both to act and 
 to suffer, and are placed in a universe 
 where we are perpetually compelled to 
 both ; neither virtue nor piety is of itself 
 sufficient, but to pass becomingly through 
 life, we should participate of each. 
 
 Such appears to have been the sentiment 
 
 of the wise and good emperor. 'AvrJKev 
 
 '6Xov eavrbv, SiKaioffvvr) p,ev els ra v<p' 
 
 eavrov tvepyov/j-eva, V 8e rot's oAAots 
 
 ffv/j.fiaivovo~i, rrj ruv o\uv (pixrei. Ti 8' 
 
 epe? rts, ^ viro\-fi\l/rai irepl avrov, $) Trpd^ei 
 
 KOT* avrov, ou5 ets vovv jSaAAercu, 8vo 
 
 rovrois apKov/j-evos, avrbs SiKaioirpaye'iv 
 
 rb vvv Trpao~o~6[jievov, Kal <pi\e"iv rb vvv 
 
 aTrov/j.6fj.fvov eavTtp: "He (the perfect 
 
 man) commits himself wholly to justice, 
 
 and the universal nature ; to justice, as to 
 
 those things which are done by himself; 
 
 and in all other events, to the nature of the 
 
 whole. What any one will say, or think 
 
 about him, or act against him, he doth not 
 
 so much as take into consideration ; con- 
 tented and abundantly satisfied with these 
 
 two things, himself to do justly what is at 
 
 this instant doing, and to approve and love 
 
 what is at this instant allotted him. M. 
 
 Anton. 1. x. s. 11. Tldvra ^/ce/a. &>' a 
 
 Sia irept6Sov evxy eAfletJ/, ijSij emetic 5iW<rai, 
 
 eav p.)) ffavrif (pdovfjs' rovro 5e eVrii', eav 
 
 jrav rb irape\Qbv naraXiTrys, Kal rb fj.f\\ov 
 rfj wpovoia, Kal rb irapbv p.6vov 
 
 e/, 7i/a (ptXrjs rb 
 ffol yap ainb f) fyvcris %<pfpe, Kal <T Tovrcf 
 
 5e, 'iva f\v0ep(as K 
 
 TTpnr\OKrjs \eyys re T' aATj^Tj, Kal irpdfftrris 
 Ta Kara v6p.ov Kal Kar' ai-iav: "All those 
 things, at which thou wishest to arrive by 
 a road round about, thou mayst instantly 
 possess, if thou dost not grudge them to 
 thyself; that is to say, in other words, if 
 every thing past thou entirely quit, if the 
 future thou trust to Providence, and the 
 present alone thou adjust according to piety 
 and justice ; according to piety, that so 
 thou mayst approve and love what is al- 
 lotted, (for whatever it be, it was nature 
 brought it to thee, and thee to it ;) accord- 
 ing to justice, that so thou mayst gene- 
 rously and without disguise both speak the 
 truth, and act what is consonant to [the 
 general] law, and the real value of things." 
 M. Ant. 1. xii. c. 1. See also 1. vii. c. 54 ; 
 and Plato's Gorgias, p. 507. vol. i. edit. Serr. 
 /cal fj.))!' oye ffdxppov, K. T. A. 
 
 u TIai8e6f(r9ai rovreffri rb [n.avQdvfiv 
 fKa<rra ovrw 0eA.6/, a>y, &c. " To be in- 
 structed ; that is to say, to learn so to will 
 all things, as in fact they happen. And 
 how do they happen ? As He, who ordains 
 them, hath ordained. Now he hath or- 
 dained that there should be summer and 
 winter, and plenty and famine, and virtue 
 and vice, and all manner of contrarieties, 
 for the harmony of the whole ; and to each 
 of us hath he given a body, and its mem- 
 bers, and a fortune, and certain associates. 
 Mindful therefore of this order, ought we 
 to come for instruction ; not indeed how we 
 may alter what is already established, (for 
 that neither is permitted us, nor would it 
 be better so to be,) but how, while things 
 continue around us, just as they are, and as 
 it is their nature, we may still preserve our 
 judgment in harmony with all that hap- 
 pens." Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 12. p. 74. 
 
108 CONCERNING HAPPINESS. 
 
 knew how, enjoy one perpetual felicity 2 x Who are there existing, 
 who do not at every instant seek it ? It is the wish, the employ, 
 not of the rational man only, but of the sot, the glutton, the 
 very lowest of our kind. For my own system, whether a just 
 one, you may now examine, if you think proper. I can only 
 say on its behalf, if it happen to be erroneous, it is a grateful 
 error, which I cherish and am fond of. y And yet if really such, 
 I shall never deem it so sacred, as not willingly, upon conviction, 
 to resign it up to truth. 
 
 Little passed after this, worth relating. We had not far to 
 walk, and we fell into common topics. Yet one observation of his 
 I must not omit : it was what follows. When we are once, said 
 he, well habituated to this chief, this moral science, then logic and 
 physics become two profitable adjuncts : z logic, to secure to us 
 the possession of our opinions ; that, if an adversary attack, we 
 may not basely give them up: physics, to explain the reason 
 and economy of natural events, that we may know something of 
 that universe where our dwelling has been appointed us. But 
 let me add a saying, (and may its remembrance never escape 
 you :) While you find this great, this master-science wanting, 
 value logic but as sophistry, and physics but as raree-show ; for 
 both, assure yourself, will be found nothing better. 
 
 It was soon after this that our walk ended. With it ended 
 a conversation which had long engaged us; and which, accord- 
 ing to my promise, I have here endeavoured to transcribe. 
 
 x Toirrrjs (sc. euSat/iovtas) yap xaptv tranquil and imdisturbed." Arr. Epict. 1. i. 
 
 TCC AoiTra iravrfs ird.vra Trpa.rrofj.fV. " It c. 4. p. 27. 
 
 is for the sake of happiness, we all of us do z Ad easque virtutes, de quibus disputa- 
 
 all other things whatever." Ethic. Nicom. turn est, dialecticam etiam adjungunt et 
 
 1. i. c. 12. sub. fin. See before, of the Dia- physicam, easque ambas virtu turn nomine 
 
 logue, pages 90 and 105; and notes * and adpellant: alteram, quod habeat rationem 
 
 q. Plat. Protag. p. 358. vol. i. edit. Serr. ne cui falso adsentiamur, neve, &c. Cic. 
 
 y Et Se f^mrarfjdei'ra nva. e5et naQslv, de Fin. 1. iii. c. 21. p. 265. 
 '6rt roav eVrSs airpoaiperwv ouSeV fcrri irpbs The threefold division of philosophy into 
 r)fj.as, eyu fj.fv tfdeXov rty aTrcmjj/ ravrijv, ethics, physics, and logic, was commonly re- 
 * >js f^ieA\oj> fvpucas Ko.1 arapdxtas fiua- ceived by most sects of philosophers. See 
 (reo-flai. " Were a man to be deceived, in Laert. 1. vii. c. 39. See also Cicero, in his 
 having learned concerning externals, that treatise de Legibus, 1. i. c. 23. and in his Ac- 
 all beyond our power was to us as nothing ; cademics, 1. i. c. 5. Fuit ergo jam accepta a 
 I, for my own part, would desire a deceit, Platone philosophandi ratio triplex, &c. 
 which would enable me for the future to live Plutarch de Placit. Philos. p. 874. 
 
HERMES: 
 
 OR 
 
 A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY CONCERNING 
 UNIVERSAL GRAMMAR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE chief end proposed by the author of this treatise in making 
 it public, has been to excite his readers to curiosity and inquiry; 
 not to teach them himself by prolix and formal lectures, (from 
 the efficacy of which he has little expectation,) but to induce 
 them, if possible, to become teachers to themselves, by an 
 impartial use of their own understandings. He thinks nothing 
 more absurd than the common notion of instruction, as if science 
 were to be poured into the mind like water into a cistern, that 
 passively waits to receive all that comes. The growth of 
 knowledge he rather thinks to resemble the growth of fruit : 
 however external causes may in some degree cooperate, it is 
 the internal vigour and virtue of the tree that must ripen the 
 juices to their just maturity. 
 
 This, then, namely, the exciting men to inquire for themselves 
 into subjects worthy of their contemplation, this the author 
 declares to have been his first and principal motive for ap- 
 pearing in print. Next to that, as he has always been a lover 
 of letters, he would willingly approve his studies to the liberal 
 and ingenuous. He has particularly named these, in distinction 
 to others, because, as his studies were never prosecuted with 
 the least regard to lucre, so they are no way calculated for any 
 lucrative end. The liberal, therefore, and ingenuous, (whom he 
 has mentioned already,) are those to whose perusal he offers 
 what he has written. Should they judge favourably of his 
 attempt, he may not, perhaps, hesitate to confess, 
 
 Hoc juvat et melli est. 
 
 For though he hopes he cannot be charged with the foolish love 
 of vain praise, he has no desire to be thought indifferent or 
 insensible to honest fame. 
 
 From the influence of these sentiments, he has endeavoured 
 to treat his subject with as much order, correctness, and 
 
112 PREFACE. 
 
 perspicuity as in his power ; and if he has failed, he can safely 
 say, (according to the vulgar phrase,) that the failure has been 
 his misfortune, and not his fault. He scorns those trite and 
 contemptible methods of anticipating pardon for a bad perform- 
 ance, that " it was the hasty fruits of a few idle hours ; written 
 merely for private amusement ; never revised ; published against 
 consent, at the importunity of friends, copies (God knows how) 
 having by stealth gotten abroad;" with other stale jargon of 
 equal falsehood and inanity. May we not ask such prefacers, 
 If what they allege be true, what has the world to do with 
 them and their crudities ? 
 
 As to the book itself, it can say this in its behalf, that it does 
 not merely confine itself to what its title promises, but expa- 
 tiates freely into whatever is collateral ; aiming on every occa- 
 sion to rise in its inquiries, and to pass, as far as possible, from 
 small matters to the greatest. Nor is it formed merely upon 
 sentiments that are now in fashion, or supported only by such 
 authorities as are modern. Many authors are quoted that now- 
 a-days are but little studied; and some, perhaps, whose very 
 names are hardly known. 
 
 The fate, indeed, of ancient authors (as we have happened to 
 mention them) is not unworthy of our notice. A few of them 
 survive in the libraries of the learned, where some venerable 
 folio, that still goes by their name, just suffices to give them a 
 kind of nominal existence. The rest have long fallen into a 
 deeper obscurity ; their very names, when mentioned, affecting 
 us as little as the names, when we read them, of those subordi- 
 nate heroes, Alcandrumque, Haliumque, Noemonaque, Pry- 
 tanimque. 
 
 Now if an author, not content with the more eminent of 
 ancient writers, should venture to bring his reader into such 
 company as these last, among people (in the fashionable phrase) 
 that nobody knows, what usage, what quarter can he have 
 reason to expect ? Should the author of these speculations have 
 done this, (and it is to be feared he has,) what method had he 
 best take in a circumstance so critical I Let us suppose him to 
 apologize in the best manner he can, and in consequence of this 
 to suggest as follows : 
 
 He hopes there will be found a pleasure in the contemplation 
 of ancient sentiments; as the view of ancient architecture, 
 
PREFACE. 113 
 
 though in ruins, has something venerable. Add to this, what 
 from its antiquity is but little known has from that very 
 circumstance the recommendation of novelty; so that here, as 
 in other instances, extremes may be said to meet. Further 
 still, as the authors whom he has quoted lived in various ages, 
 and in distant countries, some in the full maturity of Grecian 
 and Roman literature, some in its declension, and others in 
 periods still more barbarous and depraved, it may afford, 
 perhaps, no unpleasing speculation, to see how the same reason 
 has at all times prevailed ; how there is one truth, like one sun, 
 that has enlightened human intelligence through every age, and 
 saved it from the darkness both of sophistry and error. 
 
 Nothing can more tend to enlarge the mind, than these ex- 
 tensive views of men, and human knowledge ; nothing can more 
 effectually take us off from the foolish admiration of what is 
 immediately before our eyes, and help us to a juster estimate 
 both of present men, and present literature. 
 
 It is, perhaps, too much the case with the multitude in every 
 nation, that as they know little beyond themselves and their 
 own affairs, so out of this narrow sphere of knowledge they 
 think' nothing worth knowing. As we Britons, by our situation, 
 live divided from the whole world, this, perhaps, will be found 
 to be more remarkably our case. And hence the reason that 
 our .studies are usually satisfied in the works of our own 
 countrymen ; that in philosophy, in poetry, in every kind of 
 subject, whether serious or ludicrous, whether sacred or profane, 
 we think perfection with ourselves, and that it is superfluous to 
 search further. 
 
 The author of this treatise would by no means detract from 
 the just honours due to those of his countrymen, who, either in 
 the present or preceding age, have so illustriously adorned it. 
 But though he can with pleasure and sincerity join in celebrating 
 their deserts, he would not have the admiration of these, or of 
 any other few, to pass through blind excess into a contempt of 
 all others. Were such admiration to become universal, an odd 
 event would follow ; a few learned men, without any fault of 
 their own, would contribute in a manner to the extinction of 
 letters. 
 
 A like evil to that of admiring only the authors of our own 
 age, is that of admiring only the authors of one particular 
 
114 PREFACE. 
 
 science. There is, indeed, in this last prejudice, something pecu- 
 liarly unfortunate, and that is, the more excellent the science, 
 the more likely it will be found to produce this effect. 
 
 There are few sciences more intrinsically valuable than 
 mathematics. It is hard, indeed, to say, to which they have 
 more contributed, whether to the utilities of life, or to the 
 sublimest parts of science. They are the noblest praxis of 
 logic, or universal reasoning. It is through them we may per- 
 ceive how the stated forms of syllogism are exemplified in one 
 subject, namely, the predicament of quantity. By marking the 
 force of these forms, as they are applied here, we may be 
 enabled to apply them of ourselves elsewhere. Nay, further 
 still, by viewing the mind, during its process in these syllogistic 
 employments, we may come to know, in part, what kind of 
 being it is ; since mind, like other powers, can be only known 
 from its operations. Whoever, therefore, will study mathe- 
 matics in this view, will become not only by mathematics a 
 more expert logician, and by logic a more rational mathema- 
 tician, but a wiser philosopher, and an acuter reasoner, in all the 
 possible subjects either of science or deliberation. 
 
 But when mathematics, instead of being applied to this ex- 
 cellent purpose, are used, not to exemplify logic, but to supply 
 its place ; no wonder if logic pass into contempt, and if mathe- 
 matics, instead of furthering science, become in fact an obstacle. 
 For when men, knowing nothing of that reasoning which is 
 universal, come to attach themselves for years to a single species, 
 a species wholly involved in lines and numbers only, they grow 
 insensibly to believe these last as inseparable from all reasoning, 
 as the poor Indians thought every horseman to be inseparable 
 from his horse. 
 
 And thus we see the use, nay, the necessity of enlarging our 
 literary views, lest even knowledge itself should obstruct its own 
 growth, and perform in some measure the part of ignorance and 
 barbarity. 
 
 Such, then, is the apology made by the author of this treatise, 
 for the multiplicity of ancient quotations with which he has 
 filled his book. If he can excite in his readers a proper spirit 
 of curiosity ; if he can help in the least degree to enlarge the 
 bounds of science; to revive the decaying taste of ancient 
 literature ; to lessen the bigotted contempt of every thing not 
 
PREFACE. 115 
 
 modern; and to assert to authors of every age their just portion 
 of esteem ; if he can in the least degree contribute to these 
 ends, he hopes it may be allowed that he has done a service 
 to mankind. Should this service be a reason for his work to 
 survive, he has confessed already it would be no unpleasing 
 event. Should the contrary happen, he must acquiesce in its 
 fate, and let it peaceably pass to those destined regions, whither 
 the productions of modern wit are every day passing, 
 
 In vicum vendentem thus et odores. 
 
 i2 
 
HERMES: 
 
 A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY CONCERNING 
 UNIVERSAL GRAMMAR. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. - DESIGN OF THE WHOLE. 
 
 IF men by nature had been framed for solitude, they had never 
 felt an impulse to converse one with another ; and if, like lower 
 animals, they had been by nature irrational, they could not have 
 recognised the proper subjects of discourse. Since speech, then, 
 is the joint energy of our best and noblest faculties, 11 (that is to 
 say, of our reason, and our social affection,) being withal our pe- 
 culiar ornament and distinction, as men; those inquiries may 
 surely be deemed interesting, as well as liberal, which either 
 search how speech may be naturally resolved, or how, when re- 
 solved, it may be again combined. 
 
 Here a large field for speculating opens before us. We may 
 either behold speech, as divided into its constituent parts, as a 
 statue may be divided into its several limbs ; or else, as resolved 
 into its matter and form, as the same statue may be resolved 
 into its marble and figure. 
 
 These different analysings or resolutions constitute what we 
 call " philosophical or universal grammar " b 
 
 When we have viewed speech thus analyzed, we may then 
 consider it as compounded. And here, in the first place, we 
 may contemplate that synthesis, which, by combining simple 
 
 a See p. 58 to 66. See also note z, p. 61, c Aristotle says, fuv Se Kara 
 
 and note J, p. 66. (rvfjurXoK^v Xfyoft&m* ov5(v OUTC 
 
 b Grammaticam etiam bipartitam pone- oure i^euSey effnv olov &vQp<airos, AeC/cos, 
 
 mus, ut alia sit literaria, alia philosophica, rpe^e;, vina : " Of those words which are 
 
 etc. Bacon, de Augm. Scient. vi. 1. And spoken without connexion, there is no one 
 
 soon after he adds, Verumtamen hac ipsa re either true or false ; as, for instance, man, 
 
 moniti, cogitatione complexi sumus gram- white, runneth, conquereth." Cat. c. iv. So 
 
 maticam quandam, quae non analogiam ver- again, in the beginning of his treatise De 
 
 borum ad invicem, sed analogiam inter verba Interpretatione : Ilepl yap avvQtcrtv KCU 8t- 
 
 et res sive rationem sedulo inquirat. a.ip<-<ru> fffri rb \J/eu5o's re Kal rb 
 
118 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 terms, produces a truth ; then, by combining two truths, produces 
 a third ; and thus others, and others, in continued demonstra- 
 tion, till we are led, as by a road, into the regions of science. 
 
 Now this is that superior and most excellent synthesis which 
 alone applies itself to our intellect or reason ; and which, to con- 
 duct according to rule, constitutes the art of logic. 
 
 After this we may turn to those inferior compositions/ which 
 are productive of the pathetic and the pleasant, in all their kinds. 
 These latter compositions aspire not to the intellect ; but being 
 addressed to the imagination, the affections, and the sense, 
 become, from their different heightenings, either rhetoric or 
 poetry. 
 
 Nor need we necessarily view these arts distinctly and apart ; 
 we may observe, if we please, how perfectly they coincide. 
 Grammar is equally requisite to every one of the rest : and 
 though logic may, indeed, subsist without rhetoric or poetry, yet 
 so necessary to these last is a sound and correct logic, that with- 
 out it they are no better than warbling trifles. 
 
 Now all these inquiries, (as we have said already,) and such 
 others arising from them as are of still sublimer contemplations, 
 (of which, in the sequel, there may be possibly not a few,) may 
 with justice be deemed inquiries, both interesting and liberal. 
 
 *' True and false are seen in composition and 
 division." Composition makes affirmative 
 truth, division makes negative ; yet both 
 alike bring terms together, and so far, there- 
 fore, may be called synthetical. 
 
 d Ammonius, in his comment on the 
 treatise Hepl 'EpyUTjj/e/ay, p. 53, gives the 
 following extract from Theophrastus ; which 
 is here inserted at length, as well for the 
 excellence of the matter, as because it is 
 not (I believe) elsewhere extant. 
 
 Airrrjs yap O&TTJS rov \6yov arxecrews, 
 (/ca0* a 8id>pio-ev 6 (piXfootyos e6(ppao-ros) 
 rys re irpbs robs aKpoca/j-evovs^ ols Kal o"rj- 
 fj.aiVfL Ti, Kal rrjs Trpbs rot, Trpdyfj.ara, inrep 
 Siv 6 \eywv ireio*ai Trporidrjrai. rovs aKpoca- 
 fj,evovs, TTfpl p.ev o?>v rfyv <r-%4<riv avrov rr)v 
 irpbs rovs aKpoaras Karaylvovrai iroiyriK)] 
 i, 5i6ri epyov avrcus eK\eyecr6ai 
 
 ra ffe/j,v6repa rwv 6vofj.drwv, di\.Aa /* ra. 
 Koiva Kal Se5iJiJ.evfj.eva, Kal ravra evap/j,o~ 
 vitas (rv/j,Tr\eKiv aAA^Aoty, (isffre Sici rov- 
 rwv Kal rtav rovrois e-rro/JLevuv, olov ffatyr}- 
 velas, yXvKVTijros., Kal ruv a\\<av ISeaiv, 
 eri re f.iaKpo\oytas, Kal &paxv\oyias, Kara 
 Kaipbv irdvrwv irapa\afj,@avo/j,ev<i)v, olffai 
 re rbv aKpoarfyv, KOI eKTr\f}at. Kal irpbs 
 rfyv ireiOw ^eipaj^eVra e%et^' rrjs 5e ye irpbs 
 ra Trpdy(j.aTa rov \6yov (Tx^ecas 6 <pi\6ffo- 
 <pos Trporjyovju.evc>)s eTrifj.\'f)a'erai, r6 re 
 tyeuSos ie\eyx<0v, Kal rb a\r)9fs airoo'eiK- 
 vvs. "The relation of speech being two- 
 fold, (as the philosopher Theophrastus hath 
 
 settled it,) one to the hearers, to whom it 
 explains something, and one to the things, 
 concerning which the speaker proposes to 
 persuade his hearers ; with respect to the 
 first relation, that which regards the hearers, 
 are employed poetry and rhetoric. Thus it 
 becomes the business of these two, to select 
 the most respectable words, and not those 
 that are common, and of vulgar use, and 
 to connect such words harmoniously one 
 with another ; so as through these things 
 and their consequences, such as perspicuity, 
 delicacy, and the other forms of eloquence, 
 together with copiousness and brevity, all 
 employed in their proper season, to lead the 
 hearer, and strike him, and hold him van- 
 quished by the power of persuasion. On 
 the contrary, as to the relation of speech to 
 things, here the philosopher will be found 
 to have a principal employ, as well in re- 
 futing the false, as in demonstrating the 
 true." 
 
 Sanctius speaks elegantly on the same 
 subject: Creavit Deus hominem rationis 
 participem ; cui, quia sociabilem esse voluit, 
 magno pro munerc dedit sermonem. Sermoni 
 autem perficiendo tres opifices adhibuit. 
 Prima est grammatica, quae ab oratione 
 solaecismos et barbarismos expellit ; secunda 
 dialectica, quaj in sermonis veritate ver- 
 satur ; tertia rhetorica, quae ornatum ser- 
 monis tantum exquirit. Min. 1. i. c. 2. 
 
HERMES. 119 
 
 At present we shall postpone the whole synthetical part, (that 
 is to say, logic and rhetoric,) and confine ourselves to the analyti- 
 cal; that is to say, universal grammar. In this we shall follow 
 the order that we have above laid down : first dividing speech, 
 as a whole, into its constituent parts ; then resolving it, as a com- 
 posite, into its matter and form : two methods of analysis very 
 different in their kind, and which lead to a variety of very dif- 
 ferent speculations. 
 
 Should any one object, that, in the course of our inquiry, we 
 sometimes descend to things which appear trivial and low, let him 
 look upon the effects to which those things contribute, then, from 
 the dignity of the consequences, let him honour the principles. 
 
 The following story may not improperly be here inserted. 
 "When the fame of Heraclitus was celebrated throughout Greece, 
 there were certain persons that had a curiosity to see so great a 
 man. They came, and, as it happened, found him warming him- 
 self in a kitchen. The meanness of the place occasioned them 
 to stop ; upon which the philosopher thus accosted them * Enter 
 (says he) boldly, for here, too, there are gods.' " 
 
 We shall only add, that as there is no part of nature too 
 mean for the divine presence ; so there is no kind of subject, 
 having its foundation in nature, that is below the dignity of a 
 philosophical inquiry. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONCERNING THE ANALYSING OP SPEECH INTO ITS SMALLEST PARTS. 
 
 THOSE things which are first to nature, are not first to man. Na- 
 ture begins from causes, and thence descends to effects : human 
 perceptions first open upon effects, and thence, by slow degrees, 
 ascend to causes. Often had mankind seen the sun in eclipse, 
 before they knew its cause to be the moon's interposition ; much 
 oftener had they seen those unceasing revolutions of summer and 
 winter, of day and night, before they knew the cause to be the 
 earth's double motion/ Even in matters of art and human crea- 
 
 e See Aristot. de Part. Animal. 1. i. c. 5. is, he views effects through causes in their 
 
 f This distinction of " first to man," and natural order. Man views the last as first, 
 
 " first to nature," was greatly regarded in the and the first as last ; that is, he views causes 
 
 Peripatetic philosophy. See Aristot. Phys. through effects, in an inverse order. And 
 
 Auscult. 1. i. c. 1. Themistius's Comment hence the meaning of that passage in Arj- 
 
 on the same, Poster. Analyt. 1. i. c. 2. De stotle, "n<rirp yap ra ruv rpKrtpftM* ofj.- 
 
 Anima, 1. ii. c. 2. It leads us, when pro- para Trpbs rb Qtyyos ex ei ^ ^ W*P av -> 
 
 perly regarded, to a very important distinc- ofrrw Kal rrjs ^uerepos <|>vx^ s ^ vo ^ s W P^ S 
 
 tion between intelligence divine, and intelli- ra rrj <j)v(rei (pavepwraTa iravrwv : "As 
 
 gencc human. God may be said to view arc the eyes of bats to the light of the day, 
 
 the first, as first, and the last, as last ; that so is man's intelligence to those objects 
 
120 HERMES. 
 
 tion, if we except a few artists and critical observers ; the rest 
 look no higher than to the practice and mere work, knowing 
 nothing of those principles on which the whole depends. 
 
 Thus, in speech, for example : all men, even the lowest, can 
 speak their mother-tongue ; yet, how many of this multitude can 
 neither write, nor even read 2 How many of those, who are thus 
 far literate, know nothing of that grammar which respects the 
 genius of their own language? How few, then, must be those 
 who know grammar universal ; that grammar which, without 
 regarding the several idioms of particular languages, only respects 
 those principles that are essential to them all \ 
 
 It is our present design to inquire about this grammar ; in 
 doing which we shall follow the order consonant to human per- 
 ception, as being for that reason the more easy to be under- 
 stood. 
 
 We shall begin, therefore, first from a period or sentence, that 
 combination in speech which is obvious to all ; and thence pass, 
 if possible, to those its primary parts, which, however essential, 
 are only obvious to a few. 
 
 With respect, therefore, to the different species of sentences, 
 who is there so ignorant, as, if we address him in his mother- 
 tongue, not to know when it is we assert, and when we question ; 
 when it is we command, and when we pray or wish I 
 
 For example, when we read in Shakspeare, 8 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 
 And is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons ; 
 
 or in Milton, h 
 
 friends, I hear the tread of nimble feet, 
 Hasting this way ; 
 
 it is obvious that these are assertive sentences, one founded upon 
 judgment, the other upon sensation. 
 
 When the witch in Macbeth says to her companions, 
 
 When shall we three meet again, 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 
 
 this it is evident is an interrogative sentence. 
 
 that are by nature the brightest and most contented to advance from the more im- 
 
 conspicuous of all things." Metaph. 1. ii. c. 1. perfect and complex, to the more simple and 
 
 See also 1. vii. c. 4. and Ethic. Nicom. 1. i. perfect ; for the complex subjects are more 
 
 c. 4, Ammonius, reasoning in the same way, familiar to us, and: better known. Thus, 
 
 says, very pertinently to the subject of this therefore, it is, that even a child knows 
 
 treatise, 'A.yairrjTi)V TT; aj/QpuTrivri Qvffet, CK how to put a sentence together, and say, 
 
 TOW arcXeffTeptov Kal avvQ4r<av ivl TCI a- 4 Socrates walketh ;' but how to resolve 
 
 Tr\ov(rrepa Kal TeAeioVepa npoifvaf ra yap this sentence into a noun and verb, and 
 
 ffvvQera (jLa\\ov ffvvfjQt] rj/^uv, Kal yv<apifj.&- these again into syllables, and syllables 
 
 repot' ovTta yovv Kal 6 irals flpai f^ev \6- into letters or elements, here he is at a 
 
 yoV) Kal etTreli/, "SuKpdrrjs irfpiirare'i, o?8e' loss." Am. in Com. de Praedic. p. 29. 
 rovrov 8e ava\v(rai els 6voiJ.a Kal ffi/jLa, Merchant of Venice. 
 Kal ravra els ffv\\a/3as, KaKewa els aroi- h Paradise Lost, iv. 866. 
 X m, ovKfn : "Human nature may be well 
 
HERMES. 121 
 
 When Macbeth says to the ghost of Banquo, 
 
 Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! 
 
 lie speaks an imperative sentence, founded upon the passion of 
 hatred. 
 
 When Milton says, in the character of his Allegro, 
 
 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
 Jest and youthful jollity, 
 
 he, too, speaks an imperative sentence, though founded on the 
 passion, not of hatred, but of love. 
 
 When, in the beginning of the Paradise Lost, we read the 
 following address : 
 
 And chiefly thou, Spirit, that dost prefer, 
 Before all temples the upright heart, and pure, 
 Instruct me, for thou know'st 
 
 this is not to be called an imperative sentence, though perhaps 
 it bear the same form, but rather (if I may use the word) it is 
 a sentence precative or optative. 
 
 What, then, shall we say 2 Are sentences to be quoted in this 
 manner without ceasing ; all differing from each other in their 
 stamp and character? Are they no way reducible to certain 
 definite classes ? If not, they can be no objects of rational com- 
 prehension. Let us however try. 
 
 It is a phrase often applied to a man, when speaking, that " he 
 speaks his mind ;" as much as to say, that his speech or discourse 
 is a publishing of some energy or motion of his soul. So it, in- 
 deed, is in every one that speaks, excepting alone the dissembler 
 or hypocrite ; and he, too, as far as possible, affects the appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Now the powers of the soul (over and above the mere nu- 
 tritive 1 ) may be included, all of them, in those of perception, and 
 those of volition. By the powers of perception, I mean the 
 senses and the intellect ; by the powers of volition, I mean, in 
 an extended sense, not only the will, but the several passions and 
 appetites ; in short, all that moves to action, whether rational or 
 irrational. 
 
 If, then, the leading powers of the soul be these two, it is 
 plain that every speech or sentence, as far as it exhibits the soul, 
 must of course respect one or other of these. 
 
 If we assert, then is it a sentence which respects the powers 
 of perception. For what, indeed, is to assert, if we consider the 
 examples above alleged, but to publish some perception either 
 of the senses or the intellect ? 
 
 Again, if we interrogate, if we command, if we pray, or if 
 we wish, (which, in terms of art, is to speak sentences in- 
 terrogative, imperative, precative, or optative,) what do we but 
 publish so many different volitions 2 For who is it that questions I 
 
 1 Vid. Aristot. de An. ii. 4. 
 
122 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 he that has a desire to be informed. Who is it that commands 2 
 he that has a will, which he would have obeyed. What are 
 those beings who either wish or pray 2 those who feel certain 
 wants, either for themselves or others. 
 
 If, then, the souFs leading powers be the two above men- 
 tioned, and it be true that all speech is a publication of these 
 powers, it will follow that every sentence will be either a 
 sentence of assertion, or a sentence of volition. And thus, by 
 referring all of them to one of these two classes, have we found 
 an expedient to reduce their infinitude. 1 " 
 
 The extensions of speech are quite indefinite, as may be seen 
 if we compare the ^Eneid to an Epigram of Martial. But the 
 longest extension with which grammar has to do, is the exten- 
 sion here considered, that is to say, a sentence. The greater 
 extensions (such as syllogisms, paragraphs, sections, and com- 
 plete works) belong not to grammar, but to arts of higher 
 order; not to mention that all of them are but sentences 
 repeated. 
 
 Now a sentence 1 may be sketched in the following description: 
 "a compound quantity of sound significant, of which certain 
 parts are themselves also significant." 
 
 Thus when I say " the sun shineth," not only the whole quan- 
 tity of sound has a meaning, but certain parts also, such as 
 "sun "and "shineth." 
 
 igitur est, cum anima nostra duplicem po- 
 testatem habeat, cognitionis, et vitae, quae 
 etiam appetitionis ac cupiditatis appellatur, 
 qua2 vero cognitionis est, vis est, qua res 
 singulas cognoscimus, ut mens, cogitatio, 
 opinio, phantasia, sensus : appetitus vero 
 facultas est, qua bona, vel quae sunt, vel 
 quae videntur, concupiscimus, ut sunt vo- 
 luntas, consilium, ira, cupiditas: quatuor 
 orationis species, praeter enunciantem, a 
 partibus animi proficiscuntur, quae concu- 
 piscunt ; non cum animus ipse per se agit, 
 sed cum ad alium se convertit, qui ei ad 
 consequendum id, quod cupit, conducere 
 posse videatur; atque etiam vel rationem 
 ab eo exquirit, ut in oratione, quam per- 
 cunctantem, aut interrogantem vocant ; vel 
 rem: sique rem, vel cum ipsum consequi 
 cupit, quicum loquitur, ut in optante ora- 
 tione, vel aliquam ejus actionem : atque in 
 hac, vel ut a praestantiore, ut in depreca- 
 tione ; vel ut ab inferiore, ut in eo, qui pro- 
 prie jussus nominatur. Sola autem enun- 
 cians a cognoscendi facultate proficiscitur : 
 haecque nunciat rerum cognitionem, quoe in 
 nobis est, aut veram, aut simulatam. Itaquo 
 haec sola verum falsumque capit: praeterea 
 vero nulla. Ammon. in Libr. de Interpre- 
 tatione. 
 
 ris wia /J.fpr) /co0' avra a"r)/j.alvei n. Arist, 
 Poet. c. 20. See also DC Interpret, c. 4, 
 
 k 'Pijreov ovv on TT?S 
 pas SJTTOS exovcrys Swcijuets, ras /uej> yvwcr- 
 rtKas 9 ras 5e om/ccts, ras Kal opeKTiKas 
 Aeyo/xeVos' (\eyo3 8e yvuffriKas, p.tv, Ka.6' 
 Sis yiva>o~KO[JLi/ fKaffrov rui> ovrtav, oTov 
 vovv, fiidvoiav, 86av, (parafftav Kal aftrflrj- 
 ffiv' opeKTiKas Se, KaO' as 6pcy6/n6a riav 
 ayad>Vi f) riav uvrwv, fy rwv SOKOVVTUV, 
 olov Pov\r)(nv Aeyco, Trpoaipeffiv, Qv/jibv, Kal 
 eTTidv^itav) ra /JLCV rerrapa eftfy rov \6yov 
 (TC& irapa rbv aTro<pavriKbv) airb ruv ope/c- 
 
 OVK avrrjs Kad' avrfyv tvepyovffrjs, 
 irpbs frepov a.TTOTfivofji.^'rjs (rbi/ erv/j.fid\- 
 A6<r0at SOKOVVTO. irpbs rb rvx^v rrjs 
 o/)e|ews) Kal ^TOI \6yov trap* avrod (jt)TOv~ 
 <T7js, Kaddirep TTI rov Trvfffj.a.TiKOv Kal epw- 
 ri}/j.aTiKov Ka\ovfievov \6yov, ^ Trpciyfj.a, 
 Kal i irpay/jia, tfroi, avrov e/ceiJ/ou Tu%6/ 
 e^ieyuevTjs, irpbs bv 6 \6yos, faffirep eirl rov 
 K\i]TiKov, ^ rivbs nap* avrov irpd^us' Kal 
 ravrrjs, ^ us irapa Kpe'movos, us eVl rrjs 
 eu^Tjs, ^ &s irapa xe/popos, ws eirl rov KV- 
 ptws Ka\ov/j,vr)s irpocrrdfcews'' p.6vov Se rb 
 a.Tro(f>avriKbv airb ruu yvcaoriKSjis, Kal Hffn 
 TOVTO e^ayye\TiKbv rrjs y*vop.evi]s eV rjfuv 
 yvcaffeus ruv irpay i udriav oAT/^ws, ^ <paivo- 
 s, Sib Kal (j.6vov rovro SeKTiKdv ecrnv 
 3) ^euSouy, ruv 8e &\\(ov ovSeV. 
 The meaning of the above passage being 
 implied in the text, we take its translation 
 from the Latin interpreter. Dicendurn 
 
HERMES. 123 
 
 But what shall we say ? Have these parts again other parts, 
 which are in like manner significant, and so may the progress be 
 pursued to infinite 2 Can we suppose all meaning, like body, to 
 be divisible, and to include within itself other meanings without 
 end! If this be absurd, then must we necessarily admit that 
 there is such a thing as a sound significant, of which no part is 
 of itself significant. And this is what we call the proper 
 character of a word. m For thus, though the words sun and 
 shineth have each a meaning, yet is there certainly no meaning 
 in any of their parts, neither in the syllables of the one, nor in 
 the letters of the other. 
 
 If, therefore, all speech, whether in prose or verse, every 
 whole, every section, every paragraph, every sentence, imply a 
 certain meaning, divisible into other meanings, but words imply 
 a meaning which is not so divisible ; it follows that words will 
 be the smallest parts of speech, inasmuch as nothing less has 
 any meaning at all. 
 
 To know, therefore, the species of words, must needs contri- 
 bute to the knowledge of speech, as it implies a knowledge of 
 its minutest parts. 
 
 This, therefore, must become our next inquiry. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONCERNING THE SPECIES OF WORDS, THE SMALLEST PARTS OP SPEECH. 
 
 LET us first search for the species of words among those parts 
 of speech commonly received by grammarians. For example, in 
 one of the passages above cited. 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 
 And is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons. 
 
 Here the word the is an article ; man, no, music, concord, sweet, 
 sounds, Jit, treasons, are all nouns, some substantive and some 
 adjective ; that and himself are pronouns ; hath and is are verbs ; 
 moved, a participle ; not, an adverb ; and, a conjunction ; in, 
 with, and for, are prepositions. In one sentence we have all 
 
 m ^uv^i a"r]/j.avTiK^ ^s /xe'pos ouSeV tffn ideo dictum est, nequls conetur vires in duas 
 
 Ktt0' avrb ffi]iJ.avTiK6v. De Poetic, c. 20. partes dividere, hoc est, in vi et res ; non 
 
 De Interpret, c. 2 and 3. Priscian's defi- enim ad totum intelligendum haec fit divisio. 
 
 nition of a word (lib. ii.) is as follows : To Priscian we may add Theodore Gaza : 
 
 Dictio est pars minima orationis constructs, Af|is 5e, pepos t\dxio"rov Kara ffvvra^iv 
 
 id est, in ordine composite. Pars autem, \6yov. Introd. Gram. 1. iv. Plato shewed 
 
 quantum ad totum intelligendum, id est, them this characteristic of a word. See 
 
 ad totius sensus intellcctum. Hoc autem Cratylus, p. 385. edit. Serr. 
 
124 HERMES. 
 
 those parts of speech which the Greek grammarians are found 
 to acknowledge. The Latins only differ in having no article, 
 and in separating the interjection, as a part of itself, which the 
 Greeks include among the species of adverbs. 
 
 What then shall we determine \ why are there not more 
 species of words ? why so many I or if neither more nor fewer, 
 why these and not others ? 
 
 To resolve, if possible, these several queries, let us examine 
 any sentence that comes in our way, and see what differences 
 we can discover in its parts. For example, the same sentence 
 above, 
 
 The man that hath no music, &c. 
 
 One difference soon occurs, that some words are variable, and 
 others invariable. Thus the word man may be varied into 
 man's and men ; hath, into have, hast, had, &c. Sweet into 
 sweeter and sweetest ; fit into fitter and fittest. On the con- 
 trary, the words the, in, and, and some others, remain as they 
 are, and cannot be altered. 
 
 And yet it may be questioned, how far this difference is 
 essential. For, in the first place, there are variations which can 
 be hardly called necessary, because only some languages have 
 them, and others have them not. Thus the Greeks have the 
 dual variation, which is unknown both to the moderns and to 
 the ancient Latins. Thus the Greeks and Latins vary their 
 adjectives by the triple variation of gender, case, and number ; 
 whereas the English never vary them in any of those ways, but 
 through all kinds of concord preserve them still the same. 
 Nay, even those very variations, which appear most necessary, 
 may have their places supplied by other methods ; some by 
 auxiliars, as when for Bruti, or Bruto, we say " of Brutus," " to 
 Brutus ;" some by mere position, as when for Brutum amavit 
 Cassius, we say, " Oassius loved Brutus." For here the accusative, 
 which in Latin is known any where from its variation, is in 
 English only known from its position or place. 
 
 If, then, the distinction of variable and invariable will not 
 answer our purpose, let us look further, for some other more 
 essential. 
 
 Suppose, then, we should dissolve the sentence above cited, 
 and view its several parts as they stand separate and detached. 
 Some, it is plain, still preserve a meaning, (such as man, music, 
 sweet, &c.) others, on the contrary, immediately lose it, (such as 
 and, the, with, &c.) Not that these last have no meaning at 
 all, but in fact they never have it, but when in company or 
 associated. 
 
 Now it should seem that this distinction, if any, was essential. 
 For all words are significant, or else they would not be words ; 
 and if every thing not absolute is of course relative, then will 
 all words be significant either absolutely or relatively. 
 
HERMES. 125 
 
 With respect, therefore, to this distinction, the first sort 
 of words may be called significant hy themselves ; the latter 
 may he called significant hy relation ; or if we like it better, the 
 first sort may be called principals, the latter accessories. The 
 first are like those stones in the basis of an arch, which are able 
 to support themselves, even when the arch is destroyed ; the 
 latter are like those stones in its summit or curve, which can no 
 longer stand, than while the whole subsists." 
 
 This distinction being admitted, we thus pursue our specu- 
 lations. All things whatever either exist as the energies or 
 affections of some other thing, or without being the energies or 
 affections of some other thing. If they exist as the energies or 
 affections of something else, then are they called attributes. 
 Thus to think is the attribute of a man ; to be white, of a 
 swan ; to fly, of an eagle ; to be four-footed, of a horse. If they 
 exist not after this manner, then are they called substances. 
 Thus man, swan, eagle, and horse, are none of them attributes, 
 but all substances, because however they may exist in time and 
 place, yet neither of these, nor of any thing else, do they exist 
 as energies or affections. 
 
 And thus all things whatsoever, being either substances or 
 attributes, 13 it follows of course that all words which are signi- 
 ficant as principals, must needs be significant of either the one 
 or the other. If they are significant of substances, they are 
 called substantives ; if of attributes, they are called attributives. 
 So that all words whatever, significant as principals, are either 
 substantives or attributives. 
 
 Again, as to words, which are only significant as accessories, 
 
 " Apollonius of Alexandria (one of the sonants, wait for their vowels, being unable 
 
 acutest authors that ever wrote on the sub- to become expressive by their own proper 
 
 ject of grammar) illustrates the different strength, as is the case of prepositions, 
 
 power of Avords, by the different poAver of articles, and conjunctions ; for these parts 
 
 letters. y E-n, bv rp6irov ruv crroix^v r& of speech are always con significant, that 
 
 /j.v ecrrt (bwfievra, & teal /ca0 5 eatrra tytavty is, are only significant when associated to 
 
 aTTOTeAe? ra Se av^wa., aircp avtv ruv something else." Apollon. de Syntaxi, 1. i. 
 
 (pwyevTwv OVK e%et pT]T^v ri]v tKfyuvrio'tv. c. 3. Itaque quibusdam philosophis placuit 
 
 r}>v avrbv rp6irov eVrtj/ e-TrivoTJcrai Ka' 'irl nomen et verbum solas esse partes ora- 
 
 TO>V Ae'ecoj/. a'i fj.\v yap avr&v, rp6irov nva tionis ; csetera vero, adminicula vel junctu- 
 
 ruv tyuv-nevrwv, prjrat etor Kaddirep ert ras earum: quomodo navium partes sunt 
 
 TWV pTjyuaTwf, ovofjidruv, avTwvvfjLiuv, eTTi/J- tabulce et trabes, castera autem (id est, cera, 
 
 piindrcaf al Se, foffirepfl av^wa, ava- stuppa, et clavi et similia) vincula et conglu- 
 
 fAtvovfft Ta (paWyei'Ta, ot; Sui/a/uei/a, /far' tinationes partium navis (hoc est, tabularum 
 
 ibiav pT)Ta elrai KaOdirep eirl ran/ irpoOf- et trabium) non partes navis dicuntur. 
 
 <reo>v, TOJJ/ apepcav, TUV (TVJ'$e<r/j.a)V' ra yap Prise. 1. xi. 913. 
 
 Toiaura del ruv /j.opicai' avcrfff^^aivci. u In Thus Aristotle : Nvv p.( v ovv Tinrtp 
 
 the same manner, as of the elements or eiprjrai, ri TTOT' t(nli> y oixria, on rb /j.r) 
 
 letters, some are voAvels, which of them- /ca0' viroKetfj.ei>ov, a\\a /co0' ov ra &\\a. 
 
 selves complete a sound ; others are con- Mctaph. Z. 7. p. 106. edit. Sylb. 
 
 sonants, which, without the help of vowels, >' This division of things into substance 
 
 have no express vocality ; so likewise may and attribute seems to have been admitted 
 
 AVC conceive as to the nature of words, by philosophers of all sects and ages. See 
 
 Some of them, like vowels, arc of themselves Categor. c. 2. Metaphys. 1. vii. c. 1. De 
 
 expressive, as is the case of verbs, nouns, Coclo, 1. iii. c. 1. 
 pronouns, and adverbs ; others, like con- 
 
126 HERMES. 
 
 they acquire a signification either from being associated to one 
 word, or else to many. If to one word alone, then, as they 
 can do no more than in some manner define or determine, 
 they may justly for that reason be called definitives. If to 
 many words at once, then, as they serve to no other purpose 
 than to connect, they are called for that reason by the name of 
 
 And thus it is that all words whatever are either principals 
 or accessories ; or under other names, either significant from 
 themselves, or significant by relation. If significant from them- 
 selves, they are either substantives or attributives ; if significant 
 by relation, they are either definitives or connectives. So that 
 under one of these four species, substantives, attributives, defini- 
 tives, and connectives, are all words, however different, in a 
 manner included. 
 
 If any of these names seem new and unusual, we may in- 
 troduce others more usual, by calling the substantives, nouns ; 
 the attributives, verbs ; the definitives, articles ; and the con- 
 nectives, conjunctions. 
 
 Should it be asked, what then becomes of pronouns, adverbs, 
 prepositions, and interjections ? the answer is, either they must 
 be found included within the species above mentioned, or else 
 must be admitted for so many species by themselves. 
 
 There were various opinions in ancient days, as to the 
 number of these parts, or elements of speech. 
 
 Plato, in his Sophist, q mentions only two, the noun and the 
 verb. Aristotle mentions no more, where he treats of preposi- 
 tions/ Not that those acute philosophers were ignorant of the 
 other parts, but they spoke with reference to logic or dialectic, 8 
 considering the essence of speech as contained in these two, 
 because these alone combined make a perfect assertive sentence, 
 which none of the rest without them are able to effect. Hence, 
 therefore, Aristotle, in his treatise of Poetry, 1 (where he was to 
 lay down the elements of a more variegated speech,) adds the 
 article and conjunction to the noun and verb, and so adopts the 
 same parts with those established in this treatise. To Aristotle's 
 
 < Vol. i. p. 261. edit. Ser. simplici enuntiativa oratione, quae scilicet 
 
 r De Interpr. c. 2, 3. hujusmodi est, ut junctis tantum verbis et 
 
 8 Partes igitur orationis sunt secundum nominibus componatur. Quare superfluum 
 
 dialecticos duae, nomen et verbum ; quia est quaerere, cur alias quoque, quae videntur 
 
 hse solae etiam per se conjunctae plenam fa- orationis partes, non proposuerit, qui non 
 
 ciunt orationem ; alias autem partes ffvy- totius simpliciter orationis, sed tantum sim- 
 
 jcaTTj7o/>^waTa, hoc est, consignificantia ap- plicis orationis instituit elementa partiri. 
 
 pellabant. Priscian. 1. ii. p. 574. edit. Boetius in Libr. de Interpretat. p. 295. 
 
 Putschii. Existit hie quaedam quaestio, cur Apollonius, from the above principles, ele- 
 
 duo tantum, nomen et verbum, se (Aristo- gantly calls the noun and verb, ra f^vx^- 
 
 teles sc.) determinare promittat, cum plures TOTO jwepr/ rov Atfyov, " the most animated 
 
 partes orationis esse videantur. Quibus hoc parts of speech." De Syntaxi, 1. i. c. 3. 
 
 dicendum est, tantum Aristotelem hoc libro p. 24. See also Plutarch. Quaest. Platon. 
 
 diffinisse, quantum illi ad id, quod institu- p. 1009. 
 
 erat tractare, suffecit. Tractat namque do l Poet, cap. 20. 
 
HERMES. 127 
 
 authority (if indeed better can be required) may be added that 
 also of the elder Stoics." 
 
 The latter Stoics, instead of four parts made five, by dividing 
 the noun into the appellative and proper. Others increased the 
 number, by detaching the pronoun from the noun ; the participle 
 and adverb from the verb ; and the preposition from the con- 
 junction. The Latin grammarians went further, and detached 
 the interjection from the adverb, within which by the Greeks it 
 was always included, as a species. 
 
 We are told indeed by Dionysius of Halicarnassus x and 
 Quintilian, that Aristotle, with Theodectes, and the more early 
 writers, held but three parts of speech, the noun, the verb, and 
 the conjunction. This, it must be owned, accords with the 
 Oriental tongues, whose grammars (we are told y ) admit no 
 other. But as to Aristotle, we have his own authority to assert 
 the contrary, who not only enumerates the four species which 
 we have adopted, but ascertains them each by a proper de- 
 finition. 2 
 
 To conclude : the subject of the following chapters will be a 
 distinct and separate consideration of the noun, the verb, the 
 article, and the conjunction; which four, the better (as we 
 apprehend) to express their respective natures, we choose to call 
 substantives, attributives, definitives, and connectives. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONCERNING SUBSTANTIVES, PROPERLY SO CALLED. 
 
 SUBSTANTIVES are all those principal words which are significant 
 of substances, considered as substances. 
 
 The first sort of substances are the natural, such as animal, 
 vegetable, man, oak. 
 
 There are other substances of our own making. Thus, by 
 giving a figure not natural to natural materials, we create such 
 substances, as house, ship, watch, telescope, &c. 
 
 u For this we have the authority of earn demum scribere coeperunt, quod ante 
 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Struct. Orat. annos contigit circiter quadringentos) He- 
 sect. 2. whom Quintilian follows, Inst. 1. i. brsei, inquam, hac in re secuti sunt magis- 
 c. 4. Diogenes Laertius and Priscian make tros suos Arabes. Immo vero trium clas- 
 them always to have admitted five parts, sium numerum aliae etiam Orientis linguae 
 See Priscian, as before, and Laertius, 1. vii. retinent. Dubium, utrum ea in re Orientales 
 segm. 57. imitati sunt antiques Graecorum, an hi 
 
 x See the places quoted in the note im- potius secuti sunt Orientalium exemplum. 
 
 mediately preceding. Utut est, etiam veteres Graecos tres tantum 
 
 y Antiquissima eorum est opinio, qui tres partes agnovisse, non solum autor est Diony- 
 
 classes faciunt. Estque haec Arabum quoquc sius, &c. Voss. de Analog. 1. i. c. 1. See 
 
 sententia Hebraei quoque (qui, cum Arabes also Sanctii Minerv. 1. i. c. 2. 
 
 grammatical!! scribere dcsincrent, artem z Sup. p. 126, note $. 
 
128 HERMES. 
 
 Again, by a more refined operation of our mind alone, we 
 abstract any attribute from its necessary subject, and consider it 
 apart, devoid of its dependence. For example, from body we 
 abstract to fly ; from surface, the being white ; from soul, the 
 being temperate. 
 
 And thus it is we convert even attributes into substances, 
 denoting them on this occasion by proper substantives, such as 
 flight^ whiteness, temperance ; or else by others more general, 
 such as motion, colour, virtue. These we call abstract substances ; 
 the second sort we call artificial. 
 
 Now all those several substances bave their genus, their 
 species, and their individuals. For example, in natural sub- 
 stances, animal is a genus; man, a species; Alexander, an in- 
 dividual. In artificial substances, edifice is a genus; palace, 
 a species ; the Vatican, an individual. In abstract substances, 
 motion is a genus ; flight, a species ; this flight or that flight are 
 individuals. 
 
 As therefore, every genus may be found wbole and entire in 
 each one of its species, a (for thus man, horse, and dog, are each 
 of them distinctly a complete and entire animal ;) and as every 
 species may be found whole and entire in each one of its indi- 
 viduals, (for thus Socrates, Plato, and Xenophon, are each of 
 them completely and distinctly a man;) hence it is that every 
 genus, though one, is multiplied into many ; and every species, 
 though one, is also multiplied into many, by reference to those 
 beings which are their proper subordinates. Since then no in- 
 dividual has any such subordinates, it can never in strictness be 
 considered as many, and so is truly an individual as well in 
 nature as in name. 
 
 From these principles it is, that words following the nature 
 and genius of things, such substantives admit of number as 
 denote genera or species ; while those which denote individuals, h 
 in strictness admit it not. 
 
 a This is what Plato seems to have ex- called Marcus and many called Antonius ; 
 
 pressed in a manner somewhat mysterious, and thus it is the Romans had their plurals, 
 
 when he talks of fjiiav tSeav Sia TTO\\UV, Marci and Antonii, as we in later days have 
 
 fvbs e/caorov Kcipevov x^P^ ^o-vrt] Stare- our Marks and our Anthonies. Now the 
 
 To/ie'i/Tji', KOI TroAActs, erepas aAA^Awv, plurals of this sort may be well called ac- 
 
 virb fj.ias e|a>0ef Treptexo^ieWs. Sophist, cidental, because it is merely by chance that 
 
 p. 2.53. edit. Serrani. For the common the names coincide. 
 
 definition of genus and species, see the There seems more reason for such plurals, 
 
 Isagoge, or Introduction of Porphyry to as the Ptolemies, Scipios, Catos, or (to in- 
 
 Aristotle's Logic. stance in modern names) the Howards, 
 
 b Yet sometimes individuals have plu- Pelhams, and Montagues ; because a race 
 
 rality or number, from the causes following, or family is like a smaller sort of species ; 
 
 In the first place, the individuals of the so that the family name extends to the 
 
 human race are so large a multitude, even kindred, as the specific name extends to the 
 
 in the smallest nation, that it would be individuals. 
 
 difficult to invent a new name for every A third cause which contributed to make 
 
 new-born individual. Hence then instead proper names become plural, was the high 
 
 of one only being called Marcus, and one character or eminence of some one indi- 
 
 only Antonius, it happens that many are vidual, whose name became afterwards a 
 
HERMES. 129 
 
 Besides number, another characteristic, visible in substances, 
 is that of sex. Every substance is either male or female ; or 
 both male and female ; or neither one nor the other. So that 
 with respect to sexes and their negation, all substances con- 
 ceivable are comprehended under this fourfold consideration. 
 
 Now the existence of Hermaphrodites being rare, if not 
 doubtful ; hence language, only regarding those distinctions 
 which are more obvious, considers words denoting substances to 
 be either masculine, feminine, or neuter. c 
 
 As to our own species, and all those animal species which 
 have reference to common life, or of which the male and the 
 female, by their size, form, colour, &c. are eminently distin- 
 guished, most languages have different substantives to denote 
 the male and the female. But as to those animal species which 
 either less frequently occur, or of which one sex is less apparently 
 distinguished from the other, in these a single substantive com- 
 monly serves for both sexes. 
 
 In the English tongue it seems a general rule, d (except only 
 when infringed by a figure of speech,) that no substantive is 
 masculine, but what denotes a male animal substance ; none 
 feminine, but what denotes a female animal substance ; and 
 that where the substance has no sex, the substantive is always 
 neuter. 
 
 But it is not so in Greek, Latin, and many of the modern 
 tongues. These all of them have words, some masculine, some 
 feminine, (and those, too, in great multitudes,) which have re- 
 ference to substances where sex never had existence. To give 
 one instance for many. Mind is surely neither male nor female, 
 yet is z>ou9, in Greek, masculine, and mens, in Latin, feminine. 
 
 In some words, these distinctions seem owing to nothing else 
 than to the mere casual structure of the word itself: it is of 
 such a gender, from having such a termination, or from belonging 
 perhaps to such a declension. In others w r e may imagine a 
 a more subtle kind of reasoning, a reasoning which discerns, 
 
 kind of common appellative, to denote all c After this manner they are distin- 
 
 those who had pretensions to merit in the guished by Aristotle : Twv ovo^ndruv ra 
 
 same way. Thus every great critic was p.ev &pf>sva, ra. Se 697X60, ra Se fj.erav. 
 
 called an Aristarchus ; every great warrior, Poet. cap. 21. Protagoras, before him, had 
 
 an Alexander ; every great beauty, a Helen, established the same distinction, calling 
 
 &c. them o^efo, 0i?A.fa, Kal (TKevt]. Aristot. 
 
 A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel, Rhet. 1. iii. c. 5. Where mark what were 
 
 cries Shylock in the play, when he would afterwards called ouSerepa, or w neuters," 
 
 express the wisdom of the young lawyer. were by these called TO /j.erau Kal ffKevij. 
 
 So Martial in that well known verse, d Nam quicquid per naturam sexui non 
 
 Sint Macenates, non deerunt, Flacce, Ma- adsignatur. ueutrum haberi oporteret, sed 
 
 rones. id ars, &c. Consent, apud Putsch, p. 2023, 
 
 So Lucilius, 2024. 
 
 A.iyl\iiroi monies, JEtnas omnes, aspcri The whole passage, from Genera homi- 
 
 Atkones. num, quae naturalia sunt, &c. is worth 
 
 jroffoiQafOovres,?) AevKa\l<av(S. Lucian. in perusing. 
 Timon. vol. i. p. 108. 
 
 K 
 
130 HERMES. 
 
 even in things without sex, a distant analogy to that great na- 
 tural distinction, which (according to Milton) animates the 
 world. 6 
 
 In this view, we may conceive such substantives to have been 
 considered as masculine, which were " conspicuous for the at- 
 tributes of imparting or communicating ; or which were by na- 
 ture active, strong, and efficacious, and that indiscriminately, 
 whether to good or to ill; or which had claim to eminence, 
 either laudable or otherwise." 
 
 The feminine, on the contrary, were "such as were conspicuous 
 for the attributes either of receiving, of containing, or of pro- 
 ducing and bringing forth ; or which had more of the passive in 
 their nature than of the active ; or which were peculiarly beau- 
 tiful and amiable ; or which had respect to such excesses as 
 were rather feminine than masculine." 
 
 Upon these principles the two greater luminaries were con- 
 sidered, one as masculine, the other as feminine ; the sun ("H"A,i09, 
 " Sol ") as masculine, from communicating light, which was na- 
 tive and original, as well as from the vigorous warmth and effi- 
 cacy of his rays ; the moon (^eX^vT;, " Luna ") as feminine, from 
 being the receptacle only of another's light, and from shining 
 with rays more delicate and soft. 
 
 Thus Milton : 
 
 First in Ms east the glorious lamp was seen, 
 
 Regent of day, and all th' horizon round 
 
 Invested with bright rays ; jocund to run 
 
 His longitude thro' heav'n's high road : the gray 
 
 Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danc'd, 
 
 Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the moon 
 
 But opposite, in levell'd west was set, 
 
 His mirror, with full face borrowing Tier light 
 
 From him ; for other light she needed none. Par. Lost, vii. 370. 
 
 By Virgil they were considered as brother and sister, which 
 still preserves the same distinction : 
 
 Necfratris radiis obnoxia surgere luna. Georg. i. 396. 
 
 The sky or ether is in Greek and Latin masculine, as being 
 the source of those showers which impregnate the earth. The 
 earth, on the contrary, is universally feminine, from being the 
 grand receiver, the grand container, but above all from being 
 the mother (either mediately or immediately) of every sublunary 
 substance, whether animal or vegetable/ 
 
 Thus Virgil : 
 
 Turn Pater omnipotens faecundis imbribus cether 
 
 Conjugis in gremium laetce descendit, et omnes 
 
 Magnus alit magno commixtus corpore foetus. Georg. ii. 325. 
 
 e Mr. Linnaeus, the celebrated botanist, it the basis of his botanic method, 
 has traced the distinction of sexes through- f Senecre Nat. Qusest. iii. 14. 
 out the whole vegetable world, and made 
 
HERMES. 131 
 
 Thus Shakspeare : 
 
 Common mother^ thou 
 
 Whose womb immeasurable, and infinite breast 
 Teems and feeds all. Tim. of Athens. 
 
 So Milton : 
 
 Whatever earth, all-bearing motlter, yields. Par. Lost. b. v. 
 
 So Virgil : 
 
 Non jam mater alit Tellus, viresque ministrat. h JEn. xi. 71. 
 
 Among artificial substances, the ship (vavs, "navis") is feminine, 
 as being so eminently a receiver and container of various things, 
 of men, arms, provisions, goods, &c. Hence sailors, speaking of 
 their vessel, say always, "she rides at anchor," "she is under 
 sail." 
 
 A city (-TToXts, "civitas") and a country (TraT/n?, "patria") 
 are feminine also, by being (like the ship) containers and re- 
 ceivers; and further by being, as it were, the mothers and nurses 
 of their respective inhabitants. 
 
 Thus Virgil : 
 
 Salve, magna parens frugum, Saturnia Tellus, 
 
 Magna virum. Georg. ii. 173. 
 
 So, in that heroic epigram on those brave Greeks who fell at 
 Chaeronea : 
 
 Taia, Se irdrpis %X fl f 
 
 " Their parent country in her bosom holds 
 Their wearied bodies."* 
 
 So Milton : 
 
 The city, which thou seest, no other deem 
 
 Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the earth. Par. Reg. b. iv. 
 
 As to the ocean, though from its being the receiver of all rivers, 
 as well as the container and productress of so many vegetables 
 and animals, it might justly have been made (like the earth) 
 feminine ; yet its deep voice and boisterous nature have, in spite 
 of these reasons, prevailed to make it male. Indeed, the very 
 sound of Homer's 
 
 would suggest to a hearer, even ignorant of its meaning, that 
 the subject was incompatible with female delicacy and softness. 
 Time, (%/3ovo?,) from his mighty efficacy upon every thing 
 around us, is by the Greeks and English justly considered as 
 masculine. Thus in that elegant distich, spoken by a decrepit 
 old man : 
 
 k 'O yap xpdvos /^ e/ca/r-J/e, TCKTWV ov ffofpbs^ 
 " Pi.ira.vTa. 5' epya6/j.vos 
 
 B IlajU^TOp yrj x"P e ' Graec. Anth. p. 281. pevovfft. Arist de Gener. Anim. i. c. 2. 
 h Aib /cat eV T$ o\ca T^V yrjs tyvffiv, &s ' Demost. in Orat. de Corona. 
 
 k 'fl XpoVe, ira.vroi<av Qvt]ruiv iraveiri- 
 
 Kal f)\iov, KOI el ri rS>v &\\(av TUV TOLOII- ffKoire AcufJ.ov. Groec. Anth. p. 290. 
 TOW, ws yevdaVTas Kal Trarepas -rrpoffayo- J Stob. Eel. p. 591. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 HEKMES. 
 
 *' Me time hath bent, that sorry artist, Tie 
 
 That surely makes, whatever he handles, worse." 
 
 So, too, Shakspeare, speaking likewise of time : 
 
 ORL. Whom doth Tie gallop withal ? 
 
 Ros. With a thief to the gallows. As you like it. 
 
 The Greek Odvaros or al'S???, and the English death, seem, from 
 the same irresistible power, to have been considered as masculine. 
 Even the vulgar with us are so accustomed to this notion, that 
 a female death they would treat as ridiculous." 1 
 
 Take a few examples of the masculine death. 
 
 Callimachus, upon the elegies of his friend Heraclitus : 
 
 At 8e real Q&ovffiv amoves yffii/ 6 iravruv 
 ' ApTraKT-rjp atS-rjs OVK eirl x*?P a ^ciAe?. 
 
 " Yet thy sweet warbling strains 
 Still live immortal, nor on them shall death 
 His hand e'er lay, tho' ravager of all." 
 
 In the Alcestis of Euripides, @avaro9, or "Death," is one of the 
 persons of the drama : the beginning of the play is made up of 
 dialogue between him and Apollo ; and toward its end there is 
 a fight between him and Hercules, in which Hercules is con- 
 queror, and rescues Alcestis from his hands. 
 
 It is well known, too, that sleep and death are made brothers 
 by Homer. It was to this old Gorgias elegantly alluded, when, 
 at the extremity of a long life, he lay slumbering on his death- 
 bed. A friend asked him, " How he did 2" " Sleep (replied the old 
 man) is just upon delivering me over to the care of his brother"* 
 
 Thus Shakspeare, speaking of life : 
 
 Merely thou art Death's fool ; 
 For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, 
 And yet run'st towards him still. Meas. for Meas. 
 
 So Milton : 
 
 Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; Despair 
 
 Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch : 
 
 And over them triumphant Death his dart 
 
 Shook ; but delay'd to strike. Par. Lost, xi. 489. 
 
 The Supreme Being (God, 6eo9, Dens, Dieu, &c.) is in all 
 languages masculine, inasmuch as the masculine sex is the supe- 
 rior and more excellent ; and as he is the Creator of all, the 
 Father of gods and men. Sometimes, indeed, we meet with 
 such words as To Up&rov, To Qelov, Nit/men, Deity, (which 
 last we English join to a neuter, saying Deity itself;) sometimes, 
 
 m Well, therefore, did Milton, in his n "HS?; /j.e 6 VTTVOS apx^rai TrapaKarari- 
 
 Paradise Lost, not only adopt death as a 6e<r6at r 'A5eA<<. Stob. Eel. p. 600. 
 
 person, but consider him as masculine : in Suppose in any one of these examples 
 
 which he was so far from introducing a we introduce a female death ; suppose we 
 
 phantom of his own, or from giving it a read, 
 
 gender not supported by custom, that per- And over them triumphant Death her dart 
 
 haps he had as much the sanction of na- Shook, &c. 
 
 tional opinion for his masculine death, as What a falling off ! How are the nerves 
 the ancient poets had for many of their and strength of the whole sentiment weak- 
 deities, ened ! 
 
HERMES. 133 
 
 I say, we meet with these neuters. The reason in these in- 
 stances seems to be, that as God is prior to all things, both in 
 dignity and in time, this priority is better characterized and 
 expressed by a negation, than by any of those distinctions which 
 are co-ordinate with some opposite; as male, for example, is 
 co-ordinate with female, right with left, &c. &c. p 
 
 Virtue (aperr), virtus) as well as most of its species, are all 
 feminine, perhaps from their beauty and amiable appearance, 
 which are not without effect even upon the most reprobate and 
 corrupt. 
 
 Abash'd the devil stood, 
 And felt how awful goodness is, and saw 
 Virtue in her shape how lovely ; saw, and pin'd 
 His loss. Par. Lost, iv. 846. 
 
 This being allowed, vice (tca/cla) becomes feminine of course, 
 as being, in the (rv<rTot,%ia 9 or " co-ordination of things," virtue^s 
 natural opposite. q 
 
 The fancies, caprices, and fickle changes of fortune would 
 appear but awkwardly under a character that was male : but 
 taken together, they make a very natural female ; which has no 
 small resemblance to the coquette of a modern comedy, bestow- 
 ing, withdrawing, and shifting her favours, as different beaus 
 succeed to her good graces. 
 
 Transmutat incertos honores, 
 
 Nunc mihi, mine alii benigna. Hor. 
 
 Why the furies were made female is not so easy to explain, 
 unless it be that female passions of all kinds were considered as 
 susceptible of greater excess than male passions, and that the 
 furies were to be represented as things superlatively outrageous. 
 
 Talibus Alecto dictis exarsit in iras. 
 
 At Juveni oranti subitus tremor occupat artus : 
 
 Diriguere oculi : tot Erinnys sibilat Hydris, 
 
 Tantaque se facies aperit : turn flammea torquens 
 
 Lumina cunctantem et quserentem dicere plura 
 
 Repulit, et geminos erexit crinibus angues, 
 
 Verberaque insonuit, rabidoque hsec addidit ore : 
 
 E-n ! Ego victa situ, &c. JEu. vii. 455. r 
 
 P Thus Ammonius, speaking on the same Immo vero cum Deuni masculine genere 
 
 subject : To TrpSjrov \yo/j.ev 9 e< 5 < fj.^ Se appellamus, ita ipsum nominamus, genus 
 
 TWV Sia fj.v6o\oytas Trapa56vT<i>v rjfuv Tas praestantius submisso atque humili prasfe- 
 
 6(o\oyias ^rJA/^Tjo'e Tis ^ appevca-rrbu, 3) rentes. Ammon. in lib. de Interpr. p. 30. 
 
 0uA7j7rpe;r77 (lege 6r}\vTrpeirrj) Stafj.6p(f)Ci}cnv B. Ou yap evavriov TO> Updrtp ouSeV. 
 
 <t>fptiv Kal rovro et/edVcw T< yuei/ yap ap- Aristot. Metaph. A. p. 210. Sylb. 
 pevi TO 0f)Aw crixTroiKov TO (lege T^) 8e 1 They are both represented as females 
 
 Trai/T??, ocTrAcos alrito (TIHTTOIXOV ovSev a\\a by Xenophon, in the celebrated story of 
 
 KOI oVai/ apfffviKtas rbv 0ebi/ ovofji.do(ji.ev, Hercules, taken from Prodicus. See Me- 
 
 [irpbs] TO aefj,v6rfpov TUP yeva>v rov v<pi- morab. 1. ii. c. 1. As to the o"uo"Tot^ia 
 
 /ueVou TTpoTtytaJi/Tes, o'6r(i)s avrbv irpoffayo- here mentioned, thus Varro : Pythagoras 
 
 pfvo^fv. Primum dicimus, quod nemo Samius ait omnium rerum initia esse bina : 
 
 etiam eorum, qui theologiam nobis fabu- ut finitum et infinitum, bonum et malum, 
 
 larum integumentis obvolutam tradiderunt, vitam et mortem, diem et noctem. De 
 
 vel maris vel foeminas specie fingere ausus Ling. Lat. 1. iv. See also Arist. Metaph. 
 
 est : idque merito : conjugatum cnim mari 1. i. c. 5, and Ecclesiasticus, chap. Ixii. 
 
 fcemininum cst. Causre autem omnino ab- vcr. 24. 
 solutoe ac simplici nihil cst conjugatum. r The words above mentioned, time, death. 
 
134- 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 He that would see more on this subject, may consult Amino- 
 nius the Peripatetic, in his Commentary on the treatise De 
 Interpretation^ where the subject is treated at large with 
 respect to the Greek tongue. We shall only observe, that as 
 all such speculations are at best but conjectures, they should 
 therefore be received with candour, rather than scrutinized with 
 rigour. V arrows words, on a subject near akin, are for their 
 aptness and elegance well worth attending. Non mediocres 
 enim tenebree in silva, ubi hsec captanda ; neque eo, quo per- 
 venire volumus, semitaa tritse ; neque non in tramitibus qusedam 
 objecta, quae euntem retinere possunt. 5 
 
 To conclude this chapter. We may collect from what has 
 been said, that both number and gender appertain to words, 
 because, in the first place, they appertain to things ; that is to 
 say, because substances are many, and have either sex or no 
 sex; therefore substantives have number, and are masculine, 
 feminine, or neuter. There is, however, this difference between 
 the two attributes : number in strictness descends no lower than 
 to the last rank of species : * gender, on the contrary, stops not 
 
 fortune, virtue, &c. in Greek, Latin, French, 
 and most modern languages, though they 
 are diversified with genders in the manner 
 described, yet never vary the gender which 
 they have once acquired, except in a few 
 instances where the gender is doubtful. 
 We cannot say ?/ aper^ or 6 aper^/, " haec vir- 
 tus," or " hie virtus," "la vertu," or "le ver- 
 tu," and so of the rest. But it is otherwise in 
 English. We in our own language say, 
 Virtue is its own reward, or Virtue is her 
 own reward ; Time maintains its wonted 
 pace, or Time maintains his wonted pace. 
 
 There is a singular advantage in this 
 liberty, as it enables us to mark, with 
 a peculiar force, the distinction between 
 the severe or logical style, and the orna- 
 mental or rhetorical. For thus, when we 
 speak of the above words, and of all others 
 naturally devoid of sex, as neuters, we 
 speak of them as they are, and as becomes a 
 logical inquiry. When we give them sex, 
 by making them masculine or feminine, 
 they are from thenceforth personified ; are 
 a kind of intelligent beings, and become, as 
 such, the proper ornaments either of rhe- 
 toric or of poetry. 
 
 Thus Milton : 
 
 The thunder, 
 
 Winged with red lightening and impetuous rage, 
 Perhaps hath spent his shafts. 
 
 Par. Lost, i. 174. 
 
 The poet, having just before called the 
 hail and thunder, " God's ministers of ven- 
 geance," and so personified them, had he 
 afterwards said its shafts for his shafts, 
 would have destroyed his own image, and 
 
 approached withal so much nearer to 
 prose. 
 
 The folio wingpassage i s from the same poem : 
 Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
 His red right hand. Par. Lost, ii. 174. 
 
 In this place his hand is clearly prefer- 
 able either to her^s or ifs, by immediately 
 referring us to God himself, the avenger. 
 
 I shall only give one instance more, and 
 quit this subject. 
 
 At his command th" 1 up-rooted hills retired 
 Each to liisplace : tliey heard his voice and went 
 Obsequious: heav'n his wonted face renewed, 
 And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiVd. 
 Par. Lost, b. vi. 
 
 See also ver. 54, 55, of the same book. 
 
 Here all things are personified ; the hills 
 hear, the valleys smile, and the face of 
 heaven is renewed. Suppose, then, the 
 poet had been necessitated by the laws of 
 his language to have said, Each hill re- 
 tir'd to its place, Heaven renewed its tuonted 
 face ; how prosaic and lifeless would these 
 neuters have appeared ; how detrimental to 
 the prosopopeia which he was aiming to es- 
 tablish ! In this, therefore, he was happy, 
 that the language in which he wrote imposed 
 no such necessity ; and he was too wise a 
 writer to impose it on himself. It were to 
 be wished his correctors had been as wise 
 on their parts. 
 
 8 De Ling. Lat. 1. iv. 
 
 1 The reason why number goes no lower 
 is, that it does not naturally appertain to 
 individuals ; the cause of which see before, 
 p. 128. 
 
HEKMES. 135 
 
 here, but descends to every individual, however diversified. 
 And so much for substantives, properly so called. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONCERNING SUBSTANTIVES OF THE SECONDARY ORDER. 
 
 WE are now to proceed to a secondary race of substantives, a 
 race quite different from any already mentioned, and whose 
 nature may be explained in the following manner. 
 
 Every object which presents itself to the senses or the intel- 
 lect, is either then perceived for the first time, or else is re- 
 cognized as having been perceived before. In the former case it 
 is called an object, T??9 TT/JWTT;? 71/0)0-60)9, "of the first knowledge," 
 or acquaintance ; u in the latter it is called an object, 7779 Sevrepas 
 7/o)o-eo)9, " of the second knowledge, 11 or acquaintance. 
 
 Now as all conversation passes between particulars or indi- 
 viduals, these will often happen to be reciprocally objects rrjs 
 7r/:>o)T?79 71/0)0-60)?, that is to say, " till that instant unacquainted 
 with each other." What then is to be done I How shall the 
 speaker address the other, when he knows not his name? or 
 how explain himself by his own name, of which the other is 
 wholly ignorant \ Nouns, as they have been described, cannot 
 answer the purpose. The first expedient upon this occasion 
 seems to have been Jetft9, that is, "pointing, or indication by 
 the finger or hand," some traces of which are still to be ob- 
 served, as a part of that action which naturally attends our 
 speaking. But the authors of language were not content with 
 this. They invented a race of words to supply this pointing ; 
 which words, as they always stood for substantives or nouns, 
 were characterized by the name of avrtavvfAiai,, or " pronouns." v 
 These, also, they distinguished by three several sorts, calling 
 them pronouns of the first, the second, and the third person, 
 with a view to certain distinctions, which may be explained as 
 follows. 
 
 Suppose the parties conversing to be wholly unacquainted, 
 neither name nor countenance on either side known, and the 
 
 u See Apoll. de Syntax!, 1. i. c. 16. p. Synt. 1. ii. c. 5. p. 106. Priscian seems to 
 
 49; 1. ii. c. 3. p. 103. Thus Priscian: consider them so peculiarly destined to the 
 
 Interest autem inter demonstrationem et expression of individuals, that he does not 
 
 relationem hoc ; quod demonstrate, inter- say they supply the place of any noun, 
 
 rogation! reddita, primam cognitionem os- but that of the proper name only. And 
 
 tendit ; qnis facit ? Ego : relatio vero se- this jmdoubtedly was their original, and 
 
 cundum cognitionem significat, ut, /s, de still is their true and natural use. Pro- 
 
 quo jam dixit. Lib. xii. p. 936. edit, nomen est pars orationis, qua3 pro nomine 
 
 Putschii. proprio uniuscuj usque accipitur. Prise. 1. 
 
 v 'Eweii/o ovv a.VT<4>vvfj.ia, r2> yuera 8eTea>s xii. See also Apoll. 1. ii. c. 9. p. 117, 118. 
 ?/ avatyopas avroi'o^ua^b/ieVoj' Apoll. de 
 
136 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 subject of the conversation to be the speaker himself. Here, to 
 supply the place of pointing by a word of equal power, they 
 furnished the speaker with the pronoun /. / write, I say, I 
 desire, See. : and as the speaker is always principal with respect 
 to his own discourse, this they called, for that reason, the pro- 
 noun of the first person. 
 
 Again, suppose the subject of the conversation to be the party 
 addressed. Here, for similar reasons, they invented the pronoun 
 thou. Thou writest, thou walJcest, &c. : and as the party ad- 
 dressed is next in dignity to the speaker, or at least comes next 
 with reference to the discourse, this pronoun they therefore 
 called the pronoun of the second person. 
 
 Lastly, suppose the subject of conversation neither the speaker 
 nor the party addressed, but some third object, different from 
 both. Here they provided another pronoun. He, she, or it; 
 which, in distinction to the two former, was called the pronoun 
 of the third person. 
 
 And thus it was that pronouns came to be distinguished by 
 their respective persons. w 
 
 As to number, the pronoun of each person has it : / has the 
 plural we, because there may be many speakers at once of the 
 same sentiment; as well as one, who, including himself, speaks 
 the sentiment of many. Thou has the plural you, because a 
 
 w The description of the different persons 
 here given is taken from Priscian, who 
 took it from Apollonius. Personae prono- 
 minum sunt tres ; prima, secunda, tertia. 
 Prima est, cum ipsa, quae loquitur, de se 
 pronuntiat ; secunda, cum de ea pronunciat, 
 ad quam directo sermone loquitur ; tertia, 
 cum de ea, quae nee loquitur, nee ad se 
 directum accipit sermonem. L. xii. p. 940. 
 Theodore Gaza gives the same distinctions. 
 TIpu>Tov (Trpofftoirov sc.) cj> irfpl eavrov <f>pd- 
 et 6 XfytaV Sevrfpov, o> Trept TOU, Trpbs 
 6v 6 \6yos' Tpirov, y irepl erepov. Gaz. 
 Gram. 1. iv. p. 152. 
 
 This account of persons is far preferable 
 to the common one, which makes the first 
 the speaker, the second the party addressed, 
 and the third the subject. For though the 
 first and second be as commonly described, 
 one the speaker, the other the party ad- 
 dressed ; yet till they become subjects of 
 the discourse they have no existence. Again, 
 as to the third person's being the subject, 
 this is a character which it shares in com- 
 mon with both the other persons, and which 
 can never, therefore, be called a peculiarity 
 of its own. To explain by an instaace or 
 two. When jEneas begins the narrative of 
 his adventures, the second person imme- 
 diately appears, because he makes Dido, 
 whom he addresses, the immediate subject 
 of his discourse. 
 
 Infandum, regina, jubes, renovare do- 
 
 lorem. 
 
 From henceforward, for fifteen hundred 
 verses, (though she be all that time the party 
 addressed,) we hear nothing further of this 
 second person, a variety of other subjects 
 filling up the narrative. 
 
 In the mean time, the first person may 
 be seen everywhere, because the speaker 
 everywhere is himself the subject. They 
 were indeed events, as he says himself, 
 
 Quceque ipse miserrima vidi, 
 Et quorum pars magnafui. 
 Not that the second person does not often 
 occur in the course of this narrative ; but 
 then it is always by a figure of speech, 
 when those, who by their absence are in 
 fact so many third persons, are converted 
 into second persons by being introduced as 
 present. The real second person (Dido) is 
 never once hinted. 
 
 Thus far as to Virgil. But when we 
 read Ehiclid, we find neither first person nor 
 second in any part of the whole work. The 
 reason is, that neither speaker nor party 
 addressed (in which light we may always 
 view the writer and his reader) can possibly 
 become the subject of pure mathematics, 
 nor indeed can any thing else, except ab- 
 stract quantity, which neither speaks itself, 
 nor is spoken to by another. 
 
HERMES. 137 
 
 speech may be spoken to many, as well as to one. He has the 
 plural they, because the subject of discourse is often many 
 at once. 
 
 But though all these pronouns have number, it does not 
 appear either in Greek, or Latin, or any modern language, that 
 those of the first and second person carry the distinctions of sex. 
 The reason seems to be, that the speaker and hearer being 
 generally present to each other, it would have been superfluous 
 to have marked a distinction by art, which from nature and 
 even dress was commonly apparent on both sides. x But this 
 does not hold with respect to the third person, of whose cha- 
 racter and distinctions (including sex among the rest) we often 
 know no more than what we learn from the discourse. And 
 hence it is that in most languages the third person has its 
 genders, and that even English (which allows its adjectives no 
 genders at all) has in this pronoun the triple distinction of he, 
 she, and it. y 
 
 Hence, too, we see the reason why a single pronoun to each 
 person, 52 an / to the first, and a thou to the second, are abun- 
 dantly sufficient to all the purposes of speech. But it is not so 
 with respect to the third person. The various relations of the 
 various objects exhibited by this (I mean relations of near and 
 distant, present and absent, same and different, definite and 
 indefinite, &c.) made it necessary that here there should not be 
 one, but many pronouns, such as he, this, that, other, any, 
 some, &c. 
 
 It must be confessed, indeed, that all these words do not 
 always appear as pronouns. When they stand by themselves, 
 and represent some noun, (as when we say, This is virtue, or 
 SeifcriKws, " give me that") then are they pronouns. But when 
 they are associated to some noun, (as when we say, this habit 
 is virtue ; or S(,KTIKWS, " that man defrauded me,") then as they 
 supply not the place of a noun, but only serve to ascertain one, 
 
 x Demonstratio ipsa secum genus osten- biguous sentence, he caused him to destroy 
 
 dit. Priscian. 1. xii. p. 942. See Apoll. him, we are told, with the proper distinc- 
 
 de Syntax. 1. ii. c. 7. p. 1 09. tions, that she caused him to destroy it. 
 
 y The utility of this distinction may be Then we know with certainty what before 
 
 better found in supposing it away. Sup- we could not: that the promoter was the 
 
 pose, for example, we should read in history woman ; that her instrument was the hero ; 
 
 these words: "He caused him to destroy and that the subject of their cruelty was 
 
 him," and that we were to be informed the the unfortunate city. 
 
 lie, which is here thrice repeated, stood each z Quaeritur tamen cur prima quidem per- 
 
 time for something different ; that is to say, sona et secunda singula pronomina habeant, 
 
 for a man, for a woman, and for a city, tertiam vero sex diversas indicent voces? 
 
 whose names were Alexander, Thais, and Ad quod respondendum est, quod prima 
 
 Persepolis. Taking the pronoun in this quidem et secunda persona ideo non egent 
 
 manner, divested of its genders, how would diversis vocibus, quod semper praesentes 
 
 it appear which was destroyed, which was inter se sunt, et demonstrativae ; tertia vero 
 
 the destroyer, and which the cause that persona modo demon strati va est, ut, hie, 
 
 moved to the destruction ? But there are iste ; modo relativa, ut, is, ipse, &c. Pris- 
 
 not such doubts, when we hear the genders cian. 1. xii. p. 933. 
 distinguished ; when, instead of the am- 
 
138 HERMES. 
 
 they fall rather into the species of definitives or articles. That 
 there is, indeed, a near relation between pronouns and articles, 
 the old grammarians have all acknowledged, and some words it 
 has been doubtful to which class to refer. The best rule to 
 distinguish them is this : the genuine pronoun always stands by 
 itself, assuming the power of a noun, and supplying its place ; 
 the genuine article never stands by itself, but appears at all 
 times associated to something else, requiring a noun for its 
 support, as much as attributives or adjectives/ 
 
 As to the coalescence of these pronouns, it is as follows. The 
 first or second will, either of them, by themselves, coalesce with 
 the third, but not with each other. For example, it is good 
 sense, as well as good grammar, to say in any language, / am 
 he, Thou art he ; but we cannot say, / am thou, nor Thou art I. 
 The reason is, there is no absurdity for the speaker to be the 
 subject also of the discourse, as when we say, / am he ; or for 
 the person addressed, as when we say, Thou art he. But for 
 the same person, in the same circumstances, to be at once the 
 speaker and the party addressed, this is impossible ; and so, 
 therefore, is the coalescence of the first and second person. 
 
 And now, perhaps, we have seen enough of pronouns, to per- 
 ceive how they differ from other substantives. The others are 
 primary, these are their substitutes ; a kind of secondary race, 
 which were taken in aid, when, for reasons already mentioned, b 
 
 a T2> &p9pov fj,Ta ov(fyiaTov, KO.\ TJ avrw- merantes, finitos ea articulos appellabant ; 
 
 O.VT' 6v6fj.a,TOs : " the article stands ipsos autem articulos, quibus nos caremus, 
 
 with a noun, but the pronoun stands for a infinites articulos dicebant. Vel, ut alii 
 
 noun." Apol. 1. i. c. 3. p. 22. Aura ovv dicunt, articulos connumerabant pronorni- 
 
 TO &p0pa, rrjs -rrpbs ra 6v6fj.ara <rvvapT-f)- nibus, et articularia eos pronomina voca- 
 
 ffeus airoffTavTa, els T^V viroTeray/ji.fj'Tiv bant, &c. Pris. 1. i. p. 574. Varro, speak- 
 
 oj'TWj'Uyutaj' /ieTOTTtTTTer: "now articles them- ing of quisque and hie, calls them both 
 
 selves, when they quit their connexion articles, the first indefinite, the second 
 
 with nouns, pass into such pronoun as is definite. De Ling. Lat. 1. vii. See also 1. 
 
 proper upon the occasion." Ibid. Again, ix. p. 132. Vossius, indeed, in his Ana- 
 
 "Orav rb &p6pov /*)) //.er* ov6p.a.Tos irapa- logia, (1. i. c. 1.) opposes this doctrine, 
 
 \a/ji.pdvr)Tcu, iroi^ff^rai 5e avvro^iv bv6- because hie has not the same power with 
 
 fj.ci.Tos *i\v 7rpoeKT60ei/<te0a, e/c irdffi}s avdyicris the Greek article, 6. But he did not enough 
 
 els avTwvvfjilav /ieTaA77<^)0^o'Taj, efye ou/c attend to the ancient writers on this subject, 
 
 eyyiv6fjievov juer' 6v6fj.ct.Tos Svvd/j.ei avrl who considered all words as articles, which 
 
 ov6fj.a.Tos Trape\-/)(pd-r] : " when the article is being associated to nouns (and not stand- 
 
 assumed without the noun, and has (as we ing in their place) served in any manner 
 
 explained before) the same syntax which to ascertain and determine their significa- 
 
 the noun has, it must of absolute necessity tion. 
 
 be admitted for a pronoun, because it ap- b See these reasons at the beginning of 
 
 pears without a noun, and yet is in power this chapter, of which reasons the principal 
 
 assumed for one." Ejusd. 1. ii. c. 8. p. ] 13 ; one is, that "no noun, properly so called, 
 
 1. i. c. 45. p. 96. Inter pronomina et arti- implies its own presence. It is therefore to 
 
 culos hoc interest, quod pronomina ea pu- ascertain such presence, that the pronoun is 
 
 tantur, quae, cum sola sint, vicem nominis taken in aid ; and hence it is it becomes 
 
 complent, ut quis, ille, iste : articuli vero equivalent to Sethis, that is, to pointing or 
 
 cum pronominibus, aut nominibus, aut indication by the finger." It is worth re- 
 
 participiis adjunguntur. Donat. Gram. p. marking in that verse of Persius, 
 1 753. Sed pulchrum est diyito monstrari, et dicier, 
 
 Priscian, speaking of the Stoics, says as hie est, 
 
 follows: Articulis autem pronomina connu- how the 8e?ts and the pronoun are intro- 
 
HERMES. 139 
 
 the others could not be used. It is, moreover, by means of these, 
 and of articles, which are nearly allied to them, that " language, 
 though in itself only significant of general ideas, is brought down 
 to denote that infinitude of particulars which are for ever 
 arising, and ceasing to be." But more of this hereafter, in a 
 proper place. 
 
 As to the three orders of pronouns already mentioned, they 
 may be called prepositive, as may, indeed, all substantives, be- 
 cause they are capable of introducing or leading a sentence, 
 without having reference to any thing previous. But besides 
 those there is another pronoun, (in Greek 09, 6'<TTt<r c in Latin, 
 Qui ; in English, Who, Which, That,) a pronoun having a 
 character peculiar to itself, the nature of which may be ex- 
 plained as follows. 
 
 Suppose I was to say, " Light is a body, Light moves with great 
 celerity." These would apparently be two distinct sentences. 
 Suppose, instead of the second light, I were to place the preposi- 
 tive pronoun it, and say, Light is a body ; it moves with great 
 celerity ; the sentences would still be distinct and two. But if 
 I add a connective, (as for example an and,) saying, Light is a 
 body, and it moves with great celerity ; I then by connexion 
 make the two into one, as by cementing many stones I make 
 one wall. 
 
 Now it is in the united powers of a connective and another 
 pronoun, that we may see the force and character of the pronoun 
 here treated. Thus, therefore, if in the place of and it, we sub- 
 stitute that, or which, saying Light is a body, which moves with 
 great celerity ; the sentence still retains its unity and perfection, 
 and becomes if possible more compact than before. We may, 
 with just reason, therefore, call this pronoun the subjunctive, be- 
 cause it cannot (like the prepositive) introduce an original sen- 
 
 duced together, and made to cooperate to c The Greeks, it must be confessed, call 
 the same end. this pronoun VTTOTO/CTJ/C&J' &p6pov, " the sub- 
 Sometimes, by virtue of 5eTts, the pro- junctive article." Yet, as it should seem, 
 noun of the third person stands for the this is but an improper appellation. Apol- 
 first. lonius, when he compares it to the irporaK- 
 Quod si miliLibus parces, erit hie quoque riitbv, or true " prepositive article," not only 
 Miles. confesses it to differ, as being expressed by 
 That is, " I also will be a soldier." a different word, and having a different 
 Tibul. 1. ii. el. 6. v. 7. See Vulpius. place in every sentence ; but in syntax, he 
 It may be observed, too, that even in adds, it is wholly different. De Syntax, 1. i. 
 epistolary correspondence, and indeed in c. 43. p. 91. Theodore Gaza acknowledges 
 all kinds of writing, where the pronouns 7 the same, and therefore adds, '60ev d)) /ecu 
 and you make their appearance, there is a ov Kvpiws %.v cly &p6pov ravri : " for these 
 sort of implied presence, which they are reasons this (meaning the subjunctive) can- 
 supposed to indicate, though the parties are, not properly be an article." And just before 
 in fact, at ever so great a distance. And he says, Kvpicas yc p.^v &p6pov rb irporaK- 
 hence the rise of that distinction in Apol- TM&V : " however, properly speaking, it is 
 lonius, r&y (JLCV rSiv fyecav tlvat et|ejs, the prepositive is the article." Gram. 
 TO.S 5e rov vov, " that some indications are Introd. 1. iv. The Latins, therefore, have 
 ocular, and some are mental." De Syntaxi, undoubtedly done better in ranging it with 
 1. ii. c. 3. p. 104. the pronouns. 
 
140 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 tence, but only serves to subjoin one to some other which is 
 previous. d 
 
 The application of this subjunctive, like the other pronouns, 
 is universal. It may be the substitute of all kinds of substan- 
 tives, natural, artificial, or abstract ; as well as general, special, 
 or particular. We may say, the animal, which, &c.; the man, 
 whom, &c.; the ship, which, &c.; Alexander, who, &c.; Bu- 
 cephalus, that, &c. ; virtue, which, &c. &c. 
 
 Nay, it may even be the substitute of all the other pronouns, 
 and is of course, therefore, expressive of all three persons. Thus 
 we say, /, who now read, have near finished this chapter ; thou, 
 who now readest ; he, who now readeth, &c. &c. 
 
 And thus is this subjunctive truly a pronoun from its sub- 
 stitution, there being no substantive existing, in whose place it 
 may not stand. At the same time, it is essentially distinguished 
 from the other pronouns by this peculiar, that it is not only a 
 substitute, but withal a connective. 6 
 
 d Hence we see why the pronoun here 
 mentioned is always necessarily the part of 
 some complex sentence, which sentence 
 contains, either expressed or understood, 
 two verbs and two nominatives. 
 
 Thus in that verse of Horace, 
 
 Qui metuens vivid, liber mihi non erit 
 
 unquam. 
 
 llle non erit liber is one sentence, qui me- 
 tuens vivit is another. llle and qui are 
 the two nominatives, erit and vivit the two 
 verbs, and so in all other instances. 
 
 The following passage from Apollonius 
 (though somewhat corrupt in more places 
 than one) will serve to shew whence the 
 above speculations are taken. Tb v 
 Kbv apQpov e?ri prjfJ.a ffiiov ^eperai, 
 $ffj.4vov Sid Trjs ava(popas T 
 bv6ft.aTi' Kal tVTfvOev air\ovv \6yov ov 
 Kara ryv rS>v Suo pT}fj.aTfav 
 
 T}}V ev avT<2 T< apQpcp) oirfp ira\iv Trapet- 
 TTCTO Tea KAI ffw^ffffjitf. Koivbv fj.\v (lege 
 TO KAI yap Koivbv /iev) Trape\d/j.@ave rb 
 ovofj.a rb irpoK.zifj.evov., (rv/j.Tr\cKOV Se frepov 
 \6yov TrdvToos Kal frepov prjfj.a irape\d/j.- 
 0ave, Kal OVTCI) T&, Trapeyevero 6 ypafj.fj.an- 
 Kbs, 6s 8ieAedYo, Swa/xet Tbv avrbv airo- 
 TfA.eT TOV (fors. ry) 6 ypafj./nariKbs iraps- 
 yeVero, /cot SieA6|aro. " The subjunctive 
 article (that is, the pronoun here men- 
 tioned) is applied to a verb of its own, and 
 yet is connected withal to the antecedent 
 noun. Hence it can never serve to con- 
 stitute a simple sentence, by reason of the 
 syntax of the two verbs ; I mean, that which 
 respects the noun or antecedent, and that 
 which respects the article or relative. The 
 same, too, follows as to the conjunction 
 and. This copulative assumes the ante- 
 
 cedent noun, which is capable of being ap- 
 plied to many subjects, and by connecting 
 to it a new sentence, of necessity assumes 
 a new verb also. And hence it is that the 
 words, 'the grammarian came, who dis- 
 coursed,' form in power nearly the same 
 sentence, as if we were to say, ' the gram- 
 marian came, and discoursed.' " Apoll. de 
 Syntaxi, 1. i. c. 43. p. 92. See also an in- 
 genious French treatise, called Grammaire 
 Generale et Raisonnee, c. 9. 
 
 The Latins, in their structure of this 
 subjunctive, seem to have well represented 
 its compound nature of part pronoun and 
 part connective, in forming their qui and 
 quis from que and is, or (if we go with 
 Scaliger to the Greek) from Kal and 6s, 
 Kal and 6. Seal, de Caus. Ling. Lat. c. 1 27. 
 Homer also expresses the force of this 
 subjunctive, pronoun or article, by help of 
 the prepositive and a connective, exactly 
 consonant to the theory here established. 
 See Iliad, A. ver. 270, 553. N. 571. n. 54, 
 157, 158. 
 
 e Before we quit this subject, it may not 
 be improper to remark, that in the Greek 
 and Latin tongues the two principal pro- 
 nouns, that is to say, the first and second 
 person, the ego and the tu, are implied in 
 the very form of the verb itself, ypatyw, 
 ypatyeis, scribo, scribis,) and are for that 
 reason never expressed, unless it be to mark 
 a contradistinction ; such as in Virgil, 
 Nos patriam fuyimus tu, Tityre, lentus 
 
 in umbra 
 
 Formosam resonare doces, &c. 
 This, however, is true with respect only to 
 the casus rectus, or nominitive of these pro- 
 nouns, but not with respect to their oblique 
 cases, which must always be added, because 
 
HERMES. 
 
 141 
 
 And now to conclude what we have said concerning sub- 
 stantives. All substantives are either primary or secondary; 
 that is to say, according to a language more familiar and 
 known, are either nouns or pronouns. The nouns denote sub- 
 stances, and those either natural, artificial, or abstract/ They 
 moreover denote things either general, or special, or particular. 
 The pronouns, their substitutes, are either prepositive or sub- 
 junctive. The prepositive is distinguished into three orders, 
 called the first, the second, and the third person. The sub- 
 junctive includes the powers of all those three, having super- 
 added, as of its own, the peculiar force of a connective. 
 
 Having done with substantives, we now proceed to attribu- 
 tives. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONCERNING ATTRIBUTIVES. 
 
 ATTRIBUTIVES are all those principal words, that denote attri- 
 butes, considered as attributes. Such, for example, are the 
 words UacJc, white, great, little, wise, eloquent, writeth, wrote, 
 writing, &c. g 
 
 though we see the ego in amo, and the tu quired the name of ey/cAm/cal, that is, "lean- 
 
 in amas, we see not the te or me in amat 
 or amant. 
 
 Yet even these oblique cases appear in a 
 different manner, according as they mark 
 contradistinction, or not. If they contra- 
 
 ing or inclining pronouns." The Greeks, 
 too, had in the first person, e/*ov, e/uoJ, e/i, 
 for contradistinctives, and p.ov, pol, ^ue, for 
 enclitics. And hence it was that Apol- 
 lonius contended, that in the passage above 
 
 distinguish, then are they commonly placed quoted from the first Iliad, we should read 
 
 at the beginning of the sentence, or at least 
 before the verb, or leading substantive. 
 Thus Virgil : 
 
 Quid Thesea, magnum 
 
 Quid memorem Alciden ? Et mi genus ai 2. p. 102, 103. 
 
 7ra?8a 8' efjiol, for iraiSa Se fj.o\, on account 
 of the contradistinction which there occurs 
 between the Grecians and Chryses. See 
 Apoll. de Syntaxi, 1. i. c. 3. p. 20 ; 1. ii. c. 
 
 Jove summo. 
 Thus Homer: 
 
 IIcuSo 5e MOI \uo-OT6 <pi\rjv. 'l\. A. 
 Where the vfuv and the yuoi stand, as con- 
 
 This diversity between the contradis- 
 tinctive pronouns and the enclitic, is not 
 unknown even to the English tongue. 
 When we say, Give me content, the me in 
 this case is a perfect enclitic. But when we 
 
 tradistinguished, and both have precedence say, Give me content, Give him his thou- 
 
 of their respective verbs, the vfjuv even 
 leading the whole sentence. In other in- 
 stances, these pronouns commonly take their 
 place behind the verb, as may be seen in 
 examples everywhere obvious. The Greek 
 language went further still. When the 
 
 sands, the me and him are no enclitics, 
 but as they stand in opposition, assume an 
 accent of their own, and so become the true 
 opQoTOvov/j.evat. 
 
 f See before, p. 128. 
 
 8 In the above list of words are included 
 
 oblique case of these pronouns happened to what grammarians called adjectives, verbs, 
 
 contradistinguish, they assumed a peculiar 
 accent of their own, which gave them the 
 name of opQorovovp.fva.1, or " pronouns up- 
 
 and participles, inasmuch as all of them 
 equally denote the attributes of substance. 
 Hence it is, that as they are all from their 
 
 rightly accented." When they marked no very nature the predicates in a proposition, 
 such opposition, they not only took their (being all predicated of some subject or sub- 
 place behind the verb, but even gave it stance, Snow is white, Cicero tvriteth, &c.) 
 their accent, and (as it were) inclined hence I say the appellation pTj^o or verb is 
 themselves upon it. And hence they ac- employed by logicians in an extended sense 
 
142 HERMES. 
 
 However, previously to these, and to every other possible 
 attribute, whatever a thing may be, whether black or white, 
 square or round, wise or eloquent, writing or thinking, it must 
 first of necessity exist, before it can possibly be any thing else. 
 For existence may be considered as an universal genus, to which 
 all things of all kinds are at all times to be referred. The verbs, 
 therefore, which denote it, claim precedence of all others, as 
 being essential to the very being of every proposition, in which 
 they may still be found, either expressed, or by implication; 
 expressed, as when we say, The sun is bright ; by implication, 
 as when we say, The sun rises, which means, when resolved, The 
 sun is rising.* 
 
 The verbs, is, groweth, lecometh, est, fit, vTrdp^et, earl, 
 7T6\6i, rylyverai, are all of them used to express this general 
 genus. The Latins have called them verba substantiva, " verbs 
 substantive, 11 but the Greeks ptj^ara vTraptcriKa, " verbs of 
 existence ; " a name more apt, as being of greater latitude, and 
 comprehending equally as wtll attribute, as substance. The 
 principal of those verbs, and which we shall particularly here 
 consider, is the verb ecrrl, est, is. 
 
 Now all existence is either absolute or qualified : absolute, as 
 when we say, B is ; qualified, as when we say, B is an animal ; 
 B is Hack, is round, &c. 
 
 With respect to this difference, the verb is can by itself 
 express absolute existence, but never the qualified, without 
 subjoining the particular form, because the forms of existence 
 being in number infinite, if the particular form be not ex- 
 pressed, we cannot know which is intended. And hence it 
 follows, that when is only serves to subjoin some such form, it 
 has little more force than that of a mere assertion. It is under 
 the same character, that it becomes a latent part in every other 
 verb, by expressing that assertion which is one of their es- 
 sentials. Thus, as was observed just before, riseth means, is 
 rising ; ivriteth, is writing. 
 
 Again : as to existence in general, it is either mutable, or im- 
 mutable : mutable, as in the objects of sensation ; immutable, 
 as in the objects of intellection and science. Now mutable 
 objects exist all in time, and admit the several distinctions of 
 present, past, and future. But immutable objects know no such 
 distinctions, but rather stand opposed to all things temporary. 
 
 to denote them all. Thus Ammonius, ex- casion, is very pertinent to the present, 
 
 plaining the reason why Aristotle in his Non declinatio, sed proprietas excutienda 
 
 tract De Interpretatione calls Aewcbs a est significationis. Lib. ii. p. 576. And in 
 
 verb, tells us, iraaav (jxavfyi Karrfyopov- another place he says, Non similitudo de- 
 
 Hevov '6pov j/ irporcurei iroiovffav, fir^a clinationis omnimodo conjungit vel discernit 
 
 K.a\si<rQa.i, " that every sound articulate, partes orationis inter se, sed vis ipsius sig- 
 
 that forms the predicate in a proposition, is nificationis. Lib. xiii. p. 970. 
 called a verb," p. 24. edit. Ven. Priscian's h See Metaphys. Aristot. 1. v. c. 7. edit 
 
 observation, though made on another oc- Du-Vall. 
 
HERMES. 143 
 
 And hence two different significations of the substantive verb 
 is, according as it denotes mutable, or immutable being. 
 
 For example, if we say, This orange is ripe, is meaneth, that 
 it existeth so now at this present, in opposition to past time, 
 when it was green, and to future time, when it will be rotten. 
 
 But if we say, The diameter of the square is incommensurable 
 with its side, we do not intend by is, that it is incommensur- 
 able now, having been formerly commensurable, or being to be- 
 come so hereafter ; on the contrary, we intend that perfection of 
 existence to which time and its distinctions are utterly unknown. 
 It is under the same meaning we employ this verb, when we say, 
 Truth is, or, God is. The opposition is not of time present to 
 other times, but of necessary existence to all temporary ex- 
 istence whatever. 1 And so much for verbs of existence, com- 
 monly called verbs substantive. 
 
 We are now to descend to the common herd of attributives, 
 such as black and white, to write, to speak, to walk, &c. ; among 
 which, when compared and opposed to each other, one of the 
 most eminent distinctions appears to be this. Some, by being 
 joined to a proper substantive, make, without further help, a per- 
 fect assertive sentence ; while the rest, though otherwise perfect, 
 are in this respect deficient. 
 
 To explain by an example. When we say, Cicero eloquent, 
 Cicero wise, these are imperfect sentences, though they denote 
 a substance and an attribute. The reason is, that they want an 
 assertion, to shew that such attribute appertains to such sub- 
 stance. We must therefore call in the help of an assertion 
 elsewhere, an is, or a was, to complete the sentence, saying, 
 Cicero is wise, Cicero was eloquent. On the contrary, when we 
 say, Cicero writeth, Cicero walkeih, in instances like these there 
 is no such occasion, because the words writeth and walketh 
 imply in their own form not an attribute only, but an assertion 
 likewise. Hence it is they may be resolved, the one into is and 
 writing, the other into is and walking. 
 
 Now all those attributives which have this complex power of 
 denoting both an attribute and an assertion, make that species 
 of words which grammarians call verbs. If we resolve this 
 complex power into its distinct parts, and take the attribute 
 alone without the assertion, then have we participles. All other 
 attributives, besides the two species before, are included to- 
 gether in the general name of adjectives. 
 
 1 Cum enira dicimus, Deus est, non eum significat, tale est, tanquam si dicamus, 
 
 dicimus nunc esse, sed tantum in substan- nunc est. Quare cum dicimus esse, ut 
 
 tia esse, ut hoc ad immutability tern potius substantiam designemus, simpliciter est ad- 
 
 substantiae, quam ad tempus aliquod refer- dimus ; cum vero ita ut aliquid praesens 
 
 atur. Si autem dicimus, dies est, ad nullam significetur, secuudum tempus. Boeth. in 
 
 diei substantium pertinet, nisi tantum ad lib. de Interpr. p. 307. See also Plat. Tim. 
 
 temporis constitutionem ; hoc enim, quod p. 37, 38. edit. Serrani. 
 
144 HEBMES. 
 
 And thus it is, that all attributives are either verbs, partici- 
 ples, or adjectives. 
 
 Besides the distinctions above mentioned, there are others 
 which deserve notice. Some attributes have their essence in 
 motion ; such are to walk, to fly, to strike, to live. Others have 
 it in the privation of motion ; such are to stop, to rest, to cease, 
 to die. And, lastly, others have it in subjects which have 
 nothing to do with either motion or its privation ; such are the 
 attributes of great and little, white and UacJc, wise and foolish, 
 and, in a word, the several quantities and qualities of all things. 
 Now these last are adjectives ; those which denote motions, or 
 their privation, are either verbs or participles. 
 
 And this circumstance leads to a further distinction, which 
 may be explained as follows. That all motion is in time, and 
 therefore, wherever it exists, implies time as its concomitant, is 
 evident to all, and requires no proving. But, besides this, all 
 rest or privation of motion implies time likewise. For how can 
 a thing be said to rest or stop, by being in one place for one 
 instant only ? So, too, is that thing, which moves with the 
 greatest velocity. k To stop, therefore, or rest, is to be in one 
 place for more than one instant ; that is to say, during an ex- 
 tension between two instants, and this of course gives us the idea 
 of time. As therefore motions and their privation imply time 
 as their concomitant, so verbs, which denote them, come to 
 denote time also. 1 And hence the origin and use of tenses, 
 " which are so many different forms assigned to each verb, to 
 shew, without altering its principal meaning, the various times 
 in which such meaning may exist. 11 Thus scribit, scripsit, 
 scripserat, and scribet, denote all equally the attribute, to write, 
 while the difference between them is, that they denote writing 
 in different fimes. 
 
 Should it be asked, whether time itself may not become, upon 
 occasion, the verb's principal signification ; it is answered, No. 
 And this appears, because the same time may be denoted by 
 different verbs, (as in the words writeth and speaketh,) and dif- 
 ferent times by the same verb, (as in the words writeth and 
 wrote,) neither of which could happen, were time any thing 
 more than a mere concomitant. Add to this, that when words 
 denote time, not collaterally, but principally, they cease to be 
 verbs, and become either adjectives or substantives. Of the 
 
 k Thus Proclus, in the beginning of his a verb : /Sry/uo Se ear* rb 
 
 treatise concerning motion : 'Hpe/iow/ eVrl w^vov, "a verb is something, which sig- 
 
 rb irp6rfpov Kal vfTTtpov eV To3 aiiry TOTTOJ nines time over and above," (for such is the 
 
 %v, /cat auT&, /col TO /^e'prj: "That thing is force of the preposition irpos.) If it should 
 
 at rest, which fora time prior and subse- be asked, Over and above what? It may 
 
 quent is in the same place, both itself, and be answered, Over and above its principal 
 
 its parts." signification, which is to denote some mov- 
 
 1 The ancient authors of dialectic or ing and energizing attribute. See Arist. 
 
 logic have well described this property, de Interpret, c. 3. together with his eom- 
 
 The following is part of their definition of mentators Ammonius and Boethius. 
 
HERMES. 145 
 
 adjective kind are timely, yearly, daily, hourly, &c. ; of the 
 substantive kind are time, year, day, hour, &c. 
 
 The most obvious division of time is into present, past, and 
 future, nor is any language complete whose verbs have not 
 tenses to mark these distinctions. But we may go still further. 
 Time past and future are both infinitely extended. Hence it is 
 that in universal time past we may assume many particular 
 times past, and in universal time future, many particular times 
 future ; some more, some less remote, and corresponding to each 
 other under different relations. Even present time itself is not 
 exempt from these differences, and as necessarily implies some 
 degree of extension, as does every given line, however minute. 
 
 Here, then, we are to seek for the reason which first intro- 
 duced into language that variety of tenses. It was not, it 
 seems, enough to denote indefinitely (or by aorists) mere present, 
 past, or future, but it was necessary, on many occasions, to 
 define with more precision what kind of past, present, or future. 
 And hence the multiplicity of futures, preterites, and even 
 present tenses, with which all languages are found to abound, 
 and without which it would be difficult to ascertain our ideas. 
 
 However, as the knowledge of tenses depends on the theory 
 of time, and this is a subject of no mean speculation, we shall 
 reserve it by itself for the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONCERNING TIME AND TENSES. 
 
 TIME and space have this in common, that they are both of 
 them by nature things continuous, and as such they both of 
 them imply extension. Thus between London and Salisbury 
 there is the extension of space, and between yesterday and to- 
 morrow the extension of time. But in this they differ, that all 
 the parts of space exist at once and together, while those of 
 time only exist in transition or succession. 01 Hence, then, we 
 may gain some idea of time, by considering it under the notion 
 of a transient continuity. Hence also, as far as the affections 
 and properties of transition go, time is different from space ; but 
 as to those of extension and continuity they perfectly coincide. 
 
 Let us take, for example, such a part of space as a line. In 
 every given line we may assume anywhere a point, and there* 
 
 m See p. 18, note n. To which we may sist the whole at once, but only in a single 
 
 add what is said by Ammonius : ouSe yap now or instant ; for it hath its existence in 
 
 6 XP^ VOS '^ os &V- - fxpiffTarai, a\\' % Kara becoming and in ceasing to be." Amm. in 
 
 fj.6vov rb vvv' eV yap rip yivetrdat /cat (pdti- Prsedicam. p. 82. B. 
 pf<r6ai rb flvai ex*i. " Time doth not sub- 
 
146 HERMES. 
 
 fore in every given line there may be assumed infinite points. 
 So in every given time we may assume anywhere a now or 
 instant^ and therefore in every given time there may be assumed 
 infinite nows or instants. 
 
 Further still: a point is the bound of every finite line, and a 
 now, or instant, of every finite time. But although they are 
 bounds, they are neither of them parts, neither the point of any 
 line, nor the now or instant of any time. If this appear strange, 
 we may remember that the parts of any thing extended are 
 necessarily extended also, it being essential to their character 
 that they should measure their whole. But if a point or now 
 were extended, each of them would contain within itself infinite 
 other points, and infinite other nows, (for these may be assumed 
 infinitely within the minutest extension,) and this, it is evident, 
 would be absurd and impossible. 
 
 These assertions, therefore, being admitted, and both points 
 and nows being taken as bounds, but not as parts," it will 
 follow, that in the same manner as the same point may be the 
 end of one line, and the beginning of another, so the same now 
 or instant may be the end of one time and the beginning of 
 another. Let us suppose, for example, the lines A B, B C. 
 
 B 
 
 I say, that the point B is the end of the line A B, and the 
 beginning of the line B C. In the same manner let us suppose 
 A B, B C to represent certain times, and let B be a now or 
 instant. In such case, I say, that the instant B is the end of the 
 time A B, and the beginning of the time B C. I say likewise 
 of these two times, that with respect to the now or instant, 
 which they include, the first of them is necessarily past time, as 
 being previous to it ; the other is necessarily future, as being 
 subsequent. As, therefore, every now or instant always exists 
 in time, and without being time, is time's bound ; the bound of 
 completion to the past, and the bound of commencement to the 
 future : from hence we may conceive its nature or end, which is 
 to be the medium of continuity between the past and the future, 
 so as to render time, through all its parts, one entire and perfect 
 whole. 
 
 n Qavepbv 6rl ouSe fiopiov rb vvv rov re yap rb /tt'pos, /cat ffvyKfiffOai Se? rb o\ov 
 Xptvov, &<rirep ovS" at <TTiy/j.al rrjs ypa/j.fj.rjs' e'/c ra>v pepuv- 6 Se 
 
 Se xp^vos ov So/ce? avy- 
 
 al Se ypa/j.fj.a.1 Svo rrjs fj-ias /J.6pia: " It is Kciardai e'/c TUV vvv : "A now is no part of 
 
 evident that a now, or instant, is no more time ; for a part is able to measure its whole, 
 
 a part of time than points are of a line, and the whole is necessarily made up of its 
 
 The parts, indeed, of one line are two other parts ; but time doth not appear to be made 
 
 lines." Natur. Ausc. 1. iv. c. 17. And up of nows." Ibid. c. 14. 
 
 not long before : Tb Se vvv ov fj.fpos' fJ-erpf? Tb Se vvv iffrt (TtWxeta xp^j/ou, &<rirfp 
 
HERMES. 147 
 
 From the above speculations there follow some conclusions, 
 which may be perhaps called paradoxes, till they have been 
 attentively considered. In the first place, there cannot (strictly 
 speaking) be any such thing as time present. For if all time be 
 transient as well as continuous, it cannot, like a line, be present 
 all together, but part will necessarily be gone and part be coming. 
 If, therefore, any portion of its continuity were to be present at 
 once, it would so far quit its transient nature, and be time no 
 longer. But if no portion of its continuity can be thus present, 
 how can time possibly be present, to which such continuity is 
 essential ? 
 
 Further than this : if there be no such thing as time present, 
 there can be no sensation of time by any one of the senses. For 
 all sensation is of the present only, p the past being preserved 
 not by sense but by memory, and the future being anticipated 
 by prudence only and wise foresight. 
 
 But if no portion of time be the object of any sensation ; 
 further, if the present never exist ; if the past be no more ; if 
 the future be not as yet ; and if these are all the parts out of 
 which time is compounded; how strange and shadowy a being 
 do we find it ? How nearly approaching to a perfect non- 
 entity ? q Let us try, however, since the senses fail us, if we have 
 not faculties of higher power to seize this fleeting being. 
 
 The world has been likened to a variety of things, but it 
 appears to resemble no one more than some moving spectacle 
 (such as a procession or a triumph) that abounds in every part 
 with splendid objects, some of which are still departing, as fast 
 
 j. <rvvex ei y^P T bv XP OVOV T ^ v TapeA.- therefore time exists not at all, or at least 
 
 Qovra Kal eV^uepoy, Kal 6\us irfpas XP OVOV has but a faint and obscure existence, one 
 
 eoTiV effn yap rov /aev apx^ T v ^ T ~ ma y suspect from hence. A part of it has 
 
 \vr^i : " A now or instant is (as was said been, and is no more ; a part of it is coming, 
 
 before) the continuity or holding together and is not as yet ; and out of these is made 
 
 of time ; for it makes time continuous, the that infinite time which is ever to be as- 
 
 past and the future, and is in general its sumed still further and further. Now that 
 
 boundary, as being the beginning of one which is made up of nothing but nonenti- 
 
 time and the ending of another." Natur. ties, it should seem was impossible ever to 
 
 Auscult. 1. iv. c. 19. 2iWxa in this place participate of entity." Natural. Ausc. 1. iv. 
 
 means not continuity, as standing for ex- c. 14. TIws 5e rots ^ often yeirvidfci; 
 
 tension, but rather that junction, or holding TIpoarov /tej/, tVetSr; evravda rb ira.pf\Q6v 
 
 together, by which extension is imparted to tari Kal rb /^eAAoj/, ravra Se ^ ovra' rb 
 
 other things. jue*/ yap Tjfpdviffrai Kal OVK ert forl, rb Se 
 
 VTavrrjyap (aiV0T?(feSC.) o&rerb /ueAAo*', ovirda 4o~ri' (rvfj.Trapa9fi 8e ru> XP OV V Ta 
 
 ovre rb yev6/j.vov yvcapi^ofj.V^ aAAa rb (pvo~iKa Ttavra, jj.a\\ov 8e TTJS Kiv^fffus 
 
 irapbv p.6vov : " For by this faculty (namely, avrSiv TrapaKo\ov6r)/j.d eari 6 XP^ VUS ' " How 
 
 the faculty of sense) we neither know the therefore is it that they approach nearly to 
 
 future nor the past, but the present only." nonentities ? In the first place, because 
 
 'ApioT. Trepl Mi/Tj/x. A. a. here (where they exist) exists the past and 
 
 <i"OTt pev ovv '6\<as OVK eo-rtj/, ^ /j.6yis the future, and these are nonentities ; for 
 
 KOI a/j.v8p>s, e'/c ruv Se ris h.v vTroirrftxTfie' the one is vanished and is no more, the 
 
 T& /uei/ yap avrov yeyovs, Kal OVK effri' rb 5e other is not as yet. Now all natural sub- 
 
 /ue'AAe<, Kal ovirca tffriv IK Se rovruv Kal 6 stances pass away along with time, or rather 
 
 aireipos Kal 6 aet \a^av6fj.fvos XP OVOS ffv 'f- li ' ls u P on tne i r ni ti n that time is an 
 
 Kfirai" rb 8' e/c ^77 OVTOSV ffvyKft/uLfvov, aSvva- attendant." Philop. MS. Com. in Nicomach. 
 
 rov "av 5^|et6 Karx flv 'Tore oixrias : " That p. 1 0. 
 
 i. 2 
 
148 HERMES. 
 
 as others make their appearance. The senses look on while 
 the sight passes, perceiving as much as is immediately present, 
 which they report with tolerable accuracy to the soul's superior 
 powers. Having done this, they have done their duty, being 
 concerned with nothing save what is present and instantaneous. 
 But to the memory, to the imagination, and above all to the 
 intellect, the several nows or instants are not lost, as to the 
 senses, but are preserved and made objects of steady compre- 
 hension, however in their own nature they may be transitory 
 and passing. " Now it is from contemplating two or more of 
 these instants under one view, together with that interval of 
 continuity which subsists between them, that we acquire insen- 
 sibly the idea of time.'" 1 ' For example: The sun rises; this I 
 remember : it rises again ; this too I remember. These events 
 are not together ; there is an extension between them not, how- 
 ever, of space, for we may suppose the place of rising the same, 
 or at least to exhibit no sensible difference. Yet still we 
 recognise some extension between them. Now what is this 
 extension but a natural day ? And what is that but pure time ? 
 It is after the same manner, by recognising two new moons, and 
 the extension between these; two vernal equinoxes, and the 
 extension between these ; that we gain ideas of other times, such 
 as months and years, which are all so many intervals, described 
 as above ; that is to say, passing intervals of continuity between 
 two instants viewed together. 
 
 And thus it is the mind acquires the idea of time. But this 
 time it must be remembered is past time only, which is always 
 the first species that occurs to the human intellect. How then 
 do we acquire the idea of time future ? The answer is, we 
 acquire it by anticipation. Should it be demanded still further, 
 and what is anticipation ? We answer, that in this case it is a 
 kind of reasoning by analogy from similar to similar ; from suc- 
 cessions of events, that are past already, to similar successions, 
 
 T T6re <pa/j.fv yeyovcvai xpovov, or ay rov c. 16. Themistius's Comment upon this pas- 
 
 irporepov Kal vo~repov fv rfj Kivf}o~ei afo-Or)- sage is to the same purpose. "Orav yap 6 
 
 criv A.ctj8o>/xei/. 'Opt^o/jLev 8e T$ #AAo Kal vovs ava/JU/rjcrQels rov vvv, & X^ s ^tv, 
 
 &\\o inroXafieiv aura, Kal fj.erav TL avr&v erspov ira\iv elirr) rb rf)/j.pov, r6re Kal 
 
 erspov' orav yap ra &Kpa ere pa rov fieffov XP OVOV fvdvs fvei/6ijfffv, vwb ru>v Svo vvv 
 
 vofyntftt? t Kal Svo eftn? rj ij/ux^ ra z/Cj/, rb 6pi6fj.evov, olov virb irfparoov Svotv' Kal 
 
 p.tv Trp6rpov, rb 5e vvrepov, r6re KOI ourca \4year fX fla > ' OTt TTOQ-OV eo~ri TrevreKat- 
 
 rovro tyanfv tlvai xpovov : "It is then we Se/ca wpaiv, % e/c/ca/Se/fa, olov e| aireipov 
 
 say there has been time, when we can ypa/j./j.rjs irnxvaiav Svo a"r}fj.elois aTrorf/j.j/6- 
 
 acquire a sensation of prior and subsequent pcvos : " For when the mind, remembering 
 
 in motion. But we distinguish and settle the now, which it talked of yesterday, talks 
 
 these two by considering one first, then the again of another now to-day, then it is it 
 
 other, together with an interval between immediately has an idea of time, terminated 
 
 them different from both. For as often as by these two nows, as by two boundaries ; 
 
 we conceive the extremes to be different and thus it is enabled to say, that the quan- 
 
 from the mean, and the soul talks of two tity is of fifteen or sixteen hours, as if it 
 
 nows, one prior and the other subsequent, were to sever a cubit's length from an infi- 
 
 then it is we say there is time, and this it nite line by two points." Themist. Op. edit, 
 
 is we call time." Natural. Auscult. 1. iv. Aid. p. 45. B. 
 
HEEMES. H9 
 
 that are presumed hereafter. For example : I observe as far 
 back as my memory can carry me, how every day has been suc- 
 ceeded by a night ; that night, by another day ; that day, by 
 another night ; and so downwards in order to the day that is 
 now. Hence, then, I anticipate a similar succession from the 
 present day, and thus gain the idea of days and nights in fu- 
 turity. After the same manner, by attending to the periodical 
 returns of new and full moons ; of springs, summers, autumns, 
 and winters, all of which, in time past, I find never to have 
 failed, I anticipate a like orderly and diversified succession, which 
 makes months, and seasons, and years, in time future. 
 
 We go further than this, and not only thus anticipate in these 
 natural periods, but even in matters of human and civil concern. 
 For example : having observed in many past instances how 
 health had succeeded to exercise, and sickness to sloth ; we 
 anticipate future health to those, who, being now sickly, use 
 exercise ; and future sickness to those, who, being now healthy, 
 are slothful. It is a variety of such observations, all respecting 
 one subject, which when systematized by just reasoning, and 
 made habitual by due practice, form the character of a master- 
 artist, or man of practical wisdom. If they respect the human 
 body, (as above,) they form a physician ; if matters military, 
 the general ; if matters national, the statesman ; if matters of 
 private life, the moralist ; and the same in other subjects. All 
 these several characters, in their respective ways, may be said 
 to possess a kind of prophetic discernment, which not only pre- 
 sents them the barren prospect of futurity, (a prospect not hid 
 from the meanest of men,) but shews withal those events which 
 are likely to attend it, and thus enables them to act with supe- 
 rior certainty and rectitude. And hence it is, that (if we except 
 those who have had diviner assistances) we may justly say, as 
 was said of old, 
 
 He's the best prophet who conjectures well. 8 
 
 * Wldvris 8* &PHTTOS, OCTTIS 6i/caet KaAeDs. past. It was this intimate connexion 
 
 So Milton : between time and the soul, that made 
 
 Till old experience do attain some philosophers doubt, whether, if there 
 
 To something like prophetic strain. was no soul, there could be any time, since 
 
 Et facile existimari potest, prudentiam esse time appears to have its being in no other 
 
 quodammodo divinationem. region. H6rcpov Se fjrfj ofays ^ U X^ S ^ 
 
 Corn. Nep. in Vit. Attici. &/ 6 xP ot/os i ewropVjtretei/ &v TIS, K. r. A. 
 
 There is nothing appears so clearly an Natur. Auscult. 1. iv. c. 20. Themistius, 
 
 object of the mind or intellect only, as the who comments the above passage, expresses 
 
 future does, since we can find no place for himself more positively. Et rolvvv 
 
 its existence anywhere else. Not but the \eyerai r6re api6fj.r)rbv Kal rb 
 
 same, if we consider, is equally true of the /xej/ov, rb pev TO apiQ/jLirrbv STj 
 
 past. For though it may have once had rb 8e fvepyeia, ravra 5e OVK 
 
 another kind of being, when (according to ^ ovros TOV apiB^ffovros 
 
 common phrase) it actually was, yet was it fj-^re tvepyeia, Qavfpbv us OVK &j/ & XP OVOS 
 
 then something present, and not something efrj, ^ o&rrjs tyvxTJs. Them. p. 48. edit. 
 
 past. As past, it has no existence but in Aldi. Vid. etiam ejusd. Comm. in Lib. de 
 
 the mind or memory, since, had it in fact An. p. 94. 
 
 any other, it could not properly be called 
 
150 HERMES. 
 
 From what has heen reasoned it appears, that knowledge 
 of the future comes from knowledge of the past ; as does 
 knowledge of the past from knowledge of the present ; so that 
 their order to us is that of the present, past, and future. 
 
 Of these species of knowledge, that of the present is the 
 lowest, not only as first in perception, hut as far the more ex- 
 tensive, being necessarily common to all animal beings, and 
 reaching even to Zoophytes, as far as they possess sensation. 
 Knowledge of the past comes next, which is superior to the 
 former, as being confined to those animals that have memory as 
 well as senses. Knowledge of the future comes last, as being 
 derived from the other two, and which is, for that reason, the 
 most excellent as well as the most rare, since nature in her 
 superadditions rises from worse always to better, and is never 
 found to sink from better down to worse. 1 
 
 And now having seen how we acquire the knowledge of time 
 past and time future ; which is first in perception, which first 
 in dignity ; which more common, which more rare ; let us com- 
 pare them both to the present now or instant, and examine what 
 relations they maintain towards it. 
 
 In the first place, there may be times both past and future, in 
 which the present now has no existence; as, for example, in 
 yesterday and to-morrow. 
 
 Again, the present now may so far belong to time of either 
 sort, as to be the end of the past, and the beginning of the fu- 
 ture ; but it cannot be included within the limits of either. For 
 if it were possible, let us suppose C the present now included 
 A B C D E 
 
 within the limits of the past time A D. In such case, C D, part 
 of the first time A D, will be subsequent to C, the present now, 
 and so of course be future. But by the hypothesis it is past, 
 and so will be both past and future at once, which is absurd. 
 In the same manner we prove that C cannot be included within 
 the limits of a future time, such as B E. 
 
 What, then, shall we say of such times, as this day, this month, 
 this year, this century, all which include within them the present 
 now ? They cannot be past times or future, from what has been 
 proved ; and present time has no existence, as has been proved 
 likewise." Or shall we allow them to be present, from the pre- 
 sent now, which exists within them; so that from the presence 
 of that we call these also present, though the shortest among 
 them has infinite parts always absent ? If so, and in conformity 
 to custom, we allow such times present, as present days, months, 
 years, and centuries, each must of necessity be a compound of the 
 past and the future, divided from each other by some present 
 1 See below, note I of this chapter, p. 157. Sup. p. 147. 
 
HERMES. 151 
 
 now or instant, and jointly called present, while that now remains 
 
 within them. Let us suppose, for example, the time X Y, which 
 
 X A B C D E Y 
 
 /. . . . . . . . g 
 
 let us call a day, or a century ; and let the present now or in- 
 stant exist at A. I say, inasmuch as A exists within XY, that 
 therefore X A is time past, and AY time future, and the whole 
 X A, AY, time present. The same holds, if we suppose the 
 present now to exist at B, or C, or D, or E, or anywhere before 
 Y. When the present now exists at Y, then is the whole XY 
 time past, and still more so, when the now gets to g, or onwards. 
 In like manner, before the present now entered X, as, for example, 
 when it was at /, then was the whole X Y time future ; it was 
 the same, when the present now was at X. When it had passed 
 that, then XY became time present. And thus it is that time 
 is present, while passing, in its present now or instant. It is 
 the same indeed here, as it is in space. A sphere passing over 
 a plane, and being for that reason present to it, is only present 
 to that plane in a single point at once, while during the whole 
 progression its parts absent are infinite/ 
 
 From what has been said, we may perceive that all time, of 
 every denomination, is. divisible and extended. But if so, then 
 whenever we suppose a definite time, even though it be a time 
 present, it must needs have a beginning, a middle, and an end. 
 And so much for time. 
 
 Now from the above doctrine of time we propose, by way of 
 hypothesis, the following theory of tenses. 
 
 v Place, according to the ancients, was it within their respective limits. Nicephorus 
 
 either mediate or immediate. I am (for Blemides speaks much to the same purpose, 
 
 example) in Europe, because I am in Eng- 'Ereo-rwy ovv XP OVOS ^rlv 6 e'0' eKdrepa 
 
 land ; in England, because in Wiltshire ; irapaKel/j-evos rep Kvplus vvv' XP^ VOS M 6 " 
 
 in Wiltshire, because in Salisbury ; in pt/cbs, e/c irape\r]\v66ros /col /J.\\OVTOS 
 
 Salisbury, because in my own house ; in (rvveffr&s, Kal Sia ri)v irpbs rb Kvpius vvv 
 
 my own house, because in my study. Thus yeirvtaa-iv, vvv \ey6fj.evos Kal avr6s : " Pre- 
 
 far mediate place. And what is my imme- sent time, therefore, is that which adjoins 
 
 diate place? It is the internal bound of to the real now or instant on either side, 
 
 that containing body (whatever it be) being a limited time made up of past and 
 
 which coincides with the external bound of future, and from its vicinity to that real 
 
 my own body. Tov irepiexovros Tre'pas, now, said to be now also itself." 'ETTIT. 
 
 Kad' & ire/jie'xei rb Treptex^/uei/oi'. Now as </>u<n/CTjs, Ke$. 6'. See also Arist. Physic, 
 
 this immediate place is included within the 1. vi. c. 2, 3, &c. 
 
 limits of all the former places, it is from In the above note, mention is made of 
 
 this relation that those mediate places also the real now, or instant, and its efficacy, 
 
 are called, each of them, my place, though To which we may add, that there is not 
 
 the least among them so far exceed my mag- only a necessary connexion between exist- 
 
 nitude. To apply this to time. The present ence and the present instant, because no 
 
 century is present in the present year ; that, other point of time can properly be said to 
 
 in the present month ; that, in the present be, but also between existence and life, be- 
 
 day ; that, in the present hour ; that, in the cause whatever lives, by the same reason 
 
 present minute. It is thus by circumscrip- necessarily is. Hence Sophocles, speaking 
 
 tion within circiimscription that we arrive at of time present, elegantly says of it, 
 
 that real and indivisible instant, which, by Xp6vy T< &vn, Kal irap6vri vvv. 
 
 being itself the very essence of the present, The living and noic present time. 
 
 diffuses presence throughout all, even the Trachin. v. 1185. 
 largest of times, which are found to include 
 
152 HERMES. 
 
 The tenses are used to mark present, past, and future time, 
 either indefinitely without reference to any beginning, middle, 
 or end ; or else definitely, in reference to such distinctions. 
 
 If indefinitely, then have we three tenses; an aorist of the 
 present, an aorist of the past, and an aorist of the future. If 
 definitely, then have we three tenses to mark the beginnings of 
 these three times ; three to denote their middles ; and three to 
 denote their ends ; in all nine. 
 
 The three first of these tenses we call the inceptive present, 
 the inceptive past, and the inceptive future. The three next, 
 the middle present, the middle past, and the middle future. 
 And the three last, the completive present, the completive past, 
 and the completive future. 
 
 And thus it is that the tenses in their natural number appear 
 to be twelve ; three to denote time absolute, and nine to denote 
 it under its respective distinctions. 
 
 AORIST OF THE PRESENT. 
 
 r/oa</>&>. Bcribo. I write. 
 
 AORIST OF THE PAST. 
 
 "Eypa^fra. Scripsi. I wrote. 
 
 AORIST OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 JScribam. I shall write. 
 
 INCEPTIVE PRESENT. 
 
 MeX\co <ypd<f)6i,v. Scripturus sum. I am going to write. 
 
 MIDDLE OR EXTENDED PRESENT. 
 
 Tvj^dvco <ypd(f)a)v. Scribo or scribens sum. I am writing. 
 
 COMPLETIVE PRESENT. 
 
 . Scripsi. I have written. 
 
 INCEPTIVE PAST. 
 
 v ypdfaw. Scripturus eram. I was beginning to 
 write. 
 
 MIDDLE OR EXTENDED PAST. 
 
 "Eypaipov or ervj^avov ypdfjxov. Scribebam. I was writing. 
 
 COMPLETIVE PAST. 
 
 w. Scripseram. I had done writing. 
 
 INCEPTIVE FUTURE. 
 
 <ypd<f>eiv. Scripturus ero. I shall be beginning to 
 wrte. 
 
 MIDDLE OR EXTENDED FUTURE. 
 
 <ypd(f)a)v. Scribens ero. I shall be writing. 
 
 COMPLETIVE FUTURE. 
 
 yeypa(j)a)s. Scripsero. I shall have done writing. 
 
HERMES. 153 
 
 It is not to be expected that the above hypothesis should be 
 justified through all instances in every language. It fares with 
 tenses as with other affections of speech ; be the language upon 
 the whole ever so perfect, much must be left, in defiance of all 
 analogy, to the harsh laws of mere authority and chance. 
 
 It may not, however, be improper to inquire, what traces may 
 be discovered in favour of this system, either in languages them- 
 selves, or in those authors who have written upon this part of 
 grammar, or lastly in the nature and reason of things. 
 
 In the first place, as to aorists. Aorists are usually by gram- 
 marians referred to the past; such are rjKOov, "I went;" eTreow, 
 " I fell," &c. We seldom hear of them in the future, and more 
 rarely still in the present. Yet it seems agreeable to reason, 
 that wherever time is signified without any further circumscrip- 
 tion than that of simple present, past, or future, the tense is an 
 aorist. 
 
 Thus Milton : 
 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep. Par. Lost, iv. 277. 
 
 Here the verb walk means, not that they were walking at that 
 instant only, when Adam spoke, but aoplcrra)^ " indefinitely," 
 take any instant whatever. So when the same author calls 
 hypocrisy, 
 
 the only evil that walks 
 Invisible, except to God alone, 
 
 the verb walks hath the like aoristical or indefinite applica- 
 tion. The same may be said in general of all sentences of the 
 gnomologic kind, such as 
 
 Ad po2nitendum properat, cito qui judicat. 
 Avarus, nisi cum moritur, nil recte facit, &c. 
 
 All these tenses are so many aorists of the present. 
 Gnomologic sentences after the same manner make likewise 
 aorists of the future : 
 
 Tu nihil admittes in te, formidine poense. Hor. 
 
 So too legislative sentences, Thou shalt not kill, Thou shalt 
 not steal, &c. ; for this means no one particular future time, but 
 is a prohibition extended indefinitely to every part of time 
 future. x 
 
 We pass from aorists to the inceptive tenses. 
 
 These may be found in part supplied (like many other tenses) 
 by verbs auxiliar. Me\\a> ypdfaw. Scripturus sum. " I am 
 
 * The Latin tongue appears to be more particular instances being to be gathered 
 
 than ordinarily deficient as to the article of from the context. Thus it is that fed means 
 
 aorists. It has no peculiar form even for (as the same author informs us) both Tre- 
 
 an aorist of the past, and therefore (as Trotyita and eiroiri(ra, " I have done it," and 
 
 Priscian tells us) the pratcritum is forced " I did it ;" vidi both ewpaKa and cTSoy, " I 
 
 to do the double duty both of that aorist and have just seen it," and " I saw it once." 
 
 of the perfect present, its application in Prise. Gram. 1. viii. p. 8 14, 838. edit. Putsch. 
 
154 HEllMES. 
 
 going to write." But the Latins go further, and have a species 
 of verbs, derived from others, which do the duty of these tenses, 
 and are themselves for that reason called inchoatives or incep- 
 tives. Thus from Caleo, u I am warm," comes Calesco, " I begin 
 to grow warm ;" from Tumeo, " I swell," comes Tumesco, " I 
 begin to swell." These inchoative verbs are so peculiarly appro- 
 priated to the beginnings of time, that they are defective as to 
 all tenses which denote it in its completion, and therefore have 
 &Q\t\\QT perfectum, plusquam-perfectum, or perfect future. There 
 is likewise a species of verbs called in Greek 6(/>ert/ca, in Latin 
 desiderativa, the desideratives or meditatives, which if they are 
 not strictly inceptives, yet both in Greek and Latin have a near 
 affinity with them. Such are 7ro\e^crei(o, bellaturio, " I have 
 a desire to make war;" fipcoorelco, esurio, " I long to eat. y And 
 so much for the inceptive tenses. 
 
 The two last orders of tenses which remain, are those we 
 called the middle tenses, z (which express time as extended and 
 passing,) and the perfect or completive, which express its com- 
 pletion or end. 
 
 Now for these the authorities are many. They have been ac- 
 knowledged already in the ingenious accidence of Mr. Hoadly, 
 and explained and confirmed by Dr. Samuel Clarke, in his ra- 
 tional edition of Homer's Iliad. Nay, long before either of 
 these, we find the same scheme in Scaliger, and by him a as- 
 cribed to Grocinus, 5 as its author. The learned Gaza (who was 
 himself a Greek, and one of the ablest restorers of that language 
 in the western world) characterizes the tenses in nearly the 
 same manner. What Apollonius hints, is exactly consonant. d 
 
 y As all beginnings have reference to what amavero. Non male, inquam : significat 
 is future, hence we see how properly these enim amavero, amorem futurum et abso- 
 verbs are formed, the Greek ones from a lutum iri : amabo perfectionem nullam in- 
 future verb, the Latin from a future parti- dicat. De Caus. Ling. Lat. c. 113. 
 ciple. From iroXsvAiffti) and Ppctxroa come b His name was William Grocin, an 
 jro\fj.r](reiw and &pca<rei(i> ; from lellaturus Englishman, contemporary with Erasmus, 
 and esurus come bellaturio and esurio. See and celebrated for his learning. He went 
 Macrobius, p. 691. ed. Var. ov irdw ys ^ue to Florence to study under Landin, and 
 vvv 5^ ytXaadovTa. eTroiyaas ye\d(rai. was professor at Oxford. Spec. Lit. Flor. 
 Plato in Phsedone. p. 205. 
 
 z Care must be taken not to confound c The present tense (as this author in- 
 
 these middle tenses, with the tenses of forms us in his excellent Grammar) denotes 
 
 those verbs, which bear the same name rb eVeorajuej/oi/ /cat areAes, " that which is 
 
 among grammarians. now instant and incomplete ;" the perfec- 
 
 a Ex his percipimus Grocinum acute ad- turn, rb irapf\t]\v6bs &pri, /coi &/reAes rov 
 
 modum tempora divisisse, sed minus com- ej/etrTwros, "that which is now immediately 
 
 mode. Tria enim constituit, ut nos, sed past, and is the completion of the present ;" 
 
 quae bifariam secat, perfectum et imperfec- the imperfectum, rb TrapaTera^vov KOI 
 
 turn: sic, prseteritum imperfectum, am6am: areAes TOV Traptpx'rj/j.evov, "the extended 
 
 prseteritum perfectum, amaveram. Recte and incomplete part of the past ;" and the 
 
 sane. Et prfesens imperfectum, amo, Recte plusquam-perfectum^ rb irape\.'r)\v6bs ird\cu, 
 
 hactenus ; continuat enim amorem, neque Kol tVreAes rov Trapo/cet^ueVou, " that which 
 
 absolvit. At prsesens perfectum, amavi : is past long ago, and is the completion of 
 
 quis hoc dicat? De future autem ut non the praeteritum.' 1 '' Gram. 1. iv. 
 male sentit, ita controversum est. Futurum, d 'EvrevOev Se iret06/j.eda, OTL ov iraptp- 
 
 inquit, imperfectum, amalo : perfectum, x 7 ?/* 6 '' 700 ffwrtteiav o-vj/iatVet 6 
 
HERMES. 
 
 155 
 
 Priscian, too, advances the same doctrine from the Stoics, whose 
 authority we esteem greater than all the rest, not only from the 
 more early age when they lived, but from their superior skill in 
 philosophy, and their peculiar attachment to dialectic, which 
 naturally led them to great accuracy in these grammatical 
 speculations. 6 
 
 Before we conclude, we shall add a few miscellaneous observa- 
 tions, which will be more easily intelligible from the hypothesis 
 here advanced, and serve withal to confirm its truth. 
 
 And first, the Latins used their prceteritum perfectum in some 
 instances after a very peculiar manner, so as to imply the very 
 reverse of the verb in its natural signification. Thus, mxit sig- 
 nified " is dead ;" fwt signified " now is not, is no more/ 1 It 
 was in this sense that Cicero addressed the people of Rome, 
 when he had put to death the leaders in the Catalinarian con- 
 spiracy. He appeared in the forum, and cried out, with a loud 
 voice, Vixerwntf So Virgil : 
 
 s Fuimus Troes, fuit Ilium et ingens 
 Gloria Dardanidum. ^En. ii. 
 
 s, rl)v 76 p.riv ^vf(Tr<affav : " Hence we 
 are persuaded that the perfectum doth not 
 signify the completion of the past, but pre- 
 sent completion." Apollon. 1. iii. c. 6. The 
 reason which persuaded him to this opinion, 
 was the application and use of the particle 
 bis, of which he was then treating, and 
 which, as it denoted potentiality or con- 
 tingence, would assort (he says) with any 
 of the passing, extended, and incomplete 
 tenses, out never with this perfectum, be- 
 cause this implied such a complete and in- 
 defeasible existence, as never to be qualified 
 into the nature of a contingent. 
 
 e By these philosophers the vulgar pre- 
 sent tense was called the imperfect present, 
 and the vulgar prceteritum, the perfect pre- 
 sent, than which nothing can be more con- 
 sonant to the system that we favour. But 
 let us hear Priscian, from whom we learn 
 these facts. Praesens tempus proprie dici- 
 tur, cujus pars jam praeteriit, pars futura 
 est. Cum enim tempus, fluvii more, insta- 
 bili volvatur cursu, vix punctum habere 
 potest in praesenti, hoc est, in instanti. 
 Maxima igitur pars ejus (sicut dictum est) 
 vel praeteriit vel futura est. Unde Stoici 
 jure hoc tempus presens etiam imperfectum 
 vocabant (ut dictum est) eo quod prior ejus 
 pars, quae praeteriit, transacta est, deest 
 autem sequens, id est, futura. Ut si in 
 medio versu dicam, scribo versum, priore 
 ejus parte scripta ; cui adhuc deest extrema 
 pars, praesenti utor verbo, dicendo, scribo 
 rersum : sed imperfectum est, quod deest 
 adhuc versui, quod scribatur. Ex eodem 
 igitur prsesenti nascitur etiam perfectum. 
 
 Si enim ad finem perveniat inceptum, statim 
 utimur praeterito perfecto ; continue enim, 
 scripto ad finem versu, dico, scripsi versum. 
 And soon after, speaking of the Latin 
 perfectum, he says, Sciendum tamen, quod 
 Romani praeterito perfecto non solum in re 
 modo completa utuntur, (in quo vim habet 
 ejus, qui apud Graecos TrapaKei/j.evos, voca- 
 tur, quern Stoici re\eiov fvearwra nomi- 
 naverunt,) sed etiam pro aopiffrov acci- 
 pitur, &c. Lib. viii. p. 812, 813, 814. 
 
 f So among the Romans, when in a 
 cause all the pleaders had spoken, the cryer 
 used to proclaim Dixerunt, i. e. " they have 
 done speaking." Ascon. Paed. in Verr. ii. 
 
 % So Tibullus, speaking of certain prodi- 
 gies and evil omens : 
 
 Hcec fuerint olim. Sed tu, jam mitif, 
 
 Apollo, 
 
 Prodigia indomitis merge sub eequori- 
 bus. Eleg. ii. 5. ver. 19. 
 
 " Let these events have been in days cf 
 old ;" by implication therefore, " but hence- 
 forth let them be no more." 
 
 So ^Eneas in Virgil prays to Phoebus : 
 Hac Trojana tenus fuerit fortuna secuta. 
 
 "Let Trojan fortune (that is, adverse, 
 like that of Troy and its inhabitants) 
 have so far followed us." By implication, 
 therefore, " but let it follow us no further." 
 " Here let it end," Hie sit Jinis, as Servius 
 well observes in the place. 
 
 In which instances, by the way, mark 
 not only the force of the tense, but of the 
 mood, the precative or imperative, not in 
 the future but in the past. See next 
 chapter. 
 
156 HERMES. 
 
 And again, 
 
 Locus Ardea quondam 
 
 Dictus avis, et nunc magnum manet Ardea nomen, 
 Sed fortuna fuit. h JEn. vii. 
 
 The reason of these significations is derived from the com- 
 pletive power of the tense here mentioned. We see that the 
 periods of nature, and of human aifairs, are maintained by the 
 reciprocal succession of contraries. It is thus with calm and 
 tempest, with day and night, with prosperity and adversity, 
 with glory and ignominy, with life and death. Hence, then, in 
 the instances above, the completion of one contrary is put for 
 the commencement of the other, and to say, hath lived, or hath 
 been* has the same meaning with is dead, or is no more. 
 
 It is remarkable in Virgil, 1 that he frequently joins in the 
 same sentence this complete and perfect present with the ex- 
 tended and passing present ; which proves that he considered 
 the two, as belonging to the same species of time, and therefore 
 naturally formed to coincide with each other. 
 
 Tibi jam brachia contrahit ardens 
 Scorpius, et coeli justa plus parte reliquit. Georg. i. 
 
 Terra tremit ; fugere ferae. Georg. i. 
 
 Praesertim si tempestas a vertice sylvis 
 
 Incubuit, glomeratque ferens incendia ventus. Georg. ii. 
 
 Ilia noto citius, volucrique sagitta, 
 Ad terrain fugit, et portu se condidit alto. JEn. v. 
 
 In the same manner he joins the same two modifications of 
 time in the past ; that is to say, the complete and perfect past 
 with the extended and passing. 
 
 Inruerant Danai, et tectum omne tenebant. JEn. ii. 
 
 Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosae 
 
 Addiderant, rutili tres ignis, et alitis austri. 
 
 Fulgores nunc terrificos, sonitumque metumque 
 
 Miscebant open, flammisque sequacibus iras. J JEn. viii. 
 
 h Certus in hospitibus non est amor ; errat, supposes the scorpion so desirous of admit- 
 
 ut ipsi: ting Augustus among the heavenly signs, 
 
 Cumque nihil speres firmius esse,fuit. that though he has already made him more 
 
 Epist. Ovid. Helen. Paridi. ver. 190. than room enough, yet he still continues to 
 
 Sice erimus, seu nosfata fuisse volent. be making him more. Here then we have 
 
 Tibull. iii. 5. 32. two acts, one perfect, the other pending, 
 
 1 See also Spencer's Fairy Queen, book i. and hence the use of the two different 
 
 c. 3. st. 19 ; c. 3. st. 39; c. 8. st. 9. tenses. Some editions read relinquit; but 
 
 He hath his shield redeemed, and forth his reliquit has the authority of the celebrated 
 
 sword he draws. Medicean manuscript. 
 
 J The intention of Virgil may be better Ilia noto citius, volucrique sagitta, 
 
 seen, in rendering one or two of the above Ad ter ram. fugit, et portu se condidit alto. 
 
 passages into English. " The ship, quicker than the wind, or a 
 
 Tibi jam brachia contrahit ardens swift arrow, continues flying to land, and is 
 
 Scorpius, et cadi justa plus parte reliquit. hid within the lofty harbour." We may 
 
 " For thee the scorpion is now contracting suppose this harbour (like many others) 
 
 his claws, and hath already left thee more to have been surrounded with high land. 
 
 than a just portion of heaven." The poet, Hence the vessel, immediately on entering 
 
 from a high strain of poetic adulation, it, was completely hid from those specta- 
 
HERMES. 157 
 
 As to the imperfectum,) it is sometimes employed to denote 
 what is usual and customary. Thus surgebat and scribebat sig- 
 nify, not only "" he was rising, he was writing," but upon occasion 
 they signify " he used to rise, he used to write." The reason of 
 this is, that whatever is customary, must be something which 
 has been frequently repeated. But what has been frequently 
 repeated, must needs require an extension of time past, and thus 
 we fall insensibly into the tense here mentioned. 
 
 Again, we are told by Pliny (whose authority likewise is con- 
 firmed by many gems and marbles still extant) that the ancient 
 painters and sculptors, when they fixed their names to their 
 works, did it pendenti titulo, " in a suspensive kind of inscrip- 
 tion," and employed for that purpose the tense here mentioned. 
 It was '-47reXX77<? eVotet, Apelles faciebat, UoXu/cXetro? eVot'et, 
 Polycletm faciebat, and never &irouj<re or fecit. By this they 
 imagined that they avoided the shew of arrogance, and had in 
 case of censure an apology (as it were) prepared, since it ap- 
 peared from the work itself that it was once indeed in hand, 
 but no pretension that it was ever finished. k 
 
 It is remarkable that the very manner in which the Latins 
 derive these tenses from one another, shews a plain reference to 
 the system here advanced. From the passing present come the 
 passing past and future : Scribo, scribebam, scribam. From the 
 perfect present come the perfect past and future : Scripsi, 
 scripseram, scripsero. And so in all instances, even where the 
 verbs are irregular, as from fero come ferebam and feram ; from 
 tuli come tuleram and tulero. 
 
 We shall conclude by observing, that the order of t the tenses, 
 as they stand ranged by the old grammarians, is not a for- 
 tuitous order, but is consonant to our perceptions in the recog- 
 nition of time, according to what we have explained already. 1 
 Hence it is that the present tense stands first; then the past 
 tenses ; and lastly the future. 
 
 And now having seen what authorities there are for aorists, 
 or those tenses which denote time indefinitely, and what for 
 
 tors, who had gone out to see the ship- race, observation upon this occasion is elegant, 
 
 but yet might still continue sailing towards Ordo autem (temporum scil.) aliter est, 
 
 the shore within. quam natura eoruin. Quod enim praeteriit, 
 
 Inruerant Danai, et tectum omne tenebant. prius est, quam quod est, itaque primo loco 
 
 " The Greeks had entered and were then debere poni videbatur. Verum, quod primo 
 
 possessing the whole house ;" as much as quoque tempore offertur nobis, id creat 
 
 to say, " they had entered, and that was primas species in animo : quamobrem prae- 
 
 over," but their possession continued still. sens tempus primum locum occupavit ; est 
 
 k Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. i. The first printer?, enim commune omnibus animalibus. Prae- 
 
 ( who were most of them scholars and critics,) teritum autem iis tantum, quae memoria 
 
 in imitation of the ancient artists, used the praedita sunt. Futurum vero etiam paucio- 
 
 same tense. Excudebat H. Stephamis. Ex- ribus, quippe quibus datum est prudentiae 
 
 cudebat Guil. Morelius. Absolvebat Joan, officium. De Cans. Ling. Lat. c. 113. See 
 
 Benenatus, which has been followed by Dr. also Senecae Epist. 124. Mutum animal 
 
 Taylor in his late valuable edition of De- sensu comprehendit praesentia ; praeterito- 
 
 mosthenes. rum, &c. 
 
 1 See before, pages 14H 150. Scaligcr's 
 
158 HERMES. 
 
 those tenses opposed to aorists, which mark it definitely, (such 
 as the inceptive, the middle, and the completive,) we here finish 
 the subject of time and tenses, and proceed to consider the verb 
 in other attributes, which it will be necessary to deduce from 
 other principles. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONCERNING MODES. 
 
 WE have observed already, m that the soul's leading powers are 
 those of perception and those of volition, which words we have 
 taken in their most comprehensive acceptation. We have 
 observed also, that all speech or discourse is a publishing or 
 exhibiting some part of our soul, either a certain perception or 
 a certain volition. Hence then, according as we exhibit it either 
 in a different part or after a different manner, hence, 1 say, the 
 variety of modes or moods." 
 
 If we simply declare or indicate something to be or not to be, 
 (whether a perception or volition, it is equally the same,) this 
 constitutes that mode called the declarative or indicative. 
 
 A PERCEPTION. 
 
 Nosco crines, incanaque menta 
 Regis Romani. Virg. ./En. vi. 
 
 A VOLITION. 
 
 In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas 
 
 Corpora. Ovid. Metam. i. 
 
 If we do not strictly assert, as of something absolute and 
 certain, but as of something possible only, and in the number of 
 contingents, this makes that mode which grammarians call the 
 potential, and which becomes on such occasions the leading 
 mode of the sentence. 
 
 Sed tacitus pasci si posset corvus, haberct 
 
 Plus dapis, &c. Hor. 
 
 Yet sometimes it is not the leading mode, but only subjoined 
 to the indicative. In such case it is mostly used to denote the 
 end, or final cause ; which end, as in human life it is always a 
 contingent, and may never perhaps happen, in despite of all our 
 
 m See chapter ii. verbs, hence it is Apollonius observes, rots 
 
 n Gaza defines a mode exactly consonant p-fi/j-affiv Qaiptrus irapditeiTai i] \f/vxiK"h 8ia- 
 
 to this doctrine. He says it is ySouArj/ua, 0e<m : " the soul's disposition is in an 
 
 etY olv 7ra077/ia tyvx^s, S*a fywris ff-r)p.a.iv6- eminent degree attached to verbs." De 
 
 /u.ej/01/, "a volition or affection of the soul, Synt. 1. iii. c. 13. Thus, too, Priscian : 
 
 signified through some voice, or sound arti- Modi sunt diversae inclinationes animi, quas 
 
 culate." Gram. 1. iv. As therefore this is varia consequitur declinatio verbi. Lib. viii. 
 
 the nature of modes, and modes belong to p. 821. 
 
HERMES. 159 
 
 foresight, is therefore expressed most naturally by the mode 
 here mentioned. For example, 
 
 Ut jugulent homines, surgunt de nocte latrones. Hor. 
 
 " Thieves rise by night, that they may cut men's throats." 
 
 Here that they rise, is positively asserted in the declarative 
 or indicative mode; hut as to their cutting men's throats, this 
 is only delivered potentially, because how truly soever it may 
 be the end of their rising, it is still but a contingent that may 
 never perhaps happen. This mode, as often as it is in this 
 manner subjoined, is called by grammarians, not the potential, 
 but the subjunctive. 
 
 But it so happens, in the constitution of human affairs, that it 
 is not always sufficient merely to declare ourselves to others. 
 We find it often expedient, from a consciousness of our ina- 
 bility, to address them after a manner more interesting to 
 ourselves, whether to have some perception informed, or some 
 volition gratified. Hence then new modes of speaking : if we 
 interrogate, it is the interrogative mode ; if we require, it is the 
 requisitive. Even the requisitive itself hath its subordinate 
 species : with respect to inferiors, it is an imperative mode ; with 
 respect to equals and superiors, it is a precative or optative. 
 
 And thus have we established a variety of modes : the indica- 
 tive or declarative, to assert what we think certain ; the poten- 
 tial, for the purposes of whatever we think contingent; the 
 interrogative, when we are doubtful, to procure us information ; 
 and the requisitive, to assist us in the gratification of our 
 volitions. The requisitive too appears under two distinct species, 
 either as it is imperative to inferiors, or precative to superiors. p 
 
 It was the confounding of this distinc- the Peripatetics called the eTSos /cA7?Ti/c2>//, 
 tion that gave rise to a sophism of Pro- but the Stoics more properly irpo<rayopev- 
 tagoras. Homer (says he) in beginning riKov) was nothing more than the form of 
 his Iliad with, Sing, Muse., the wrath ; when address in point of names, titles, and epi- 
 he thinks to pray, in reality commands, thets, Avith which we apply ourselves one 
 E{/'xe<r0ai oiopevos, e-Trirdrrei. Aristot. Poet, to another. As, therefore, it seldom in- 
 c. 19. The solution is evident from the eluded any verb within it, it could hardly 
 division here established, the grammatical contribute to form a verbal mode. Ammo- 
 form being in both cases the same. nius and Boethius, the one a Greek Peri- 
 
 P The species of modes in great measure patetic, the other a Latin, have illustrated 
 
 depend on the species of sentences. The the species of sentences from Homer and 
 
 Stoics increased the number of sentences Virgil after the following manner, 
 
 far beyond the Peripatetics. Besides those 'AAAo rov Xoyov irevre ei8uv, rov re 
 
 mentioned in chap. ii. note k, p. 122, they K^TIKOV, us rb, 
 
 had many more, as may be seen in Ammonius *n /j.d.Kap 'ArpeiSrj. 
 
 de Interpret, p. 4. and Diogenes Laertius, Kal rov TrpoffraicriKov, us rb, 
 
 1. vii. 66. The Peripatetics (and it seems BOOK' Wi^Ipi rax^a- 
 
 too with reason) considered all these addi- Kal rov epurrinariKov, us rb, 
 
 tional sentences as included within those Tt's, ir66cv els avtipuv ; 
 
 which they themselves acknowledged, and teal rov eu/cTi/coG, us T&, 
 
 which they made to be five in number ; the At y&p Zev re irdrep. 
 
 vocative, the imperative, the interrogative, Kal ewl rovrois, rov airotyavriKov, Ka(f t>v 
 
 the precative, and the assertive. There is a.Tro<patv6iui.e6a irepl brovovv ruv irpay/j.d- 
 
 no mention of a potential sentence, which ruv, oTov 
 
 may be supposed to coincide with the as- 0eol 5e re irdvra taa.<nv. 
 
 sertive, or indicative. The vocative (which ov -rrepl iravrbs, &c. EJS rb irepl 'Ep/x. p. 4. 
 
160 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 As therefore all these several modes have their foundation in 
 nature, so have certain marks or signs of them been introduced into 
 languages, that we may he enabled by our discourse to signify 
 them one to another. And hence those various modes or moods 
 of which we find in common grammar so prolix a detail, and 
 which are, in fact, no more than "so many literal forms, in- 
 tended to express these natural distinctions." q 
 
 All these modes have this in common, that they exhibit some 
 way or other the soul and its affections. Their peculiarities and 
 distinctions are in part, as follows. 
 
 The requisitive and interrogative modes are distinguished 
 from the indicative and potential, that whereas these last seldom 
 call for a return, to the two former it is always necessary. 
 
 If we compare the requisitive mode with the interrogative, we 
 shall find these also distinguished, and that not only in the 
 return, but in other peculiarities. 
 
 The return to the requisitive, is sometimes made in words, 
 sometimes in deeds. To the request of Dido to JEneas, 
 
 Boethius's account is as follows. Per- 
 fectarum vero orationum partes quinque 
 sunt: deprecativa, ut, 
 
 Jupiter omnipotens, precibus sifiecteris ullis, 
 Da deinde auxilium, Pater, atque hcec omina 
 firma. 
 
 Imperativa, ut, 
 Vadeage,nate,vocaZephyros, et labere pennis. 
 
 Interrogativa, ut, 
 Die mihi, Dameeta, cujum pecus ? 
 
 Vocativa, ut, 
 
 07 Pater, O! homimim rerumque edema 
 potestas. 
 
 Enuntiativa, in qua veritas vel falsitas 
 invenitur, ut, 
 
 Principio arboribus varia est natura creandis. 
 Boeth. in lib. de Interp. p. 291. 
 
 In Milton the same sentences may be 
 found, as follows. The precative, 
 Universal Lord ! be bounteous still 
 To give us only good. 
 
 The imperative, 
 Go then, thou mightiest, in thy Fathers might. 
 
 The interrogative, 
 Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape ? 
 
 The vocative, 
 
 Adam, earth's hallowed mould, 
 Of God inspired. 
 
 The assertive or enunciative, 
 The conquered also and enslaved by war 
 Shall, ivith their freedom lost, all virtue lose. 
 
 'i The Greek language, which is of all the 
 most elegant and complete, expresses these 
 several modes, and all distinctions of time 
 likewise, by an adequate number of varia- 
 tions in each particular verb. These varia- 
 tions may be found, some at the beginning 
 of the verb, others at its ending, and con- 
 
 sist for the most part either in multiplying 
 or diminishing the number of syllables, or 
 else in lengthening or shortening their re- 
 spective quantities, which two methods are 
 called by grammarians the syllabic and the 
 temporal. The Latin, which is but a spe- 
 cies of Greek somewhat debased, admits in 
 like manner a large portion of those varia- 
 tions, which are chiefly to be found at the 
 ending of its verbs, and but rarely at their 
 beginning. Yet in its deponents and pas- 
 sives it is so far defective, as to be forced 
 to have recourse to the auxiliar, sum. The 
 modern languages, which have still fewer of 
 those variations, have been necessitated all 
 of them to assume two auxiliars at least, 
 that is to say, those which express in each 
 language the verbs have and am. As to the 
 English tongue, it is so poor in this respect 
 as to admit no variation for modes, and only 
 one for time, which we apply to express an 
 aorist of the past. Thus from write cometh 
 wrote ; from give, gave ; from speak, spake, 
 &c. Hence, to express time and modes, we 
 are compelled to employ no less than seven 
 auxiliars, viz. do, am, have, shall, will, man, 
 and can which we use sometimes singly, 
 as when we say, I am writing, I have 
 written ; sometimes two together, as, I have 
 been writing, I should have written ; some- 
 times no less than three, as, I might have 
 been lost, He could Jiave been preserved. 
 But for these, and all other speculations re- 
 lative to the genius of the English language, 
 we refer the reader, who wishes for the most 
 authentic information, to that excellent trea- 
 tise of the learned Dr. Lowth, entitled, A 
 short Introduction to English Grammar. 
 
HERMES. 
 
 a prima die, hospes, engine nobis 
 
 Insidias Danaum . . 
 
 161 
 
 the proper return was in words ; that is, in an historical narrative. 
 To the request of the unfortunate chief date obolum Belisario 
 the proper return was in a deed ; that is, in a charitable relief. 
 But with respect to the interrogative, the return is necessarily 
 made in words alone ; in words, which are called a response or 
 answer, and which are always actually or by implication some 
 definitive assertive sentence. Take examples. Whose verses 
 are these 2 the return is a sentence, These are verses of Homer. 
 Was Brutus a worthy man ? the return is a sentence, Brutus 
 was a worthy man. 
 
 And hence (if we may be permitted to digress) we may 
 perceive the near affinity of this interrogative mode with the 
 indicative, in which last its response or return is mostly made. 
 So near indeed is this affinity, that in these two modes alone the 
 verb retains the same form/ nor are they otherwise distinguished, 
 than either by the addition or absence of some small particle, or 
 by some minute change in the collocation of the words, or some- 
 times only by a change in the tone, or accent. 8 
 
 only one. Now the least complex inter- 
 rogation will admit of four answers, two 
 affirmative, two negative, if not perhaps of 
 more. The reason is, a complex interroga- 
 tion cannot consist of less than two simple 
 ones ; each of which may be separately 
 affirmed and separately denied. For in- 
 stance : Are these verses Homer's or Virgil's? 
 1. They are Homer's; 2. They are not 
 Homer's ; 3. They are Virgil's ; 4. They 
 are not Virgil's ; we may add, 5. They are 
 of neither. The indefinite interrogations go 
 still further ; for these may be answered by 
 infinite affirmatives, and infinite negatives. 
 For instance: Whose are these verses ? We 
 may answer affirmatively, They are Virgil's, 
 They are Horace's, They are Ovid's, &c. ; or 
 negatively, They are not Virgil's, They are 
 not Horace's, They are not Ovid's, and so 
 
 Kar(pacrij/ 
 
 TOV Ka\e?<T0ai dpurriKT] ava- 
 'icra 8e rfjs /caTCKpacrecos, vTrocrrpfQei 
 els rb slvai SpiffriK'f] : " The indicative mode, 
 of which we speak, by laying aside that 
 assertion, which by its nature it implies, 
 quits the name of indicative when it reas- 
 sumes the assertion, it returns again to its 
 proper character." Apoll. de Synt. 1. iii. 
 c. 21. Theodore Gaza says the same, Introd. 
 Gram. 1. iv. 
 
 8 It maybe observed of the interrogative, 
 that as often as the interrogation is simple 
 and definite, the response may be made in 
 almost the same words, by converting them 
 into a sentence affirmative or negative, ac- 
 cording as the truth is either one or the 
 other. For example : Are these verses of 
 
 Homer? Response: These verses are of on, either way, to infinity. How then 
 
 Homer. Are those verses of Virgil ? Re- 
 sponse, Those are not verses of Virgil. And 
 here the artists of language, for the sake of 
 brevity and despatch, have provided two 
 particles, to represent all such responses ; 
 Yes, for all the affirmative ; No, for all the 
 negative. 
 
 But when the interrogation is complex, 
 as when we say, Are these verses of Homer, 
 or of Virgil? much more, when it is in- 
 definite, as when we say in general, Whose 
 are these verses? we cannot then respond 
 after the manner above mentioned. The 
 reason is, that no interrogation can be an- 
 swered by a simple Yes, or a simple No, 
 except only those which are themselves so 
 simple, as of two possible answers to admit 
 
 should Ave learn from a single Yes, or a 
 single No, which particular is meant among 
 infinite possibles? These therefore are in- 
 terrogations which must be always an- 
 swered by a sentence. Yet even here 
 custom has consulted for brevity, by re- 
 turning for answer only the single essential 
 characteristic word, and retrenching by an 
 ellipsis all the rest, which rest the interro- 
 gator is left to supply from himself. Thus, 
 when we are asked, How many right 
 angles equal the angles of a triangle ? we 
 answer in the short monosyllable, Two ; 
 whereas, without the ellipsis, the answer 
 would have been, Two right angles equal 
 the angles of a triangle. 
 
 The ancients distinguished these two 
 
162 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 But to return to our comparison between the interrogative 
 mode and the requisitive. 
 
 The interrogative (in the language of grammarians) has all 
 persons of both numbers. The requisitive or imperative has no 
 first person of the singular, and that from this plain reason, that 
 it is equally absurd in modes for a person to request or give 
 commands to himself, as it is in pronouns, for the speaker to 
 become the subject of his own address.* 
 
 Again, we may interrogate as to all times,- both present, past, 
 and future. Who was founder of Rome? Who is king of 
 China I Who will discover the longitude \ But entreating and 
 commanding (which are the essence of the requisitive mode) 
 have a necessary respect to the future only. u For, indeed, what 
 have they to do with the present or the past, the natures of 
 which are immutable and necessary ? 
 
 species of interrogation by different names. 
 The simple they called epc^TTj/m, "interro- 
 gatio ;" the complex, TTVO-JUO, " percontatio." 
 Ammonius calls the first of these ^pcar^ais 
 SiaXcKTiirf} : the other, tptarriffts TrixTjua-n/d?. 
 See Am. in lib. de Interpr. p. 160. Diog. 
 Laert. vii. 66. Quintil. Inst. ix. 2. 
 
 1 Sup. p. 138. 
 
 u Apollonius's account of the future, im- 
 plied in all imperatives, is worth observing. 
 'ETT! yap p.}] yivofjitvois 3) ^ ysyov6<Tiv TJ 
 Trp6(rrais' ra Se /j.r) yiv6p.zva ^ ^ ytyo- 
 v6ra, eTrtTTjSetJTTjTO Se e^oi/rct els rb e<re<r- 
 Qai, jueAAovTos f<rn: "A command has re- 
 spect to those things which either are not 
 doing, or have not yet been done. But 
 those things, which being not now doing, 
 or having not yet been done, have a natu- 
 ral aptitude to exist hereafter, may be pro- 
 perly said to appertain to the future." De 
 Syntaxi, 1. i. c. 36. Soon before this he 
 says, "Pi.ira.vra TO. irpoffraKriita 
 
 yap eV Icrcp effrl rb, 6 rvpavvoKr6vt]ffas 
 ri/jLuaOa)., rep ri/j.v)6'f]o'rai, Kara r)]V xp^vov 
 tvvoiav' rfj KK\iffi Si7jAAa%bs, icadb rb 
 fj.fi/ TrpoffroLKrinibV) rb 8e 6piffriK.6v : " All 
 imperatives have a disposition within them, 
 which respects the future : with regard 
 therefore to time, it is the same thing to 
 say, Let him, that kills a tyrant, be ho- 
 noured ; or, He, that kills one, shall be ho- 
 noured ; the difference being only in the 
 mode, inasmuch as one is imperative, the 
 other indicative or declarative." Apoll. de 
 Syntaxi, 1. i. c. 35. Priscian seems to allow 
 imperatives a share of present time, as well 
 as future. But if we attend, we shall find 
 his present to be nothing else than an im- 
 mediate future, as opposed to a more dis- 
 tant one. Imperativus vero praesens et 
 futurum [tempus] naturali cjuadam neces- 
 sitate videtur posse accipere. Ea etenim 
 
 imperamus, quae vel in prsesenti statin* 
 volumus fieri sine aliqua dilatione, vel in 
 futuro. Lib. viii. p. 806. 
 
 It is true, the Greeks in their imperatives 
 admit certain tenses of the past, such as 
 those of the perfectum, and of the two 
 aorists. But then these tenses, when so 
 applied, either totally lose their temporary 
 character, or else are used to insinuate such 
 a speed of execution, that the deed should 
 be (as it were) done in the very instant 
 when commanded. The same difference 
 seems to subsist between our English im- 
 perative, Be gone, and those others of, Go, 
 or Be going. The first (if we please) may 
 be styled the imperative of the perfectum, 
 as calling in the very instant for the com- 
 pletion of our commands : the others may 
 be styled imperatives of the future, as- 
 allowing a reasonable time to begin first, and 
 finish afterward. 
 
 It is thus Apollonius, in the chapter first 
 cited, distinguishes between (T/taTrreTco ras 
 d/tireAous, "go to digging the vines," and 
 ffKa^drca ras ctjiiTreAous, "get the vines 
 dug." The first is spoken (as he calls it) 
 fls TrapdraffiV) "by way of extension, or 
 allowance of time for the work ;" the second, 
 els ffwreXetcaffiv, " with a view to inime^- 
 diate completion." And in another place, 
 explaining the difference between the same 
 tenses, (Titdirrf and (TKatyov, he says of the- 
 last, ov fj.6vov rb p.}] y^v6p.vov Trpocrrda'a'ei, 
 oAAa Kal rb yivo^evov eV irapardffei airayo- 
 petfet, "that it not only commands some- 
 thing, which has not been yet done, but 
 forbids also that, which is now doing in an 
 extension, that is to say, in a slow and 
 lengthened progress." Hence, if a man has 
 been a long while writing, and we are 
 willing to hasten him, it would be wrong to 
 say in Greek, 7pa$e, " write," (for that he 
 is now, and has been long doing,) but 
 
HERMES. 163 
 
 It is from this connexion of futurity with commands, that the 
 future indicative is sometimes used for the imperative, and that 
 to say to any one, You shall do this, has often the same force 
 with the imperative, Do this. So in the decalogue, " Thou shalt 
 not kill, Thou shalt not bear false witness, 11 which denote (we 
 know) the strictest and most authoritative commands. 
 
 As to the potential mode, it is distinguished from all the rest 
 by its subordinate or subjunctive nature. It is also further dis- 
 tinguished from the requisitive and interrogative, by implying a 
 kind of feeble and weak assertion, and so becoming, in some 
 degree, susceptible of truth and falsehood. Thus, if it be said 
 potentially, This may be, or This might have been, we may re- 
 mark without absurdity, It is true, or It is false. But if it be 
 said, Do this, meaning, Fly to heaven ; or Can this be done I 
 meaning, to square the circle ; we cannot say in either case, It is 
 true, or false, though the command and the question are about 
 things impossible. Yet still the potential does not aspire to the 
 indicative, because it implies but a dubious and conjectural as- 
 sertion, whereas that of the indicative is absolute, and without 
 reserve. 
 
 This, therefore, (the indicative, I mean,) is the mode, which, 
 as in all grammars it is the first in order, so is truly first both in 
 dignity and use. It is this which publishes our sublimest per- 
 ceptions ; which exhibits the soul in her purest energies, superior 
 to the imperfection of desires and wants ; which includes the 
 whole of time, and its minutest distinctions ; which, in its 
 various past tenses, is employed by history, to preserve to us 
 the remembrance of former events ; in its futures is used by 
 prophecy, or (in default of this) by wise foresight, to instruct 
 and forewarn us, as to that which is coming ; but above all in 
 its present tense serves philosophy and the sciences, by just de- 
 monstrations to establish necessary truth; that truth, which from 
 its nature only exists in the present ; which knows no distinc- 
 tions either of past or of future, but is everywhere and always 
 invariably one. x 
 
 ypd\l/ov, " get your writing done ; make no blichus, Ammonius, and others. There were 
 
 delays." See Apoll. 1. iii. c. 24. See also no sects of philosophy that lay greater 
 
 Macrobius de Diff. Verb. Grac. et Lat. p. stress on the distinction between things 
 
 C80. edit. Varior. Latini non aestimave- existing in time and not in time, than the 
 
 runt, &c. two above mentioned. The doctrine of the 
 
 x See the quotation, note z, chapter vi. Peripatetics on this subject (since it is 
 
 p. 143. Cum enim dicimus, Deus est, non these that Boethius here follows) may be 
 
 eum dicimus nunc esse, sed, &c. partly understood from the following sketch. 
 
 Boethius, author of the sentiment there " The things that exist in time are those 
 
 quoted, was by birth a Roman of the first whose existence time can measure. But if 
 
 quality ; by religion, a Christian ; and by their existence may be measured by time, 
 
 philosophy, a Platonic and Peripatetic ; then there may be assumed a time greater 
 
 which two -sects, as they sprang from the than the existence of any one of them, as 
 
 same source, were in the latter ages of an- there may be assumed a number greater 
 
 tiquity commonly adopted by the same per- than the greatest multitude, that is capable 
 
 sons, such as Themistius, Porphyry, lam- of being numbered. And hence it is that 
 
 M 2 
 
164 HERMES. 
 
 Through all the above modes, with their respective tenses, 
 the verb being considered as denoting an attribute, has always 
 reference to some person, or substance. Thus if we say, Went, 
 or, Go, or Whither goeth, or Might have gone, we must add a 
 person or substance, to make the sentence complete. Cicero 
 went ; Ca3sar might have gone ; Whither goeth the wind ? Go ! 
 thou traitor ! But there is a mode or form under which verbs 
 sometimes appear, where they have no reference at all to persons 
 or substances. For example, To eat is pleasant ; but to fast is 
 wholesome. Here the verbs, to eat, and to fast, stand alone 
 by themselves, nor is it requisite or even practicable to prefix a 
 person or substance. Hence the Latin and modern grammarians 
 have called verbs under this mode, from this their indefinite 
 nature, infinitives. Sanctius has given them the name of im- 
 personals ; and the Greeks that of airape^ara, from the same 
 reason of their not discovering either person or number. 
 
 These infinitives go further. They not only lay aside the 
 character of attributives, but they also assume that of substan- 
 tives, and as such themselves become distinguished with their 
 several attributes. Thus, in the instance above, pleasant is the 
 attribute attending the infinitive to eat ; wholesome the attribute 
 attending the infinitive to fast. Examples in Greek and Latin 
 of like kind are innumerable. 
 
 Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, 
 Scire tuum nihil est. 
 
 Ov KarQavfiv yap SeiJ'b*', aAA' aiffxpus QavtivJ 
 
 things temporary have their existence, as it diameter of the square is incommensurable 
 
 were limited by time ; that they are con- with its side. What then shall we say ? 
 
 fined within it, as within some bound ; and Was there ever a time when it was not in- 
 
 that in some degree or other they all sub- commensurable, as it is certain there was- 
 
 mit to its power, according to those common a time when there was no Stonehenge, or 
 
 phrases, that time is a destroyer ; that Pyramids ? or is it daily growing less in- 
 
 things decay through time ; that men for- commensurable, as we are assured of decays 
 
 get in time, and lose their abilities ; and in both those massy structures ?" From 
 
 seldom that they improve, or grow young, these unchangeable truths, we may pass to 
 
 or beautiful. The truth, indeed, is, time their place, or region ; to the unceasing in- 
 
 always attends motion. Now the natural tellection of the universal mind, ever perfect, 
 
 effect of motion is to put something, which ever full, knowing no remissions, languors, 
 
 now is, out of that state in which it now &c. See Nat. Ausc. 1. iv. c. 19. Metaph. 
 
 is, and so far, therefore, to destroy that 1. xiv. c. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. edit. Du Val. and 
 
 state. note#, p. 11. The following passage may 
 
 " The reverse of all this holds with deserve attention. 
 
 things that exist eternally. These exist Tov yap vov 6 fjikv vostv ireQvKev, Kal 
 
 not in time, because time is so far from ^ voS>v 6 Se Kal Tre'^u/ce, Kal voei. dAAo 
 
 being able to measure their existence, that Kal OVTOS ot>ira> reAfos, Uv ^] irpoffOris 
 
 no time can be assumed, which their exist- aui $ rb Kal voe?v ael, Kal iravTa voeiv, Kal 
 
 ence doth not surpass. To which we may p.t) &\\OT a\\a. Strre efy tt,v ^TeAeVro- 
 
 add, that they feel none of its effects, being TOS 6 vowv ael Kal iravTa, Kal a/j.a. Max. 
 
 no way obnoxious either to damage or dis- Tyr. Diss. xvii. p. 201. edit. Lond. 
 
 solution. y It is from the infinitive thus partici- 
 
 " To instance in examples of either kind pating the nature of a noun or substantive, 
 
 of being. There are such things at this in- that the best grammarians have called it 
 
 slant, as Stonehenge and the Pyramids. It sometimes ovo^a. /fy^cm/c&f, " a verbal 
 
 is likewise true at this instant, that the noun ;" sometimes ovop.a PTJ/XCCTOS, " the 
 
HERMES. 165 
 
 The Stoics in their grammatical inquiries had this infinitive in 
 such esteem, that they held this alone to be the genuine pfjfj,a, 
 or " verb," a name which they denied to all the other modes. 
 Their reasoning was, they considered the true verbal character 
 to be contained simple and unmixed in the infinitive only. Thus 
 the infinitives, irepiTraTelv, ambulare, "to walk," mean simply 
 that energy, and nothing more. The other modes, besides ex- 
 pressing this energy, superadd certain affections, which respect 
 persons and circumstances. Thus ambulo and ambula mean not 
 simply " to walk," but mean, " I walk," and " walk thou." And 
 hence they are all of them resolvable into the infinitive, as their 
 prototype, together with some sentence or word, expressive of 
 their proper character. Ambulo, " I walk ;" that is, indico me 
 ambulare, " I declare myself to walk." Ambula^ " walk thou ;" 
 that is, impero te ambulare, " I command thee to walk ;" and so 
 with the modes of every other species. Take away, therefore, 
 the assertion, the command, or whatever else gives a character 
 to any one of these modes, and there remains nothing more than 
 the mere infinitive, which (as Priscian says) significat ipsam 
 rem, quam continet verbum. 2 
 
 The application of this infinitive is somewhat singular. It 
 naturally coalesces with all those verbs that denote any tendence, 
 desire, or volition of the soul, but not readily with others. Thus 
 it is sense, as well as syntax, to say, povXo/jiai f/}v, cupio vivere, 
 " I desire to live ;" but not to say, e<r0lo> V?v, edo vivere, or even, 
 in English, " I eat to live ;" unless by an ellipsis, instead of " I 
 eat for to live," as we say, eVe/ca TOV f^v, or pour mvre. The 
 reason is, that though different actions may unite in the same 
 subject, and, therefore, be coupled together, (as when we say, 
 
 verb's noun." The reason of this appella- rere enim est cursus ; et scribere, scriptura ; 
 
 tion is in Greek more evident, from its et legere, lectio. Itaque frequenter et nomi- 
 
 taking the prepositive article before it in all nibus adjunguntur, et aliis casualibus, more 
 
 cases ; rb ypd<piv, TOV ypd<ptiv, rta ypd- nominum ; lit Persius, 
 (peiv. The same construction is not un- Sed pulcrum est digito monstrari, et di- 
 known in English. der, hie est. 
 
 Thus Spencer : And soon after, Cum enim dico, bonum est 
 
 For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake, legere, nihil aliud significo, nisi, bona est 
 
 Could save t/ie son of Thetis from to die. lectio. 1. xviii. p. 1130. See also Apoll. 
 
 'ATTO TOV Qaveiv. In like manner we say, 1. i. c. 8. Gaza Gram. 1. iv. Tb 5e farapff*- 
 
 44 He did it to be rich," where we must <parov, uvop-d ecrrt ffi/jiaTOS, K. T. A. 
 supply by an ellipsis the preposition for. z See Apollon. 1. iii. 1 3. Kad6\ov TTUV 
 
 " He did it for to be rich," the same as if we Tra.ptiyp.fvov air6 TWOS, K. r. A. See also 
 
 had said, " He did it for gain :" eVe/co TOV Gaza, in the note before. Igitur a con- 
 
 TrXovTelv, cVe/co TOV /cepSous, in French, structione quoque vim rei verborum (id 
 
 pour s^enricJicr. Even when we speak est, nominis, quod significat ipsam rcm) 
 
 such sentences as the following, " I choose habere infinitivum possumus dignoscere ; 
 
 to philosophize, rather than to be rich," TO res autem in personas distributa facit 
 
 tf>i\oo~o(pe'iv )3ouAo/zo, ^Trep rb TrAoureo', alios verbi motus. Ittique omnes modi 
 
 the infinitives are in nature as much ac- in hunc, id est, infinitivum, transumuntur 
 
 cusatives, as if we were to say, " I choose sive resolvuntur. Prise. 1. xviii. p. 1 1 3 1 . 
 
 philosophy rather than riches," TI}V (j)i\offo- From these principles Apollonius calls the 
 
 <f)iai> Pov\ofj.cu, tfirep TOV irXovrov. Thus, infinitive pr)fj.a ywiKUTaTov* and Priscian, 
 
 too, Priscian, speaking of infinitives, Cur- verbum generate. 
 
160 HEllMES. 
 
 "He walked and discoursed,") yet the actions, notwithstanding, 
 remain separate and distinct. But it is not so with respect to 
 volitions and actions. Here the coalescence is often so intimate, 
 that the volition is unintelligible till the action be expressed : 
 cupio, volo, desidero ; " I desire, I am willing, I want" What ? 
 The sentences, we see, are defective and imperfect. We must 
 help them then by infinitives, which express the proper actions 
 to which they tend. Gupio legere^ Volo discere, Desidero videre : 
 " I desire to read, I am willing to live, I want to see." Thus is 
 the whole rendered complete, as well in sentiment as in syntax.* 
 And so much for modes, and their several species. We are 
 to attempt to denominate them according to their most eminent 
 characters ; it may be done in the following manner. As every 
 necessary truth, and every demonstrative syllogism, (which last 
 is no more than a combination of such truths,) must always be 
 expressed under positive assertions, and as positive assertions 
 only belong to the indicative, we may denominate it, for that 
 reason, the mode of science. 5 Again : as the potential is only 
 conversant about contingents, of which we cannot say with 
 certainty that they will happen or not, we may call this mode 
 the mode of conjecture. Again : as those that are ignorant and 
 would be informed, must ask of those that already know, this 
 being the natural way of becoming proficients ; hence we may 
 call the interrogative, the mode of proficiency. 
 
 Inter cuncta leges, et percontabere doctos, 
 Qua ratione queas traducere leniter sevum, 
 Quid pure tranquillet, &c. Hor. 
 
 Further still : as the highest and most excellent use of the re- 
 quisitive mode is legislative command, we may style it, for this 
 reason, the mode of legislature. Ad divos adeunto caste, says 
 Cicero, in the character of a Roman lawgiver ; " Be it therefore 
 enacted," say the laws of England ; and in the same mode speak 
 the laws of every other nation. It is also in this mode that the 
 geometrician, with the authority of a legislator, orders lines to 
 be bisected, and circles described, as preparatives to that science 
 which he is about to establish. 
 
 There are other supposed affections of verbs, such as number 
 and person ; but these, surely, cannot be called a part of their 
 essence, nor, indeed, are they the essence of any other attribute, 
 being, in fact, the properties, not of attributes, but of substances. 
 The most that can be said, is, that verbs in the more elegant 
 languages are provided with certain terminations, which respect 
 
 a Priscian calls these verbs, which natu- Lat. p. 685. edit. Var. 
 
 rally precede infinitives, verba voluntativa ; Nee omne aTrap^fparov cuicunque verbo^ 
 they are called in Greek TrpoaiperiKd. See &c. 
 
 1. xviii. 1129 ; but more particularly see b Ob nobilitatem prseivit indicativus, so- 
 
 Apollonius, 1. iii. c. 13, where this whole lus modus aptus scientiis, solus pater veri- 
 
 doctrine is explained with great accuracy, tatis. Seal, de Caus. L. Lat. c. 116. 
 See also Macrobius de Diff. Verb. Gr, et 
 
HERMES. 167 
 
 the number and person of every substantive, that we may know 
 with more precision, in a complex sentence, each particular sub- 
 stance, with its attendant verbal attributes. The same may be 
 said of sex, with respect to adjectives. They have terminations 
 which vary, as they respect beings, male or female, though sub- 
 stances past dispute are alone susceptible of sex. c We therefore 
 pass over these matters, and all of like kind, as being rather 
 among the elegancies, than the essentials of language/ which 
 essentials are the subject of our present inquiry. The principal 
 of these now remaining, is the difference of verbs as to their 
 several species, which we endeavour to explain in the following 
 
 manner. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONCERNING THE SPECIES OP VERBS, AND THEIR OTHER REMAINING 
 PROPERTIES. 
 
 ALL verbs, that are strictly so called, denote energies; 6 now, as 
 all energies are attributes, they have reference, of course, to 
 certain energizing substances. Thus it is impossible there should 
 be such energies, as to love, to fly, to wound, &c. if there were 
 not such beings as men, birds, swords, &c. Further, every 
 energy doth not only require an energizer, but is necessarily 
 conversant about some subject. For example : if we say, Brutus 
 loves, we must needs supply, loves Cato, Cassius, Portia, or 
 some one. The sword wounds, i. e. wounds Hector, Sarpedon, 
 Priam, or some one. And thus is it, that every energy is ne- 
 cessarily situate between two substantives ; an energizer, which 
 
 c It is somewhat extraordinary, that so and third person are improperly so called, 
 
 acute and rational a grammarian as Sanctius being, in fact, but negations of the other 
 
 should justly deny genders, or the distinc- two. 
 
 tion of sex to adjectives, and yet make d Whoever would see more upon a sub- 
 persons appertain, not to substantives, but ject of importance, referred to in many parts 
 to verbs. His commentator, Perizonius, is of this treatise, and particularly in note on of 
 much more consistent, who says, At vero this chapter, p. 16 3, may consult Letters con- 
 si rem recte consideres, ipsis nominibus et cerning Mind, an octavo volume, published 
 pronominibus vel maxime, imo unice inest 1750, the author Mr. John Petvin, vicar of 
 ipsa persona ; et verba se habent in per- Ilsington in Devon ; a person who, though 
 fionarum ratione ad noinma plane sicuti from his retired situation little known, was 
 adjectiva in ratione generum ad substantiva, deeply skilled in the philosophy both of 
 quibus solis autor (Sanctius scil. 1. i. c. 7.) the ancients and modems, and, more than 
 et recte genus adscribit, exclusis adjectivis. this, was valued by all that knew him for 
 Sanct. Minerv. 1. i. c. 12. There is, indeed, his virtue and worth. 
 an exact analogy between the accidents of e We use this word energy, rather than 
 sex and person. There are but two sexes, motion, from its more comprehensive mean- 
 that is to say, the male and the female ; ing ; it being a sort of genus, which in- 
 and but two persons, (or characters essential eludes within it both motion and its priva- 
 te discourse,) that is to say, the speaker tion. See before, p. 1 44. 
 and the party addressed. The third sex 
 
168 HERMES. 
 
 is active, and a subject, which is passive. Hence, then, if the 
 energizer leads the sentence, the energy follows its character, 
 and becomes what we call a verb active : thus we say, Brutus 
 amat, " Brutus loves." On the contrary, if the passive subject 
 be principal, it follows the character of this, too, and then be- 
 comes what we call a verb passive : thus we say, Portia amatur, 
 " Portia is loved." It is in like manner that the same road be- 
 tween the summit and foot of the same mountain, with respect 
 to the summit is ascent, with respect to the foot is descent. 
 Since then every energy respects an energizer, or a passive sub- 
 ject ; hence the reason why every verb, whether active or passive, 
 has in language a necessary reference to some noun for its nomi- 
 native case/ 
 
 But to proceed still further from what has been already ob- 
 served, Brutus loved Portia. Here Brutus is the energizer; 
 loved, the energy ; and Portia, the subject. But it might have 
 been, Brutus loved Cato, or Cassras, or the Roman republic ; for 
 the energy is referable to subjects infinite. Now, among these 
 infinite subjects, when that happens to occur, which is the ener- 
 gizer also, as when we say Brutus loved himself, slew himself, &c. 
 in such case the energy hath to the same being a double relation, 
 both active and passive. And this it is which gave rise among 
 the Greeks to that species of verbs called verbs middle ; g and 
 such was their true and original use, however in many instances 
 they may have since happened to deviate. In other languages 
 the verb still retains its active form, and the passive subject (se 
 or " himself") is expressed like other accusatives. 
 
 Again : in some verbs it happens that the energy always keeps 
 within the energizer, and never passes out to any foreign ex= 
 traneous subject. Thus when we say, Caesar walketh, Caesar 
 sitteth, it is impossible the energy should pass out, (as in the 
 ease of those verbs called by the grammarians verbs transitive,) 
 because both the energizer and the passive subject are united in 
 the same person. For what is the cause of this walking or 
 sitting ? It is the will and vital powers belonging to Caesar. And 
 what is the subject, made so to move or sit 2 It is the body and 
 limbs belonging also to the same Ca?sar. It is this, then, forms 
 that species of verbs, which grammarians have thought fit to 
 call verbs neuter, as if, indeed, they were void both of action 
 
 f The doctrine of impersonal verbs has verbs middle, admit a coincidence of the 
 
 been justly rejected by the best gram- active and passive character." Apollon. 
 
 marians, both ancient and modern. See 1. iii. c. 7. He that would see this whole 
 
 Sanct. Min. 1. i. c. 1 2 ; 1. iii. c. 1 ; 1. iv. c. 3. doctrine, concerning the power of the mid- 
 
 Priscian. 1. xviii. p. 1134. Apoll. 1. iii. sub. die verb, explained and confirmed with great 
 
 fin. In which places the reader will see a ingenuity and learning, may consult a small 
 
 proper nominative supplied to all verbs of treatise of that able critic, Kuster, entitled 
 
 this supposed character. De vero Usu Verborum Mediomm. A 
 
 Ta yap Ko.\ov/j.eva ^etr^rrjTos x^ aTa neat edition of this scarce piece ha? beeu 
 
 iv <xi/e5|aTo fvepyer'.K^s teal lately published, 
 5ta0eVeo>s ; "The verbs, called 
 
HERMES. 
 
 169 
 
 and passion, when, perhaps, (like verbs middle,) they may be 
 rather said to imply both. Not, however, to dispute about 
 names, as these neuters in their energizer always discover their 
 passive subject, 11 which other verbs cannot, their passive subjects 
 being infinite ; hence the reason why it is as superfluous in these 
 neuters to have the subject expressed, as in other verbs it is 
 necessary, and cannot be omitted. And thus it is that we are 
 taught in common grammars that verbs active require an accu- 
 sative, while neuters require none. 
 
 Of the above species of verbs, the middle cannot be called 
 necessary, because most languages have done without it. The 
 species of verbs therefore remaining, are the active, the passive, 
 and the neuter, and those seem essential to all languages 
 whatever. 1 
 
 h This character of neuters the Greeks 
 very happily express by the terms avToird- 
 6eia and tSioTrafleio, which Priscian renders 
 " quae ex se in seipsa fit intrinsecus passio." 
 1. viii. p. 790. Consentii Ars apud Putsch, 
 p. 2051. 
 
 It may be here observed, that even those 
 verbs, called actives, can upon occasion lay 
 aside their transitive character ; that is to 
 say, can drop their subsequent accusative, 
 and assume the form of neuters, so as to 
 stand by themselves. This happens when 
 the discourse respects the mere energy or 
 affection only, and has no regard to the sub' 
 ject, be it this thing or that. Thus we say, 
 OVK dltiev avayivdxTKfiv oros, "this man 
 knows not how to read," speaking only of the 
 energy, in which we suppose him deficient. 
 Had the discourse been upon the subjects 
 of reading, we must have added them, OVK 
 oT8ej> avayivtioarKfiv ra 'O/^pou, "he knows 
 not how to read Homer, or Virgil, or Cicero," 
 &c. 
 
 Thus Horace: 
 Qui cupit aut metuit, juvat ilium sic domus 
 
 aut res, 
 lit lippum picta tabulae .... 
 
 " He that desires or fears, (not this thing, 
 in particular, nor that, but, in general, 
 he within whose breast these affections 
 prevail,) has the same joy in a house or es- 
 tate, as the man with bad eyes has in fine 
 pictures." So Caesar, in his celebrated laconic 
 epistle of Veni, Vidi, Vici, where two actives, 
 we see, follow one neuter in the same de- 
 tached form as that neuter itself. The glory, 
 it seems, was in the rapid sequel of the 
 events. Conquest came as quick as he 
 could come himself, and look about him. 
 Whom he saw, and whom he conquered, 
 was not the thing of which he boasted. 
 See Apol. 1. iii. c. 31. p. 279. 
 
 1 The Stoics, in their logical view of 
 verbs, as making part in propositions, con- 
 
 sidered them under the four following sorts. 
 
 When a verb, coinciding with the nomi- 
 native of some noun, made without further 
 help a perfect assertive sentence, as 2cw- 
 KpoTT/s TrepiTrare?, " Socrates walketh ;" then 
 as the verb in such case implied the power 
 of a perfect predicate, they called it for that 
 reason /car^JpTj^o, " a predicable ;" or else, 
 from its readiness, ffvuPaiveiv, to coincide 
 with its noun in completing the sentence, 
 they called it o-u/ijSa/io, " a coincides" 
 
 When a verb was able with a noun to 
 form a perfect assertive sentence, yet could 
 not associate with such noun, but under 
 some oblique case, as Sw/cparet /iero^ueAet, 
 Socratem poenitet : such a verb, from its near 
 approach to just coincidence, and predica- 
 tion, they called ira.pa.ffv fj. fia/j.a or irapa- 
 
 When a verb, though regularly coin- 
 ciding with a noun in its nominative, still 
 required, to complete the sentiment, some 
 other noun under an oblique case, as 
 H\dTwv <iAe? A/WJ/O, " Plato loveth Dio," 
 (where without Z>zo, or some other, the 
 verb loveth would rest indefinite ;) such 
 verb, from this defect, they called ^TTOV $ 
 0-vfjL^a/j.a, or % /car^^prj/io, "something 
 less than a coincider, or less than a predi- 
 cable." 
 
 Lastly, when a verb required two nouns 
 in oblique cases, to render the sentiment 
 complete ; as when we say 2o>/cpoTet 'AAKt- 
 pidSovs /xeAet, Tcedet me vita, or the like ; 
 such verb they called ^TTOV, or e\arrov % 
 Trapa(Tv/j.f}a/j.a,OT % TTO.OO.K 0x7/7^17^0, "some- 
 thing less than an imperfect coincider, or an 
 imperfect predicable." 
 
 These were the appellations which they gave 
 to verbs, when employed along with nouns 
 to the forming of propositions. As to the 
 name of pypa, or " verb," they denied it to 
 them all, giving it only to the infinitive, as 
 we have shewn already. See page 1G5. Sec 
 
170 HERMES. 
 
 There remains a remark or two further, and then we quit the 
 subject of verbs. It is true, in general, that the greater part of 
 them denote attributes of energy and motion. But there are 
 some which appear to denote nothing more than a mere simple 
 adjective joined to an assertion. Thus tVafet in Greek, and 
 " equalleth" in English, mean nothing more than Zo-o? e'er, " is 
 equal." So albeo, in Latin, is no more than albus sum. 
 
 Campique ingentes ossibus albent. Virg. 
 
 The same may be said of tumeo. Mons tumet, i. e. twmidus 
 est, " is tumid." To express the energy in these instances we 
 must have recourse to the inceptives. 
 
 Fluctus uti primo coepit cum albescere vento. Virg. 
 
 Freta ponti 
 Incipiunt agitata tumescere. Virg. 
 
 There are verbs also to be found which are formed out of 
 nouns. So that, as in abstract nouns, (such as whiteness from 
 white, goodness from good,) as also in the infinitive modes of 
 verbs, the attributive is converted into a substantive ; here the 
 substantive on the contrary is converted into an attributive. 
 Such are nvvi^iv, from KVOJV, " to act the part of a dog, or be a 
 cynic ;" ^CKiinrl^iv from ^/XtTTTro?, " to Philippize, or favour 
 Philip ;" Syllaturire, from Sylla, " to meditate acting the same 
 
 rt as Sylla did." Thus, too, the wise and virtuous emperor, 
 way of counsel to himself opa ^ aTro/caLcrapcoOfj^ " beware 
 thou beest not be-Csesar^d ;" as though he said, " beware, that by 
 being emperor, thou dost not dwindle into a mere Caesar." k In 
 like manner one of our own witty poets, 
 
 Sternhold himself he out-Sternholded. 
 
 And long before him the facetious Fuller, speaking of one 
 Morgan, a sanguinary bishop in the reign of Queen Mary, says 
 of him, that he out-Bonner'd even Bonner himself. 1 
 
 And so much for that species of attributes called verbs in the 
 strictest sense. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONCERNING THOSE OTHER ATTRIBUTIVES, PARTICIPLES AND ADJECTIVES. 
 
 THE nature of verbs being understood, that of participles is no 
 way difficult. Every complete verb is expressive of an attri- 
 bute, of time, and of an assertion. Now if we take away the 
 
 also Ammon. in lib. de Interpret, p. 37. all verbs neuter are <rv/j.ftdfia.Ta ; verbs 
 
 Apollon de Syntaxi, 1. i. c. 8. 1. iii. c. 31. p. active, iirrova $ ffv/j.(3d/j.aTa. 
 279. c. 32. p. 295. Theod. Gaz. Gram. 1. iv. k Marc. Antonin. 1. vi. sec. 30. 
 From the above doctrine it appears, that } Church Hist. b. viii. p. 21. 
 
HERMES. 171 
 
 assertion, and thus destroy the verb, there will remain the 
 attribute and the time, which make the essence of a participle. 
 Thus take away the assertion from the verb, rypdfai^ " writeth," 
 and there remains the participle, rypdcjxDV, " writing," which 
 (without the assertion) denotes the same attribute, and the 
 same time. After the same manner, by withdrawing the asser- 
 tion, we discover ypd^as in erypatye, ypdtywv in ^pa^ei, for we 
 choose to refer to the Greek, as being of all languages the most 
 complete, as well in this respect as in others. 
 
 And so much for participles. 
 
 The nature of verbs and participles being understood, that of 
 adjectives becomes easy. A verb implies (as we have said) 
 both an attribute, and time, and an assertion ; a participle only 
 implies an attribute and time ; and an adjective only implies an 
 attribute ; that is to say, in other words, an adjective has no 
 assertion, and only denotes such an attribute as has not its 
 essence either in motion or its privation. Thus in general the 
 attributes of quantity, quality, and relation, (such as many and 
 few, great and little, Hack and white, good and lad, double, 
 treble, quadruple, &c.) are all denoted by adjectives. 
 
 It must indeed be confessed, that sometimes even those attri- 
 butes which are wholly foreign to the idea of motion, assume an 
 assertion and appear as verbs. Of such we gave instances 
 before, in albeo, tumeo, tVao>, and others. These, however, 
 compared to the rest of verbs, are but few in number, and may 
 be called, if thought proper, verbal adjectives. It is in like 
 manner that participles insensibly pass too into adjectives. Thus 
 doctus in Latin, and learned in English, lose their power as 
 participles, and mean a person possessed of an habitual quality. 
 Thus mr eloquens means, not " a man now speaking," but a man 
 *' who possesses the habit of speaking," whether he speak or no. 
 So when we say in English, " he is a thinking man, an under- 
 standing man," we mean, not a person whose mind is in actual 
 
 m The Latins are defective in this article our modes and tenses. 
 
 of participles. Their active verbs ending The English grammar lays down a good 
 in or, (commonly called deponents,) have rule with respect to its participles of the 
 active participles of all times, (such as lo- past, that they all terminate in rf, , or n, 
 quens, locutus, locuturus,) but none of the This analogy is perhaps liable to as few ex- 
 passive. Their actives ending in o, have ceptions as any. Considering, therefore, 
 participles of the present and future, (such how little analogy of any kind we have in 
 as scribens and scripturus,) but none of the our language, it seems wrong to annihilate 
 past. On the contrary, their passives have the few traces that may be found. It 
 participles of the past, (such as scriptus,) but would be well, therefore, if all writers who 
 none of the present or future, unless we endeavour to be accurate, would be careful 
 admit such as scribendus and docendus for to avoid a corruption, at present so preva- 
 futurcs, which grammarians controvert. The lent, of saying, it was wrote, for it was 
 want of these participles they supply by a written ; Tie was drove., for he was driven ; 
 periphrasis ; for ypd^as^ they say cum scrip- I have went, for / have gone, &c. : in all 
 sisset ; hYypa<$>6iJ.svos,duinscribitur, &c. In which instances a verb is absurdly used to 
 English we have sometimes recourse to the supply the proper participle, without any 
 same periphrasis ; and sometimes we avail necessity from the want of such word, 
 ourselves of the same auxiliars, which form 
 
172 HERMES. 
 
 energy, but whose mind is enriched with a larger portion of 
 those powers. It is indeed no wonder, as all attributives are 
 homogeneous, that at times the several species should appear to 
 interfere, and the difference between them be scarcely per- 
 ceptible. Even in natural species, which are congenial and of 
 kin, the specific difference is not always to be discerned, and in 
 appearance at least they seem to run into each other. 
 
 We have shewn already" in the instances of 3>i\iTr7ri%ew, Syl- 
 laturire, 'ATro/caicrapwQijvai,, and others, how substantives may 
 be transformed into verbal attributives. We shall now shew 
 how they may be converted into adjectives. When we say 
 the party of Pompey, the style of Cicero, the philosophy of 
 Socrates, in these cases the party, the style, and the philosophy 
 spoken of, receive a stamp and character from the persons whom 
 they respect. Those persons, therefore, perform the part of 
 attributes, that is, stamp and characterize their respective 
 subjects. Hence, then, they actually pass into attributes, and 
 assume as such the form of adjectives. And thus it is we say, 
 the Pompeian party, the Ciceronian style, and the Socratic phi- 
 losophy. It is in like manner for a trumpet of brass, we say a 
 brazen trumpet ; for a crown of gold, a golden crown, &c. 
 Even pronominal substantives admit the like mutation. Thus, 
 instead of saying, the book of me, of thee, and of Mm, we say, 
 my book, thy book, and Ms book ; instead of saying, the country 
 of us, of you, and of them, we say, our country, your country, 
 and their country ; which words may be called so many prono- 
 minal adjectives. 
 
 It has been observed already, and must needs be obvious to 
 all, that adjectives, as marking attributes, can have no sex. 
 And yet their having terminations conformable to the sex, 
 number, and case of their substantive, seems to have led gram- 
 marians into that strange absurdity of ranging them with nouns, 
 and separating them from verbs, though with respect to these 
 they are perfectly homogeneous; with respect to the others 
 quite contrary. They are homogeneous with respect to verbs, 
 as both sorts denote attributes; they are heterogeneous with 
 respect to nouns, as never properly denoting substances. But of 
 this we have spoken before. p 
 
 The attributives hitherto treated, that is to say, verbs, parti- 
 ciples, and adjectives, may be called attributives of the first order. 
 The reason of this name will be better understood, when we 
 have more fully discussed attributives of the second order, to 
 which we now proceed in the following chapter. 
 
 n Sup. p. 170. P Sup. c. vi. note a, p. 141. Sec also c. 
 
 o Sup. p. 167. iii. p. 125. 
 
HERMES. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CONCERNING ATTRIBUTIVES OF THE SECOND ORDER. 
 
 As the attributives hitherto mentioned denote the attributes 
 of substances, so there is an inferior class of them, which denote 
 the attributes only of attributes. 
 
 To explain by examples in either kind : when we say, "Cicero 
 and Pliny were both of them eloquent ; Statius and Virgil, both 
 of them wrote ;" in these instances the attributives, eloquent and 
 wrote, are immediately referable to the substantives, Cicero, 
 Virgil, &c. As therefore denoting the attributes of substances, 
 we call them attributives of the first order. But when we say, 
 "Pliny was moderately eloquent, but Cicero exceedingly elo- 
 quent ; Statius wrote indifferently, but Virgil wrote admirably ;" 
 in these instances, the attributives, moderately, exceedingly, 
 indifferently, admirably, are not referable to substantives, but to 
 other attributives, that is, to the words eloquent and wrote. 
 As therefore denoting attributes of attributes, we call them 
 attributives of the second order. 
 
 Grammarians have given them the name of eV^/^yLtara, 
 adverUa, " adverbs. 1 ' And indeed if we take the word pfjfj<a, 
 or " verb," in its most comprehensive signification, as including 
 not only verbs properly so called, but also participles and ad- 
 jectives, [an usage which may be justified by the best authori- 
 ties, q ] we shall find the name eTrlpprj/jua, or " adverb," to be a 
 very just appellation, as denoting a part of speech, the natural 
 appendage of verbs. So great is this dependence in grammatical 
 syntax, that an adverb can no more subsist without its verb, 
 than a verb can subsist without its substantive. It is the same 
 here, as in certain natural subjects. Every colour for its exist- 
 ence as much requires a superficies, as the superficies for its 
 existence requires a solid body/ 
 
 i Thus Aristotle, in his treatise De In- bant vel casuale. Priscian. 1. i. p. 574. 
 
 terpretatione, instances &v6pa>iros as " a r This notion of ranging the adverb un- 
 
 noun," and XCVKOS as " a verb." So Am- der the same genus with the verb, (by call- 
 
 monius : KOT& TOVTO rb (TTj/xcui/^uej/oj/, rb ing them both attributives,) and of explain- 
 
 /iifv Ka\bs KCU Siitaios KCU offa roiavra ing it to be the verb's epithet or adjective, 
 
 p-n/aara \ejfcr0ai Kal OVK ov6^ara : "Ac- (by calling it the attributive of an attribu- 
 
 cording to this signification, (that is, of de- tive,) is conformable to the best authorities. 
 
 noting the attributes of substance and the Theodore Gaza defines an adverb as follows : 
 
 predicate in propositions,) the words fair, Mepos \6yov &TTTWTOV, Kara pharos \ry6- 
 
 oiov 
 
 just, and the like, are called verbs, and not IJLSVOV, ?) (tri\ey6p.*vov p^/icm, KCU 
 
 nouns." Am. in libr. De Interp. p. 37. ^iridfTov pharos : " A part of speech de- 
 
 B. Arist. de Interp. 1. i. c. 1. See also of void of cases, predicated of a verb, or sub- 
 
 this treatise, c. vi. note </, p. 141. joined to it, and being as it were the verb's 
 
 In the same manner the Stoics talked of adjective." 1. iv. (where, by the way, we 
 
 the participle. Nam participium connu- may observe, how properly the adverb is 
 
 merantes vcrbis, participiale verbum voca- made an aptote, since its principal some- 
 
174 HERMES. 
 
 Among the attributes of substance are reckoned quantities and 
 qualities. Thus we say, " a white garment," " a high mountain." 
 Now some of these quantities and qualities are capable of in- 
 tension and remission. Thus we say, " a garment exceedingly 
 white ;" " a mountain tolerably high, or moderately high." It is 
 plain, therefore, that intension and remission are among the at- 
 tributes of such attributes. Hence then one copious source of 
 secondary attributives, or adverbs, to denote these two; that 
 is, intension and remission. The Greeks have their Oav/jLao-ra)?, 
 fjiaXia-ra, TTOVV, iJKicrTa : the Latins their valde, vehementer, 
 maxime, satis, mediocriter : the English, their greatly, vastly, 
 extremely, sufficiently, moderately, tolerably, indifferently, &c. 
 
 Further than this, where there are different intensions of the 
 same attribute, they may be compared together. Thus, if the 
 garment A be exceeedingly white, and the garment B be mo- 
 derately white, we may say, " the garment A is more white than 
 the garment B." 
 
 In these instances, the adverb more not only denotes inten- 
 sion, but relative intension. Nay, we stop not here. We not 
 only denote intension merely relative, but relative intension, than 
 which there is none greater. Thus we not only say, " the moun- 
 tain A is more high than the mountain B," but " that it is the 
 most high of all mountains." Even verbs, properly so called, 
 as they admit simple intensions, so they admit also these com- 
 parative ones. Thus in the following example : " fame he loveth 
 more than riches, but virtue of all things he loveth most ;" the 
 words more and most denote the different comparative intensions 
 of the verbal attributive loveth. 
 
 And hence the rise of comparison, and of its different degrees ; 
 which cannot well be more than the two species above men- 
 tioned, one to denote simple excess, and one to denote superlative. 
 Were we indeed to introduce more degrees than these, we ought 
 perhaps to introduce infinite, which is absurd. For why stop at 
 a limited number, when in all subjects, susceptible of intension, 
 the intermediate excesses are in a manner infinite 2 There are 
 infinite degrees of more white, between the first simple white, 
 and the superlative, whitest ; the same may be said of more 
 great, more strong, more minute, &c. The doctrine of gram- 
 marians about three such degrees, which they call the positive, 
 the comparative, and the superlative, must needs be absurd ; 
 both because in their positive there is no comparison at all, 5 and 
 
 times has cases, as in valde sapiens ; some- And before, speaking of the Stoics, he 
 
 times has none, asin valde amat.) Priscian's says, Etiam adverbia nominibus vel verbis 
 
 definition of an adverb is as follows : Ad- connumerabant, et quasi adjectiva verborum 
 
 verbium est pars orationis indeclinabilis, nominabant. 1. i. p. 574. See also Apoll. de 
 
 cujus significatio verbis adjicitur. Hoc enim Synt. 1. i. c. 3. sub. fin. 
 perficit adverbium verbis additum, quod ad- s Qui (scil. gradus positivus) quoniam 
 
 jectiva nomina appellativis nominibus ad- perfectus est, a quibusdam in numero gra- 
 
 juncta ; ut prudens homo ; pmdenter egit ; climm non computatur. Consentii ars apud 
 
 felix vir; feliciter vivit. 1. xv. p. 1003. Putsch, p. 2022. 
 
HERMES. 175 
 
 because their superlative is a comparative, as much as their 
 comparative itself. Examples to evince this may be found 
 everywhere. " Socrates was the most wise of all the Athenians ; 
 Homer was the most sublime of all poets." 
 
 Cadit et Ripheus, justissimus unus 
 
 Qui fuit in Teucris. Virg. 
 
 It must be confessed, these comparatives, as well the simple 
 as the superlative, seem sometimes to part with their relative 
 nature, and only retain their intensive. Thus in the degree, 
 denoting simple excess, 
 
 Tristior, et lacrymis oculos suifusa nitentes. Virg. 
 
 Rusticior paulo est. Hor. 
 
 Iii the superlative this is more usual. Vir doctissimus, vir 
 fortissimus, " a most learned man, a most brave man ;" that is to 
 say, not the bravest and most learned man that ever existed, 
 but a man possessing those qualities in an eminent degree. 
 
 The authors of language have contrived a method to retrench 
 these comparative adverbs, by expressing their force in the 
 primary attributive. Thus, instead of more fair, they say fairer; 
 instead of most fair, fairest ; and the same holds true both in 
 the Greek and Latin. This practice however has reached no 
 further than to adjectives, or at least to participles, sharing the 
 nature of adjectives. Verbs perhaps were thought too much 
 diversified already, to admit more variations without perplexity. 
 
 As there are some attributives which admit of comparison, 
 so there are others which admit of none. Such for example 
 are those, which denote that quality of bodies arising from their 
 figure; as when we say, "a circular table, a quadrangular court, 
 a conical piece of metal/' &c. The reason is, that a million of 
 things, participating the same figure, participate it equally, if 
 they participate it at all. To say, therefore, that while A and B 
 are both quadrangular, A is more or less quadrangular than B, 
 is absurd. The same holds true in all attributives, denoting 
 definite quantities, whether continuous or discrete, whether 
 absolute or relative. Thus the two-foot rule A, cannot be more 
 a two-foot rule than any other of the same length. Twenty 
 lions cannot be more twenty than twenty flies. If A and B be 
 both triple or quadruple to C, they cannot be more triple, or 
 more quadruple, one than the other. The reason of all this is, 
 there can be no comparison without intension and remission ; 
 there can be no intension and remission in things always definite ; 
 and such are the attributives which we have last mentioned. 
 
 In the same reasoning we see the cause, why no substantive 
 is susceptible of these comparative degrees. A mountain cannot 
 be said more to be, or to exist, than a mole-hill, but the more 
 and less must be sought for in their quantities. In like manner, 
 when we refer many individuals to one species, the lion A can- 
 not be called more a lion than the lion B; but if more any thing, 
 
176 HERMES. 
 
 he is more fierce, more speedy, or exceeding in some such at- 
 tribute. So again, in referring many species to one genus, a 
 crocodile is not more an animal than a lizard, nor a tiger more 
 than a cat ; but if any thing, they are more bulky, more strong, 
 &c. the excess, as before, being derived from their attributes. 
 So true is that saying of the acute Stagirite, " that substance is 
 not susceptible of more and less." 1 But this by way of digres- 
 sion ; to return to the subject of adverbs. 
 
 Of the adverbs, or secondary attributives already mentioned, 
 these denoting intension or remission may be called adverbs of 
 quantity continuous : once, twice, thrice, are adverbs of quantity 
 discrete ; more and most, less and least, to which may be added 
 equally, proportionally, &c. are adverbs of relation. There are 
 others of quality, as when we say, honestly industrious, prudently 
 brave, they fought bravely, he painted finely, a portico formed 
 circularly, a plain cut triangularly, &c. 
 
 And here it is worth while to observe, how the same thing, 
 participating the same essence, assumes different grammatical 
 forms from its different relations. For example, suppose it 
 should be asked, how differ honest, honestly, and honesty. The 
 answer is, they are in essence the same, but they differ, inas- 
 much as honest is the attributive of a substantive ; honestly, of 
 a verb ; and honesty, being divested of these its attributive re- 
 lations, assumes the power of a substantive, so as to stand by 
 itself. 
 
 The adverbs, hitherto mentioned, are common to verbs of 
 every species ; but there are some which are peculiar to verbs, 
 properly so called ; that is to say, to such as denote motion or 
 energy, with their privations. All motion and rest imply time 
 and place, as a kind of necessary coincidents. Hence, then, if 
 we would express the place or time of either, we must needs 
 have recourse to the proper adverbs ; of place, as when we say, 
 he stood there, he went hence, he travelled far, &c. : of time, 
 as when we say, he stood then, he went afterward, he travelled 
 formerly, &c. Should it be asked, Why adverbs of time, when 
 verbs have tenses ? The answer is, though tenses may be suffi- 
 cient to denote the greater distinctions of time, yet to denote 
 them all by tenses would be a perplexity without end. What 
 a variety of forms to denote yesterday, to-day, to-morrow, 
 formerly, lately, just now, now, immediately, presently, soon, 
 hereafter, &c.2 It was this, then, that made the temporal ad- 
 verbs necessary, over and above the tenses. 
 
 To the adverbs just mentioned, may be added those which 
 denote the intensions and remissions peculiar to motion, such as 
 
 1 OVK kv eTnSe'xotTo ^ ovcria rb p.a\\ov masterly and philosophical manner. See 
 
 Kal rb r\TTov. Catcgor. c. 5. See also Sane- also Priscian, p. 598. Derivantur igitur 
 
 tius, 1. i. c. 11 ; 1. ii. c. 10, 11. where the comparativa a nominibus adjcctivis, &c. 
 subject of comparatives is treated in a very 
 
HERMES. ]77 
 
 speedily, hastily, swiftly, slowly, &c.; as also adverbs of place, 
 made out of prepositions, such as avw and KCLTM, from ava and 
 Kara, in English upward and downward, from up and down. In 
 some instances the preposition suffers no change, but becomes an 
 adverb by nothing more than its application ; as when we say, 
 circa equitat, "he rides about;" prope cecidit, "he was near 
 falling;" verum ne post conferas culpam in me, "but do not after 
 lay the blame on me." u 
 
 There are likewise adverbs of interrogation, such as where, 
 whence, whither, how; of which there is this remarkable, that 
 when they lose their interrogative power, they assume that of 
 a relative, so as even to represent the relative or subjunctive 
 pronoun. Thus Ovid, 
 
 Et seges est, uli Troja fuit : 
 
 translated in our old English ballad, 
 
 " And corn doth grow, wliere Troy town stood." 
 
 That is to say, seges est in eo loco, in quo, &c. " corn groweth in 
 that place, in which," &c.; the power of the relative being im- 
 plied in the adverb. Thus Terence, 
 
 Hujusmodi mihi res semper comminiscere, 
 
 Uli me excarnufices : Heaut. iv. 6. 
 
 where ubi relates to res, and stands for quibus rebus. 
 
 It is in like manner that the relative pronoun, upon occasion, 
 becomes an interrogative, at least in Latin and English. Thus 
 Horace, 
 
 Quern virum aut heroa lyra, vel acri 
 Tibia sumes celebrare, Clio ? 
 
 So Milton, 
 
 W1u> first seduc'd them to that foul revolt ? 
 
 The reason of all this is as follows. The pronoun and ad- 
 verbs here mentioned are all alike, in their original character, 
 relatives. Even when they become interrogatives, they lose not 
 this character, but are still relatives, as much as ever. The 
 difference is, that without an interrogation, they have reference 
 to a subject, which is antecedent, definite, and known ; with an 
 interrogation, to a subject which is subsequent, indefinite, and 
 unknown, and which it is expected that the answer should ex- 
 press and ascertain. 
 
 Who first seduc'd them ? 
 
 The very question itself supposes a seducer, to which, though 
 unknown, the pronoun who, has a reference. 
 
 Th' infernal serpent. 
 
 Here, in the answer, we have the subject, which was indefinite, 
 ascertained; so that the who in the interrogation is (we see) 
 as much a relative, as if it had been said originally, without any 
 interrogation at all, " it was the infernal serpent who first se- 
 duced them." 
 
 u Sosip. Charisii Inst. Gram. p. 170. Terent. Eun. act. ii. sc. 3. 
 
 N 
 
178 HERMES. 
 
 And thus is it that iriterrogatives and relatives mutually pass 
 into each other. 
 
 And so much for adverbs, peculiar to verbs properly so called. 
 We have already spoken of those which are common to all at- 
 tributives. We have likewise attempted to explain their general 
 nature, which we have found to consist in being the attributes 
 of attributes. There remains only to add, that adverbs may be 
 derived from almost every part of speech : from prepositions, as 
 when from after we derive afterwards ; from participles, and 
 through these from verbs, as when from Jcnoiv we derive know- 
 ing, and thence 'knowingly; from scio, sciens, and thence scienter: 
 from adjectives, as when from virtuous and vicious, we derive 
 virtuously and viciously ; from substantives, as when from 
 TrlOiyKos, " an ape," we derive iriOrjiceiov /SXevretv, " to look 
 apishly;" from Xetwv, "a lion," XeovrwSw?, " leoninely : " nay, 
 even from proper names, as when from Socrates and De- 
 mosthenes, we derive Socratically and Demosthenically. " It 
 was Socratically reasoned," we say ; "it was Demosthenically 
 spoken." x Of the same sort are many others, cited by the old 
 grammarians, such as Catiliniter from Oatilina, Sisenniter from 
 Sisenna, Tulliane from Tullius, &c. y 
 
 Nor are they thus extensive only in derivation, but in signifi- 
 cation also. Theodore Gaza in his Grammar informs us, 2 that 
 adverbs may be found in every one of the predicaments, and 
 that the readiest way to reduce their infinitude, was to refer 
 them by classes to those ten universal genera. The Stoics, too, 
 called the adverb by the name of TravBe/crr)?, and that from a 
 view to the same multiform nature. Omnia in se capit quasi 
 collata per satiram, concessa sibi rerum varia pot estate. It is 
 thus that Sosipater explains the word, a from whose authority 
 we know it to be Stoical. But of this enough. 
 
 And now having finished these principal parts of speech, the 
 substantive and the attributive, which are significant when 
 alone, we proceed to those auxiliary parts, which are only sig- 
 nificant, when associated. But as these make the subject of a 
 book by themselves, we here conclude the first book of this 
 treatise. 
 
 x Aristotle has Ku/cAo7rt/c<s, " Cyclopi- z Aib 8-f) Kal &/J.GIVOV fouis Se'/ca Kal ran> 
 
 cally," from KuKAw^, " a Cyclops." Eth. firipprj/j.drcav yev-r] QeaOai e/ceiVa, ova-lav, 
 
 Nic. x. 9. iroibv^ Trocrbv, Trp6s TI, K. T. A. Gram. In- 
 
 y See Prise. 1. xv. p. 1022. Sos. Charis. trod. 1. ii. 
 161. edit. Putschii. a Sosip. Char. p. 175. edit. Putschii. 
 
HERMES. 17.9 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONCERNING DEFINITIVES. 
 
 WHAT remains of our work is a matter of less difficulty, it being 
 the same here as in some historical picture ; when the principal 
 figures are once formed, it is an easy labour to design the rest. 
 
 Definitives, the subject of the present chapter, are commonly 
 called by grammarians, " articles," articuli, apOpa. They are of 
 two kinds, either those properly and strictly so called, or else 
 the pronominal articles, such as this, that, any, &c. 
 
 We shall first treat of those articles more strictly so denomi- 
 nated, the reason and use of which may be explained as follows. 
 
 The visible and individual substances of nature are infinitely 
 more numerous than for each to admit of a particular name. 
 To supply this defect, when any individual occurs which either 
 wants a proper name, or whose proper name is not known, we 
 ascertain it as well as we can by referring it to its species ; or if 
 the species be unknown, then at least to some genus. For 
 example: A certain object occurs, with a head and limbs, and 
 appearing to possess the powers of self-motion and sensation. If 
 we know it not as an individual, we refer it to its proper species, 
 and call it dog, or horse, or lion, or the like. If none of these 
 names fit, we go to the genus, and call it animal. 
 
 But this is not enough. The thing at which we are looking 
 is neither a species nor a genus. What is it then ? An indivi- 
 dual. Of what kind ? Known or unknown ? Seen now for the 
 first time, or seen before, and now remembered I It is here we 
 shall discover the use of the two articles, a and the : a respects 
 our primary perception, and denotes individuals as unknown ; 
 the respects our secondary perception, and denotes individuals as 
 known. To explain by an example : I see an object pass by 
 which I never saw till now. What do I say ? " There goes a 
 beggar with a long beard." The man departs, and returns a 
 week after. What do I say then ? "There goes the beggar with 
 the long beard." The article only is changed, the rest remains 
 unaltered. 
 
 Yet mark the force of this apparently minute change. The 
 individual once vague, is now recognised as something known, 
 and that merely by the efficacy of this latter article, which 
 tacitly insinuates a kind of previous acquaintance, by referring 
 the present perception to a like perception already past. 3 
 
 a See b. i.e. 5. p. 135. 
 
180 HERMES. 
 
 The truth is, the articles a and the are both of them defini- 
 tives, as they circumscribe the latitude of genera and species by 
 reducing them for the most part to denote individuals. The 
 difference, however, between them is this : the article a leaves 
 the individual itself unascertained, whereas the article the ascer- 
 tains the individual also, and is for that reason the more accu- 
 rate definitive of the two. 
 
 It is perhaps owing to the imperfect manner in which the 
 article a defines, that the Greeks have no article correspondent 
 to it, but supply its place by a negation of their article 6. 'O 
 av0pct)7Tos eVeo-ey, " the man fell," av0po)7ro$ eVeerev, " a man 
 fell," without any thing prefixed, but only the article with- 
 drawn. 5 Even in English, where the article a cannot be used, 
 as in plurals, its force is expressed by the same negation. " Those 
 are the men," means those are individuals of which we possess 
 some previous knowledge. " Those are men," the article apart, 
 means no more than that they are so many vague and uncertain 
 individuals, just as the phrase a man, in the singular, implies 
 one of the same number. 
 
 But though the Greeks have no article correspondent to the 
 article #, yet nothing can be more nearly related than their 6 
 to the article the. 'O ySacrtXeu?, "the king;" TO Scopov, "the 
 gift," &c. Nor is this only to be proved by parallel examples, 
 but by the attributes of the Greek article as they are described 
 by Apollonius, one of the earliest and most acute of the old 
 grammarians now remaining. 
 
 "E<7TW ovv icaOo Kal ev aXXot? a7T(f>r)vd/jie0a, iSiov apQpwv t; 
 avafyopa, 77 e'er TrpoKareiXeyfjLevov TrpocraiTrov Trapaa-rari/crf : 
 " Now the peculiar attribute of the article, as we have shewn 
 elsewhere, is that reference which implies some certain person 
 already mentioned." Again : Ou yap $r)>ye ra ovo^ara ef avr&v 
 dvafyopdv Tr&pto-rrjcrw, el /j,rj <rv/jL7rapa\,d/3o{,6v TO apBpov, ov 
 e^aiperbs IGTW rj dvafyopd: "For nouns of themselves imply 
 not reference, unless they take to them the article, whose pecu- 
 liar character is reference." Again : To apOpov Trpoij^earcoo-av 
 rfvwo-iv 877X0?: " The article indicates a pre-established acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 b Ta yap aopLffrcaSus Tr6re voovfj.eva, y a review within the mind of something 
 
 TOV &p6pov Trapd6f(Tis UTTO bfiff^v rov known before the texture of the discourse. 
 
 Trpocri&Trov ayei : " those things which are at Thus if any one says, avOptairos ^e, ' man 
 
 times understood indefinitely, the addition came,' (which is the same as when we say 
 
 of the article makes to be definite as to in English, ' a man came,') it is not evident 
 
 their person." Apoll. 1. iv. c. 1 . See of the of whom he speaks. But if he says, 6 &v- 
 
 same author, 1. i. c. 6, 36. TTOLC'I (rb Updpov Bpuiros ^/ce, ' the man came,' then it is evi- 
 
 sc.) 8' avair6\ri(riv Trpoeyvufffj-fvov rov v dent ; for he speaks of some person known 
 
 oiov i fj.ev \eyoi TIS, &vOpa- before. And this is what those mean, who 
 
 oy rlva frvOpcvirov \eyei. et 5e 6 say that the article is expressive of the first 
 
 S) SfjAor, irpocyvua'fj.ei'ov yap nva and second knowledge together." Theod. 
 
 &v8p(airov \eyei. TovroSe avTb/Bov\ovTai Kal Gazae, 1. iv. 
 
 of QaffKovTfs T' apdpov (Ti)na.vTiKbv Trpdar-ns c Apoll. de Synt. 1. i. c. 6, 7. His ac- 
 
 yvwfff(0s KOI Scvrcpas : *'the article causes count of reference is as follows: 
 
HERMES. 181 
 
 His reasoning upon proper names is worth remarking. Proper 
 names (he tells us) often fall into homonymie, that is, different 
 persons often go by the same name. To solve this ambiguity 
 we have recourse to adjectives or epithets. For example, there 
 were two Grecian chiefs who bore the name of Ajax. It was 
 not, therefore, without reason, that Menestheus uses epithets, 
 when this intent was to distinguish the one of them from the 
 other. 
 
 irep dlos trw TeXa/jLcavios &\KI/J.OS Alas. Horn. 
 
 " If both Ajaxes (says he) cannot be spared, 
 ................. at least alone 
 
 Let mighty Telamonian Ajax come." 
 
 Apollonius proceeds : even epithets themselves are diffused 
 through various subjects, inasmuch as the same adjective may 
 be referred to many substantives. 
 
 In order, therefore, to render both parts of speech equally 
 definite, that is to say, the adjective as well as the substantive, 
 the adjective itself assumes an article before it, that it may 
 indicate a reference to some single person only, fjuovaSttcrj 
 dvcHpopa, according to the author's own phrase. And thus it is 
 we say, Tpvfywv 6 ypafJbfJLaTiKos, " Trypho the grammarian ;" 
 \47roXXoS&Y>o9 6 Kvpyvalos, " Apollodorus the Cyrenean," &c. 
 The author's conclusion of this section is worth remarking. 
 apa Kal Kara TO TOLOVTOV i] TrpoaOeo-is ecm TOV ap6pov^ 
 vcra TO eTTiOeriKov ro3 /cvpiw ovouan. " It is with 
 reason, therefore, that the article is here also added, as it brings 
 the adjective to an individuality as precise as the proper name."* 1 
 
 We may carry this reasoning further, and shew how by 
 help of the article even common appellatives come to have the 
 force of proper names, and that unassisted by epithets of any 
 kinds. Among the Athenians, nrXolov meant " ship ;" evSe/ca, 
 " eleven ;" and civOpwTros, " man." Yet add but the article, 
 and TO TrXotov, "the ship," meant that particular ship which 
 they sent annually to Delos; ol ev&ica t "the eleven," meant 
 certain officers of justice ; and 6 avOpwiros, " the man," meant 
 their public executioner. So in English, city is a name common 
 to many places; and speaker, a name common to many men. 
 Yet if we prefix the article, the city, means our metropolis ; and 
 the speaker, a high officer in the British parliament. 
 
 And thus it is by an easy transition that the article, from 
 denoting reference, comes to denote eminence also ; that is to 
 say, from implying an ordinary pre-acquaintance, to presume a 
 kind of general and universal notoriety. Thus among the 
 Greeks, 6 TTO^T?;?, "the poet," meant Homer ; e and 6, .SVa/yet- 
 
 <popas irpoKa.T*i\tyiJifvovirpo(r<airov Sevrepa d See Apoll. 1. i. c. 12. where by mistake 
 
 yvSxris : " The peculiar character of refer- Mcnelaus is put for Menesttwus. 
 
 once is the second or repeated knowledge of e There are so few exceptions to this 
 
 some person already mentioned." Lib. ii. observation, that we may fairly admit it 
 
 r. 3. to be generally true. Yet Aristotle twice 
 
182 HERMES. 
 
 pm?9, " the Stagy rite," meant Aristotle ; not that there were not 
 many poets beside Homer, and many Stagyrites beside Aristotle, 
 but none equally illustrious for their poetry and philosophy. 
 
 It is on a like principle that Aristotle tells us, it is by no 
 means the same thing to assert elvai rrjv r)Sovr)v dyaObv, or, TO 
 dyaObv, that " pleasure is a good," or " tlie good." The first 
 only makes it a common object of desire, upon a level with 
 many others which daily raise our wishes ; the last supposes it 
 that supreme and sovereign good, the ultimate scope of all our 
 actions and endeavours/ 
 
 But to pursue our subject. It has been said already, that the 
 article has no meaning but when associated to some other word. 
 To what words then may it be associated ? To such as require 
 defining, for it is by nature a definitive. And what words are 
 these? Not those which already are as definite as may be. 
 Nor yet those which, being indefinite, cannot properly be made 
 otherwise. It remains then they must be those which, though 
 indefinite, are yet capable, through the article, of becoming 
 definite. 
 
 Upon these principles we see the reason, why it is absurd to 
 say, 6 670), "the I," or 6 <rv, "the thou," because nothing can 
 make those pronouns more definite than they are. 8 The same 
 may be asserted of proper names : and though the Greeks say, 
 6 .SWpaTT;?, ?7 HdvOiTTTrr)) and the like, yet the article is a mere 
 pleonasm, unless perhaps it serve to distinguish sexes. By the 
 same rule we cannot say in Greek ol d[jb<f)OTepoi,, or in English, 
 " the both," because these words in their own nature are each 
 of them perfectly defined, so that to define them further would 
 be quite superfluous. Thus, if it be said, " I have read both poets," 
 this plainly indicates a definite pair, of whom some mention has 
 been made already ; Svds eyvaycr/juevrj, " a known duad," as Apol- 
 lonius expresses himself, 1 ' when he speaks of this subject. On the 
 contrary, if it be said, " I have read two poets," this may mean 
 any pair out of all that ever existed. And hence this numeral, 
 being in this sense indefinite, (as indeed are all others, as well as 
 itself,) is forced to assume the article, whenever it would be- 
 come definite. 1 And thus it is, the two in English, and ol &vb 
 
 denotes Euripides by the phrase <5 7rot77T^s, the article doth not associate." 1. ii. c. 5. 
 
 once at the end of the seventh book of his So Gaza, speaking of pronouns, Travrrj Se 
 
 Nicomachian Ethics, and again in his Phy- OVK e'TnSe'xoj/Tcu &p6pov. 1. iv. Priscian says 
 
 sics, 1. ii. 2. Plato, also, in his tenth book the same : Jure igitur apud Graecos prima 
 
 of Laws, (p. 901. edit. Serr.) denotes Hesiod et secunda persona pronominum, quae sine 
 
 after the same manner. dubio demonstrative sunt, articulis adjungi 
 
 f Analyt. Prior. 1. i. c. 40. non possunt ; ncc tertia, quando demonstra- 
 
 s Apollonius makes it part of the pro- tiva est. 1. xii. p. 938. In the beginning 
 
 noun's definition, to refuse coalescence with of the same book, he gives the true reason 
 
 the article. 'E/mj/o ovv 'Aj/rccyuyuio, rb of this : Supra omnes alias partes orationis 
 
 yuera 5etea>s f) ava.<popas avTOVop.a^6iJ.vov^ finit personas pronomen. 
 
 a ov ffweffn rb &p0pov : "That therefore h Apollon. 1. i. c. 16. 
 
 is a pronoun, which with indication or re- j This explains Servius on jEncid. xii. 
 
 ference is put for a noun, and with which 511. where he tells us that duorum is put for 
 
HERMES. 183 
 
 in Greek, mean nearly the same thing as both or dptyorepoi,. 
 Hence also it is, that as two, when taken alone, has reference to 
 some primary and indefinite perception, while the article the, 
 has reference to some secondary ancl definite ; k hence, I say, the 
 reason why it is bad Greek to say $vb ol avOpawroi, and bad 
 English to say two the men. Such syntax is in fact a blending 
 of incompatibles ; that is to say, of a defined substantive with an 
 undefined attributive. On the contrary, to say in Greek, a/ju^o- 
 Tepoi oldvOptoTToi, or in English, both the mentis good and allow- 
 able, because the substantive cannot possibly be less apt, by being 
 defined, to coalesce with an attributive, which is defined as well 
 as itself. So, likewise, it is correct to say, ol 8vb av6pu>7roi, " the 
 two men," because here the article, being placed in the beginning, 
 extends its power as well through substantive as attributive, and 
 equally contributes to define them both. 
 
 As some of the words above admit of no article, because they 
 are by nature as definite as may be, so there are others which 
 admit it not, because they are not to be defined at all. Of this 
 sort are all interrogatives. If we question about substances, we 
 cannot say, 6 rl? ozrro9, "the who is this ;" but rl? 0^x09, "who 
 is this? 1 The same as to qualities and both kinds of quantity. 
 We say without an article, TTOLOS, jroo-ol, Tn/Afc/co? / in English, 
 " what sort of, how many, how great f 1 The reason is, that the 
 articles 6 and the, respect beings already known ; interrogatives 
 respect beings about which we are ignorant ; for as to what we 
 know, interrogation is superfluous. 
 
 In a word, the natural associators with articles are all those 
 common appellatives which denote the several genera and 
 species of beings. It is these, which, by assuming a different 
 article, serve either to explain an individual upon its first being 
 perceived, or else to indicate, upon its return, a recognition, or 
 repeated knowledge. 
 
 We shall here subjoin a few instances of the peculiar power of 
 articles. 
 
 Every proposition consists of a subject and a predicate. In 
 English these are distinguished by their position, the subject 
 standing first, the predicate last. " Happiness is pleasure :" here, 
 
 amborum. In English or Greek, the article requires, " of the two persons," that is to 
 
 would have done the business, for " the say, of Amycus and Diores. Now this by 
 
 two," or Tolv Svow, are equivalent to "both" amborum would have been expressed pro- 
 
 or a/ji<t>oTep(i)v ; but not so duomm, because perly, as amborum means "tfie two;" by 
 
 the Latins have no articles to prefix. duorum is expressed improperly, as it means 
 
 The passage in Virgil of which Scrvius only "tu-o indefinitely." 
 
 here speaks, is a description of Turnus's k Sup. p. 179. 
 
 killing two brothers, Amycus and Diores ; 1 Apollonius calls rls, evavnuTarov TUIV 
 
 after which, the poet says of him, Updpcav, a part of speech, "most contrary, 
 
 curru abscissa duorum most averse to articles." 1. iv. c. 1. 
 
 Suspcndit capita ni What is here said respects the two 
 
 This, literally translated, is, " he hung articles which we have in English. In 
 
 up on his chariot the heads of two persons, Greek, the article does no more than imply 
 
 which were cut oil';" whereas the sense u recognition. See before, p. 1{JO. 
 
184 HERMES. 
 
 happiness is the subject ; pleasure, the predicate. If we change 
 their order, and say, "pleasure is happiness;' 1 then pleasure be- 
 comes the subject, and happiness the predicate. In Greek, 
 these are distinguished not by any order or position, but by help 
 of the article, which the subject always assumes, and the pre- 
 dicate in most instances (some few excepted) rejects. " Happi- 
 ness is pleasure," rjBovr) r} evScu/juovla : " pleasure is happiness," 
 i] fjSovT) evSai,fjt,ovLa: "fine things are difficult," ^a\7ra ra 
 /cdXd : " difficult things are fine," TCL %a\e7ra tca\d. 
 
 In Greek, it is worth attending, how in the same sentence, 
 the same article, by being prefixed to a different word, quite' 
 changes the whole meaning. For example : 6 JTroXe/^ato? tyvju- 
 vaaiapXTJo-as er 1/47)67), " Ptolemy, having presided over the 
 games, was publicly honoured." The participle ^vjjLvaaiap^o-a^ 
 has here no other force, than to denote to us the time when 
 Ptolemy was honoured, viz. after having presided over the 
 games. But if, instead of the substantive, we join the participle 
 to the article, and say, 6 yv/jbvao-iap'XTJo-as Hro\fialo^ eTi/jLTJQr), 
 our meaning is then, "the Ptolemy, who presided over the 
 games, was honoured." The participle in this case, being joined 
 to the article, tends tacitly to indicate not one Ptolemy but 
 many, of which number a particular one participated of honour." 
 
 In English likewise it deserves remarking, how the sense is 
 changed by changing of the articles, though we leave every other 
 word of the sentence untouched. "And Nathan said unto 
 David, Thou art the man." In that single the, that dimunitive 
 particle, all the force and efficacy of the reason is contained. 
 By that alone are the premises applied, and so firmly fixed, as 
 never to be shaken. It is possible this assertion may appear at 
 first somewhat strange ; but let him who doubts it only change 
 the article, and then see what will become of the prophet and 
 his reasoning. "And Nathan said unto David, Thou art a 
 man." Might not the king well have demanded, upon so im- 
 pertinent a position, 
 
 Non dices hodie, quorsum hsec tarn putida tendant ? 
 
 But enough of such speculations. The only remark which we 
 shall make on them is this ; that " minute change in principles 
 leads to mighty change in effects ; so that well are principles 
 entitled to our regard, however in appearance they may be trivial 
 and low/' 
 
 The articles already mentioned are those strictly so called ; 
 but besides these there are the pronominal articles, such as 
 this, that, any, other, some, all, no, or none, &c. Of these we 
 have spoken already in our chapter of pronouns, p where we have 
 
 n Apollon. 1. i. c. 33, 34. here given, which induced Quintilian to say 
 
 2u ei 6 avrip. BetcriA. #'. e^>. *'. of the Latin tongue, Noster sermo arti- 
 
 P See b. i. c. 5. p. 137, fl. It seems to culos non desiderat ; ideoque in alias partes 
 
 have been some view of words, like that orationis sparguntur. Inst, Orat. 1. i. c. 4. 
 
HERMES. 185 
 
 shewn, when they may be taken as pronouns, and when as 
 articles. Yet in truth it must be confessed, if the essence of an 
 article be to define and ascertain, they are much more properly 
 articles than any thing else, and as such should be considered 
 in universal grammar. Thus when we say, u this picture I ap- 
 prove, but that I dislike,' 1 what do we perform by the help of 
 these definitives, but bring down the common appellative to 
 denote two individuals, the one as the more near, the other as 
 the more distant ? So when we say, " some men are virtuous, but 
 all men are mortal," what is the natural effect of this all and 
 some, but to define that universality and particularity which 
 would remain indefinite, were we to take them away? The 
 same is evident in such sentences as, " some substances have sen- 
 sation, others want it ;" " choose any way of acting, and some men 
 will find fault, 1 ' &c. For here, some, other, and any, serve all of 
 them to define different parts of a given whole ; some, to denote 
 a definite part ; any, to denote an indefinite ; and other, to 
 denote the remaining part, when a part has been assumed al- 
 ready. Sometimes this last word denotes a large indefinite 
 portion, set in opposition to some single, definite, and remaining 
 part, which receives from such opposition no small degree of 
 heightening. Thus Virgil, 
 
 Excudent alii spirantia mollius aera ; 
 
 (Credo equidem) vivos ducent de mannore vultus ; 
 
 Orabunt causas melius, coelique meatus 
 
 Describent radio, et surgentia sidera dicent : 
 
 Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento, &c. JEn. vi. 
 
 Nothing can be stronger or more sublime than this antithesis ; 
 one act set as equal to many other acts taken together, and the 
 Roman singly (for it is Tu Romane, not Vos Romani) to all other 
 men ; and yet this performed by so trivial a cause, as the just 
 opposition of alii to tu. 
 
 But here we conclude, and proceed to treat of connectives. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONCERNING CONNECTIVES, AND FIRST THOSE CALLED CONJUNCTIONS. 
 
 CONNECTIVES are the subject of what follows ; which, according 
 as they connect either sentences or words, are called by the 
 
 So Scaliger : His declaratis, satis constat ditur enim articulus ad rei meraoriam re- 
 
 Graecomm articulos non neglectos a nobis, novandam, cujus antea non nescii sumus, 
 
 sed eorum usum superfluum. Nam ubi aut ad prsescribendam intellectionem, quae 
 
 illiquid praescribendum est, quod Graeci per latius patere queat ; veluti cum dicimus 
 
 articulum efficiunt (6A.eep 6 SouAos) ex- C. Caesar, is qui posted dictator fuit. Nam 
 
 pletur a Latinis per is aut ille ; is, aut, ille alii fuere C. Caesares. Sic Graece Kai<rap 
 
 servus dixit, de quo servo antea facta men tio 6 avroKpdrup. De Caus. Ling. Lat. c. 131. 
 sit, aut qui alio quo pacto notus sit. Ad- 
 
186 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 different names of conjunctions or prepositions. Of these names, 
 that of the preposition is taken from a mere accident, as it com- 
 monly stands in connection before the part which it connects. 
 The name of the conjunction, as is evident, has reference to its 
 essential character. 
 
 Of these two we shall consider the conjunction first, because 
 it connects not words but sentences. This is conformable to the 
 analysis with which we began this inquiry, 01 and which led us, 
 by parity of reason, to consider sentences themselves before 
 words. Now the definition of a conjunction is as follows : a 
 part of speech, void of signification itself, but so formed as to 
 help signification, by making two or more significant sentences 
 to be one significant sentence/ 
 
 i Sup. p. 120. 
 
 r Grammarians have usually considered 
 the conjunction as connecting rather single 
 
 in one simple word, nor even of two or more 
 words in one simple sentence ; but of two or 
 more simple sentences in one complex sen- 
 
 parts of speech than whole sentences, and tence, which is considered as one, from that 
 
 that, too, with the addition of like with concatenation of meaning effected by the 
 
 like, tense with tense, number with, num- conjunctions. For example, let us take the 
 
 bcr, case with case, &c. This Sanctius sentence which follows : " If men are by 
 
 justly explodes : Conjunctio neque casus, nature social, it is their interest to be just, 
 
 neque alias partes orationis (ut imperiti though it were not so ordained by the laws 
 
 docent) conjungit, ipsse enim partes inter of their country." Here are three sentences, 
 se conjunguntur sed conjunctio orationes 
 inter se conjungit. Miner. 1. iii. c. 14. He 
 
 then establishes his doctrine by a variety 
 
 1. "Men are by nature social." 2. " It is 
 man's interest to be just." 3. " It is not 
 ordained by the laws of every country that 
 
 of examples. He had already said as much, man should be just." The first two of these 
 1. i. c. 18; and in this he appears to have sentences are made one by the conjunction 
 
 followed Scaliger, who had asserted the if; these, one with the third sentence, by 
 same before him. Conjunctionis autem no- 
 tionem veteres paullo inconsultius prodi- 
 dere ; neque enim, quod aiunt, partes alias 
 
 the conjunction though ; and the three, thus 
 united, make that Qcavr) /j.ta orj/uai/Ti/c?}, 
 " that one significant articulate sound," of 
 
 conjungit, (ipsae enim partes per se inter se which Aristotle speaks, and which is the 
 
 conjunguntur,) sed conjunctio est, quae result of the conjunctive power. 
 
 conjungit orationes plures. De Caus. Ling. 
 
 Lat. c. 165. 
 
 This doctrine of theirs is confirmed by 
 
 This explains a passage in his Rhetoric, 
 where he mentions the same subject: 'O 
 yap crwSeoTios e> Troie? TO TroAAa* 
 
 Apollonius, who, in the several places, e'ay QaipeOrj, Sij\ov '6n TovvavTiov eVrat TO 
 where he mentions the conjunction, always ei> TroAAa : " The conjunction makes many 
 considers it in syntax as connecting sen- one ; so that if it be taken away, it is then 
 tences, and not words, though in his works evident on the contrary that one will be 
 now extant he has not given us its defini- many" Rhet. iii. c. 12. His instance of a 
 
 sentence, divested of its conjunctions, and 
 thus made many out of one, is, faQov, 
 
 tion. See 1. i. c. 2. p. 14 ; 1. ii. c. 12. p 
 124 ; 1. iii. c. 15. p. 234. 
 
 But we have stronger authority than thi 
 
 air^VTf](ra ) 
 
 ven, occurr, rof/av, 
 
 to support Scaliger and Sanctius, and that where, by the way, the three sentences, 
 
 is Aristotle's definition, as the passage has resulting from this dissolution, (for 7)A0oi/, 
 
 been corrected by the best critics and a-Trrji/Trjcra, and eSeo'/rtyi/, are each of them, 
 
 manuscripts. A conjunction, according to when unconnected, so many perfect sen- 
 
 him, is <f)(av^i affTj^os, e/c TT, 
 
 <p(t)vi)V fji-ias, a"f];jt.avTiK(av Se, Trotel 
 
 Kvta /j.iav tfxavTjv fff]p.avTiKT]v: ""an articulate 
 
 sound, devoid of signification, which is so 
 
 formed as to make one significant articulate 
 
 /mev tences,) prove that these are the proper 
 
 sound out of several articulate sounds, which 
 
 arc each of them significant." Poet. c. 20. Kvpiovs els, avaXoyos kv 
 
 subjects of the conjunction's connective 
 faculty. 
 
 Ammonius's account of the use of this 
 part of speech is elegant : Aib Kal TWU 
 
 O U.V VTTapfclV LLLCW 0"7?jUai'COZ'. '6 
 
 rcf 
 
 In this view of things, the one significant TeT/.ir7^eV(ji) |uA(p, Kal Sia TOVTO 
 articulate sound, formed by the conjimction, yo[j.4vq>' o 8e TrAeioyas inrdp^eis 
 is not the union of two or more syllables e.W (loge Sia) ri^a Se (rwSeoyioz/ 
 
 Ae- 
 
HERMES. 187 
 
 This, therefore, being the general idea of conjunctions, we de- 
 duce their species in the following manner. Conjunctions, while 
 they connect sentences, either connect also their meanings, or 
 not. For example : let us take these two sentences, " Rome was 
 enslaved, Caesar was ambitious,'" and connect them together by 
 the conjunction because. " Rome was enslaved because Caesar 
 was ambitious." Here the meanings, as well as the sentences, 
 appear to be connected. But if I say, " manners must be re- 
 formed, or liberty will be lost," here the conjunction or, though 
 it join the sentences, yet, as to their respective meanings, is a 
 perfect disjunctive. And thus it appears, that though all con- 
 junctions conjoin sentences, yet with respect to the sense, some 
 are conjunctive, and some disjunctive ; and hence it is that we 
 derive their different species. 8 
 
 The conjunctions, which conjoin both sentences and their 
 meanings, are either copulatives, or continuatives. The principal 
 copulative in English is and. The continuatives are if, be- 
 cause, therefore, that, &c. The difference between these is this : 
 the copulative does no more than barely couple sentences, and 
 is therefore applicable to all subjects whose natures are not in- 
 compatible. Continuatives, on the contrary, by a more intimate 
 connection, consolidate sentences into one continuous whole, and 
 are therefore applicable only to subjects which have an essential 
 coincidence. 
 
 To explain by examples : It is no way improper to say, " Ly- 
 sippus was a statuary, and Priscian was a grammarian," " the sun 
 shineth, and the sky is clear," because these are things that may 
 coexist, and yet imply no absurdity. But it would be absurd to 
 say, " Lysippus was a statuary, because Priscian was a gram- 
 marian ;" though not to say, " the sun shineth, because the sky is 
 clear." The reason is, with respect to the first, the coincidence 
 is merely accidental ; with respect to the last, it is essential, 
 and founded in nature. And so much for the distinction be- 
 tween copulatives and continuatives. 4 
 
 As to continuatives, they are either suppositive, such as if; 
 
 ircas SOKCOV, avaXoyt'i rrj vi}\ rij e/c TroAAoDj/ Ling. Lat. c. 167. 
 
 <rvyKti[j.svri ^v\(av, virb Se riav j6fji^><av i Copulativa est, quae copulat tarn verba, 
 (f>aivo/j.vri'v exoixrrj r^v evucnv : " Of sen- quam sensum. Thus Priscian, p. 1026. But 
 tences that, which denotes one existence Scaliger is more explicit : Si sensum con- 
 simply, and which is strictly one, may be jungunt (conjunctiones sc.) aut necessario, 
 considered as analogous to a piece of timber aut non necessario : et si non necessario, 
 not yet severed, and called on this account turn fiunt copulativse, &c. De Caus. Ling. 
 one. That, which denotes several exist- Lat. c. 167. Priscian 's own account of 
 ences, and which appears to be made one continuatives is as follows. Continuativae 
 by some conjunctive particle, is analogous sunt, qua3 continuationom ct consequentiain 
 to a ship made up of many pieces of timber, rerum significant. Hml. 8calii>vr's account 
 and which, by. means of the nails, has an is, Causam aut praestituunt, aut subdunt. 
 apparent unity." Am. in Lib. de Interpret. Ibid. c. 168. The Greek name for the 
 p. 54. 6. copulative was (rwSecr^uos <Tv/j.ir\eKTiK6s : 
 8 Thus Scaliger : Aut ergo sensum con- for the continuative, <rvva.TrTUi6s : the ety- 
 jungunt, ac verba ; aut verba tan turn con- mologics of which words justly distinguish 
 jungunt, sensum vero disjungunt. DC Caus. their respective characters. 
 
188 HERMES. 
 
 or positive, such as because, therefore, as, &c. Take examples of 
 each : " You will live happily, if you live honestly ;" " you live 
 happily, because you live honestly." The difference between 
 these continuatives is this : the suppositives denote connection, 
 hut assert not actual existence; the positives imply both the 
 one and the other." 
 
 Further than this, the positives above mentioned are either 
 causal, such as because, since, as, &c. or collective, such as there- 
 fore, wherefore, then, &c. The difference between these is this : 
 the causals subjoin causes to effects ; " The sun is in eclipse, be- 
 cause the moon intervenes :" the collectives subjoin effects to 
 causes, " The moon intervenes, therefore the sun is in eclipse." 
 Now we use causals in those instances where, the effect being 
 conspicuous, we seek its cause ; and collectives, in demonstra- 
 tions, and science properly so called, where the cause being 
 known first, by its help we discern consequences. x 
 
 All these continuatives are resolvable into copulatives. In- 
 stead of '-'Because it is day, it is light," we may say, " It is day, 
 and it is light." Instead of, "//"it be day, it is light," we may say, 
 "/ is at the same time necessary to be day and to be light ;" and 
 so in other instances. The reason is, that the power of the copula- 
 tive extends to all connections, as well to the essential, as to the 
 casual or fortuitous. Hence, therefore, the continuative may be 
 resolved into a copulative, and something more ; that is to say, 
 into a copulative implying an essential coincidence in the subjects 
 conjoined. y 
 
 u The old Greek grammarians confined pears to have been the fact. Is it, that the 
 
 the name ffwairriKoi, and the Latins that positive are confined to what actually is ; 
 
 of continuativa, to those conjunctions which the suppositive extend to possibles, nay, 
 
 we have called suppositive or conditional, even as far as to impossibles ? Thus it is 
 
 while the positive they called irapavvv- false to affirm, " As it is day, it is light," 
 
 OTTTi/col, or subcontinuativce. They agree, unless it actually be day. But we may at 
 
 however, in describing their proper cha- midnight affirm, " If it be day, it is light," 
 
 racters. The first, according to Gaza, are, because the if extends to possibles also. 
 
 ol vwap^iv /j.fv ov, aKo\ov6iav Se nva Kal Nay, we may affirm, by its help, (if we 
 
 rd^iv S7]\ovvres. 1. iv. Priscian says, please,) even impossibles. We may say, 
 
 they signify to us, Qualis est ordinatio " If the sun be cubical, then is the sun an- 
 
 et natura rerum, cum dubitatione aliqua gular ; if the sky fall, then shall we catch 
 
 essentise rerum. p. 1027. And Scaliger larks." Thus, too, Scaliger, upon the same 
 
 says, they conjoin sine subsistentia ne- occasion: Amplitudinem continuativae per- 
 
 cessaria ; potest enim subsistere ; et non cipi ex eo, quod etiam impossible aliquando 
 
 subsistere utrumque enim admittunt. Ibid, praesupponit. De Caus. Ling. Lat. c. 168. 
 
 c. 168. On the contrary of the posi- In this sense, then, the continuative, sup- 
 
 tive, or irapavvvairTiKol, (to use his own positive, or conditional conjunction, is (as it 
 
 name,) Gaza tells us, 8ri Kal Swap^tv fj-era were) superior to the positive, as being of 
 
 Tctecos fft]p.aivov(nv ovrotye. And Priscian greater latitude in its application, 
 
 says, Causam continuationis ostendunt con- x The Latins called the causals, causales 
 
 sequentem cum essentia rerum. And Sea- or causativce the collectives, collectives or 
 
 liger, Non ex hypothesi, sed ex eo, quod illativa ; the Greeks called the former 
 
 subsistit, conjungunt. Ibid. cdrioXoyiKol, and the latter ffv\\oyi<rnK.oi. 
 
 It may seem at first somewhat strange, y Resolvuntur autem in copulativas om- 
 
 why the positive conjunctions should have nes hae, propterea quod causa cum effectu 
 
 been considered as subordinate to the sup- suapte natura conjuncta est. Seal, de Caus. 
 positive, which by their ancient names ap- 
 
HERMES. 189 
 
 As to causal conjunctions, (of which we have spoken al- 
 ready,) there is no one of the four species of causes which they 
 are not capable of denoting ; for example : the material cause, 
 " the trumpet sounds, because it is made of metal ;" the formal, 
 " the trumpet sounds, because it is long and hollow ;" the efficient, 
 " the trumpet sounds, because an artist blows it ;" the final, "the 
 trumpet sounds, that it may raise our courage." Where it is 
 worth observing, that the three first causes are expressed by the 
 strong affirmation of the indicative mode ; because, if the effect 
 actually be, these must of necessity be also. But the last cause 
 has a different mode, namely, the contingent, or potential : the 
 reason is, that the final cause, though it may be first in specula- 
 tion, is always last in event ; that is to say, however it may be 
 the end, which set the artist first to work, it may still be an end 
 beyond his power to obtain, and which, like other contingents, 
 may either happen, or not." Hence, also, it is connected by 
 conjunctions of a peculiar kind, such as tliat, iva, ut, &c. 
 
 the sum is, that all conjunctions, which connect both sentences 
 and their meanings, are either copulative or continuative : the 
 continuatives are either conditional or positive ; and the positives 
 are either causal or collective. 
 
 And now we come to the disjunctive conjunctions, a species 
 of words which bear this contradictory name, because, while 
 they disjoin the sense, they conjoin the sentences. 3 
 
 With respect to these, we may observe, that as there is a 
 principle of union diffused throughout all things, by which this 
 whole is kept together, and preserved from dissipation ; so there 
 is a principle of diversity diffused in like manner, the source of 
 distinction, of number, and of order. 5 
 
 2 See b. i. c. 8. p. 158, 9. See also note A, and Plato. Others differ as to species, but 
 
 p. 14. For the four causes, see note tt, as to genus are the same : such are man and 
 
 p. 23. lion. There are others, again, which differ 
 
 a Of Se 8iaeu/cTi/col ra Siafavy/uLeva as to genus, and coincide only in those 
 avvTiBtaffi, ical $ irpci'y/j.a curb irpdy/AaTos, transcendental comprehensions of ens, being, 
 fy Trp6ff(i)Trov atrb irpo<r&irov Siafavyvvirres, existence, and the like : such are quantities 
 TTJI/ <f)pdffiv fTTKTvvSovffiv. Gazge Gram. 1. iv. and qualities ; as, for example, an ounce, and 
 Disjunctive sunt, quse, quamvis dictiones the colour white. Lastly, all being whatever 
 conjungant, sensum tamen disjunctum ha- differs, as being, from non-being. 
 bent. Prise. 1. xvi. p. 1029. And hence it Further : in all things different, how- 
 is that a sentence connected by disjunctives ever moderate their diversity, there is an 
 has a near resemblance to a simple negative appearance of opposition with respect to 
 truth : for though this, as to its intellection, each other, inasmuch as each thing is itself, 
 be disjunctive, (its end being to disjoin the and not any of the rest. But yet in all sub- 
 subject from the predicate,) yet, as it com- jects this opposition is not the same. In 
 bines terms together into one proposition, relatives, such as greater and less, double and 
 it is as truly synthetical as any truth that half, father and son, cause and effect ; in these 
 is affirmative. See chap. i. note b, p. 117. it is more striking than in ordinary subjects, 
 
 b The diversity which adorns nature may because these always shew it, by necessarily 
 
 be said to heighten by degrees, and as it inferring each other. In contraries, such as 
 
 passes to different subjects to become more black and white, even and odd, good and 
 
 and more intense. Some things only differ bad, virtuous and vicious ; in these the op- 
 
 when considered as individuals, but if we position goes still further, because these not 
 
 recur to their species, immediately lose all only differ, but are even destructive of each 
 
 distinction : such, for instance, are Socrates other. But the most potent opposition is 
 
190 HERMES. 
 
 Now it is to express, in some degree, the modifications of this 
 diversity, that disjunctive conjunctions seem first to have heen 
 invented. 
 
 Of these disjunctives, some are simple, some adversative : 
 simple, as when we say, "Either it is day, or it is night ;" ad- 
 versative, as when we say, " It is not day, but it is night." The 
 difference between these is, that the simple do no more than 
 merely disjoin ; the adversative disjoin, with an opposition con- 
 comitant. Add to this, that the adversative are definite ; the 
 simple, indefinite. Thus, when we say, " The number of three is 
 not an even number, but an odd," we not only disjoin two oppo- 
 site attributes, but we definitely affirm one, and deny the other ; 
 but when we say, " The number of the stars is either even or odd," 
 though we assert one attribute to be, and the other not to be, 
 yet the alternative, notwithstanding, is left indefinite. And so 
 much for simple disjunctives. 
 
 As to adversative disjunctives, it has been said already that 
 they imply opposition. Now there can be no opposition of the 
 same attribute in the same subject, as when we say, "Nireus was 
 beautiful ;" but the opposition must be either of the same at- 
 tribute in different subjects, as when we say, "Brutus was a 
 patriot, but Csesar was not ;" or of different attributes in the 
 same subject, as when we say, " Gorgias was a sophist, but not 
 a philosopher ;" or of different attributes in different subjects, 
 as when we say, " Plato was a philosopher, but Hippias was a 
 sophist." 
 
 The conjunctions used for all these purposes may be called 
 absolute adversatives. 
 
 But there are other adversatives, besides these ; as when we 
 say, " Nireus was more beautiful than Achilles ; Virgil was as 
 great a poet, as Cicero was an orator." The character of these 
 latter is, that they go further than the former, by marking, not 
 only opposition, but that equality, or excess, which arises among 
 
 that of avrl<f>a<ns, or " contradiction," when c The simple disjunctive 2), or vel, is 
 
 we oppose proposition to proposition, truth mostly used indefinitely, so as to leave an 
 
 to falsehood, asserting of any subject, either alternative ; but when' it is used definitely, 
 
 it is, or it is not. This, indeed, is an op- so as to leave no alternative, it is then a 
 
 position which extends itself to all things ; perfect disjunctive of the subsequent from 
 
 for every thing conceivable must needs have the previous, and has the same force with 
 
 its negative, though multitudes by nature KOL\ ou, or et non. It is thus Gaza explains 
 
 have neither relatives nor contraries. that verse of Homer, 
 
 Besides these modes of diversity, there Eov\ofj. y eyw Aobj/ a6ov e^/teyat, $ airo- 
 are others that deserve notice: such, for AeVflcw. Iliad. A. 
 
 instance, as the diversity between the name That is to say, " I desire the people should 
 
 of a thing and its definition ; between the be saved, and not be destroyed;" theconjunc- 
 
 various names which belong to the same tion ^ being avaipeTiKbs, or "sublative." It 
 
 thing, and the various things which are de- must, however, be confessed, that this verse 
 
 noted by the same name ; all which diver- is otherwise explained by an ellipsis, either 
 
 sities, upon occasion, become a part of our of /iaAAoi/, or aurls, concerning which, see 
 
 discourse. And so much, in short, for the the commentators, 
 subject of diversity. 
 
HEEMES. 191 
 
 subjects from their being compared ; and hence it is they may 
 be called adversatives of comparison. 
 
 Besides the adversatives here mentioned, there are two other 
 species, of which the most eminent are unless and although. 
 For example : " Troy will be taken, unless the Palladium be pre- 
 served ; Troy will be taken, although Hector defend it." The 
 nature of these adversatives may be thus explained : as every 
 event is naturally allied to its cause, so by parity of reason it is 
 opposed to its preventive ; and as every cause is either adequate d 
 or inadequate, (inadequate, when it endeavours without being 
 effectual,) so in like manner is every preventive. Now adequate 
 preventives are expressed by such adversatives as unless ; " Troy 
 will be taken, unless the Palladium be preserved ;" that is, this 
 alone is sufficient to prevent it. The inadequate are expressed 
 by such adversatives as although; "Troy will be taken, although 
 Hector defend it;" that is, Hector's defence will prove ineffectual. 
 
 The names given by the old grammarians to denote these last 
 adversatives, appear not sufficiently to express their natures. 6 
 They may be better, perhaps, called adversatives adequate, and 
 inadequate. 
 
 And thus it is that all disjunctives, that is, conjunctions, which 
 conjoin sentences, but not their meanings, are either simple or 
 adversative ; and that all adversatives are either absolute or 
 comparative, or else adequate or inadequate. 
 
 We shall finish this chapter with a few miscellany observa- 
 tions. 
 
 In the first place it may be observed, through all the species 
 of disjunctives, that the same disjunctive appears to have greater 
 or less force, according as the subjects, which it disjoins, are 
 more or less disjoined by nature. For example : if we say, " Every 
 number is even or odd, every proposition is true or false," nothing 
 seems to disjoin more strongly than the disjunctive, because no 
 things are in nature more incompatible than the subjects. But 
 if we say, " That object is a triangle, or figure contained under 
 three right lines ;" the or, in this case, hardly seems to disjoin, 
 or, indeed, to do more than distinctly to express the thing ; first 
 by its name, and then by its definition. So if we say, " That 
 figure is a sphere, or a globe, or a ball," the disjunctive, in this 
 case, tends no further to disjoin, than as it distinguishes the 
 several names which belong to the same thing/ 
 
 d This distinction has reference to com- this occasion, which they called subdisjunc- 
 
 mon opinion, and the form of language tiva, "a subdisjunctive," and that was sire. 
 
 consonant thereto. In strict metaphysical Alexander sive Paris', Mars sive Mavors. 
 
 truth, no cause that is not adequate is any The Greek etr" ovv seems to answer the 
 
 cause at all. same end. Of these particles, Scaliger thus 
 
 e They called them for the most part, speaks: Et sane nomen subdisjunctivarum 
 
 without sufficient distinction of their species, rectc acceptum est, neque cnim tarn plane 
 
 adrersativce, or evavTica/j.aTiKoi. disjungit, quam disjunctive. Nam disjunc- 
 
 f The Latins had a peculiar particle for tivae sunt in contrariis subdisjunctivae 
 
192 HERMES. 
 
 Again : the words when and where, and all others of the 
 same nature, such as whence, whither, whenever, wherever, &c. 
 may be properly called adverbial conjunctions, because they par- 
 ticipate the nature both of adverbs and conjunctions : of con- 
 junctions, as they conjoin sentences ; of adverbs, as they denote 
 the attributes either of time or of place. 
 
 Again : these adverbial conjunctions, and perhaps most of the 
 prepositions, (contrary to the character of accessory words, 
 which have strictly no signification, but when associated with 
 other words,) have a kind of obscure signification, when taken 
 alone, by denoting those attributes of time and place. And 
 hence it is, that they appear in grammar like Zoophytes in na- 
 ture ; a kind of middle beings, g of amphibious character, which, 
 by sharing the attributes of the higher and the lower, conduce 
 to link the whole together. 11 
 
 And so much for conjunctions, their genus, and their species. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONCERNING THOSE CONNECTIVES CALLED PREPOSITIONS. 
 
 PREPOSITIONS by their name express their place, but not their 
 character. Their definition will distinguish them from the 
 former connectives. A preposition is a part of speech, devoid 
 itself of signification, but so formed as to unite two words that 
 are significant, and that refuse to coalesce or unite of them- 
 selves. 1 This connective power (which relates to words only, 
 
 autem etiam in non contrariis, sed diversis without cement, may well answer their 
 
 tantum ; ut, Alexander sive Paris. De end, but not those houses where one would 
 
 Caus. Ling. Lat. c. 170. choose to dwelt ? Is this the cause ? or 
 
 % TIo\\axov ybp T\ <f>v<ns S-ff\rj yivfrai have we attained an elegance to the an- 
 KOTa fjLLKpbv /iTaj8atj/ou(ro, &ffT afj.<pi<rftr]~ cients unknown ? 
 Tsla6a.i 7rl rivwv, irArspov <aov 3) <pvr6v : Venimus ad summam fortunes, &c. 
 *' Nature, in many instances, appears to * The Stoic name for a preposition was 
 make her transition by little and little, so TrpodeTtitbs <rw/8e<r/ios, prcepositiva cow- 
 that in some beings it may be doubted, junctio, " a prepositive conjunction." 'ls 
 whether they are animal or vegetable." ^Iv ovv nal Kara ras &\\as TrapofleVets cu 
 Themist. p. 74. edit. Aid. See also Arist. TrpoOeaeis ffvv5f(Tfj.iKfjs (rwrd^eus yivovrai 
 de Animal. Part. 1. x. p. 93. edit. Syll. TrapffifpaTiKol, AeXe/crat v)fiiv' wv KOI 
 
 h It is somewhat surprising that the po- acpop/j.^ efyryrai irapa TOLS 'S.TwiKots TOV 
 
 litest and most elegant of the Attic writers, /caAe?<r0at auras TrpoOeriKovs ffw5fcrfj.ovs : 
 
 and Plato above all the rest, should have " Now in what manner, even in other ap- 
 
 their works filled with particles of all kinds, plications, (besides the present,) preposi- 
 
 and with conjunctions in particular ; while tions give proof of their conjunctive syntax, 
 
 in the modern polite works, as well of our- we have mentioned already ; whence, too, 
 
 selves as of our neighbours, scarce such a the Stoics took occasion to call them pre- 
 
 word as a particle or conjunction is to be positive conjunctions." Apollon. 1. iv. c. 5. 
 
 found. Is it, that where there is con- p. 313. Yet is this, in fact, rather a de- 
 
 nexion in the meaning, there must be words scriptive sketch, than a complete definition, 
 
 had to connect ; but that where the con- since there are other conjunctions which 
 
 nexion is little or none, such connectives are prepositive as well as these. See Gaz. 
 
 are of little use ? That houses of cards, 1. iv. de Praeposit. Prise. 1. xiv. p. 983. 
 
HERMES. 
 
 and not sentences) will be better understood from the following 
 speculations. 
 
 Some things coalesce and unite of themselves ; others refuse 
 to do so without help and, as it were, compulsion. Thus, in 
 works of art, the mortar and the stone coalesce of themselves, 
 but the wainscot and the wall not without nails and pins. In 
 nature this is more conspicuous. For example; all quantities 
 and qualities coalesce immediately with their substances. Thus 
 it is we say, " a fierce lion," " a vast mountain ;" and from this 
 natural concord of subject and accident, arises the grammatical 
 concord of substantive* and adjective. In like manner, actions 
 coalesce with their agents, and passions with their patients. 
 Thus it is we say, "Alexander conquers,*" " Darius is conquered." 
 Nay, as every energy is a kind of medium between its agent and 
 patient, the whole three, agent, energy, and patient, coalesce 
 with the same facility ; as when we say, " Alexander conquers 
 Darius." And hence, that is, from these modes of natural 
 coalescence, arises the grammatical regimen of the verb by its 
 nominative, and of the accusative by its verb. Further than 
 this, attributives themselves may be most of them characterized ; 
 as when we say of such attributives as ran, beautiful, learned, 
 he ran swiftly, she was very beautiful, he was moderately 
 learned, &c. And hence the coalescence of the adverb with 
 verbs, participles, and adjectives. 
 
 The general conclusion appears to be this. " Those parts of 
 speech unite of themselves in grammar, whose original arche- 
 types unite of themselves in nature." To which we may add, 
 as following from what has been said, that the great objects of 
 natural union are substance and attribute. Now though sub- 
 stances naturally coincide with their attributes, yet they ab- 
 solutely refuse doing so one with another. k And hence those 
 known maxims in physics, that body is impenetrable ; that two 
 bodies cannot possess the same place ; that the same attribute 
 cannot belong to different substances, &c. 
 
 From these principles it follows, that when we form a sen- 
 tence, the substantive without difficulty coincides with the verb, 
 from the natural coincidence of substance and energy " the sun 
 warmeth." So likewise the energy with the subject, on which it 
 operates "warmeth the earth." So likewise both substance 
 and energy with their proper attributes " the splendid sun, 
 genially warmeth the fertile earth." But suppose we were de- 
 sirous to add other substantives, as, for instance, air, or beams. 
 How would these coincide, or under what character could they 
 be introduced 2 Not as nominatives or accusatives, for both 
 
 k Causa, proptcr quam duo substantiva accidens ; itaque non dicas, Caesar, Cato 
 non ponuntur sine copula, e philosophia piignat. Seal, de Cans. Ling. Lat. c. 
 petendaest: neque enim duo substantial!- 177. 
 ter unum esse potest, sicut eubstantia et 
 
 O 
 
194 HERMES. 
 
 those places are already filled ; the nominative by the substance 
 sun ; the accusative by the substance earth. Not as attributes 
 to these last, or to any other thing; for attributes by nature 
 they neither are, nor can be made. Here then we perceive the 
 rise and use of prepositions. By these we connect those sub- 
 stantives to sentences, which at the time are unable to coalesce 
 of themselves. Let us assume, for instance, a pair of these con- 
 nectives, through and with, and mark their effect upon the sub- 
 stances here mentioned. u The splendid sun with his beams 
 genially warmetli through the air the fertile earth." The sen- 
 tence, as before, remains entire and 011*6; the substantives re- 
 quired are both introduced ; and not a word, which was there 
 before, is detruded from its proper place. 
 
 It must here be observed, that most, if not all prepositions 
 seem originally formed to denote the relations of place. 1 The 
 reason is, this is that grand relation which bodies or natural 
 substances maintain at all times one to another, whether they 
 are contiguous or remote, whether in motion or at rest. 
 
 It may be said, indeed, that in the continuity of place they 
 form this universe, or visible whole, and are made as much one 
 by that general comprehension, as is consistent with their se- 
 veral natures and specific distinctions. Thus it is we have pre- 
 positions to denote the contiguous relation of body, as when we 
 say, "Caius walketh?m7Aa staff; the statue stood upon a pedestal; 
 the river ran over a sand :" others for the detached relation, as 
 when we say, " he is going to Italy ; the sun is risen above the 
 hills ; these figs came from Turkey." So as to motion and rest, 
 only with this difference, that here the preposition varies its 
 character with the verb. Thus if we say, " that lamp hangs from 
 the ceiling," the preposition from, assumes a character of qui- 
 escence. But if we say, " that lamp is falling from the ceiling," 
 the preposition in such case assumes a character of motion. So 
 in Milton, 
 
 To support uneasy steps 
 Over the burning marie. Par. Lost, i. 
 
 Here over denotes motion. 
 Again, 
 
 He, with looks of cordial love 
 Hung over her enamour'd. Par. Lost, iv. 
 
 Here over denotes rest. 
 
 But though the original use of prepositions was to denote the 
 relations of place, they could not be confined to this office only. 
 They, by degrees, extended themselves to subjects incorporeal, 
 and came to denote relations, as well intellectual as local. Thus, 
 
 1 Omne corpus aut movetur aut quiescit: tremorum, in quibus fit quies. Hinc eli- 
 
 quare opus fuit aliqua nota, quse rb TTOV ciemus prsepositionis essentialem definitio- 
 
 significaret, sive esset inter duo extrema, nem. Seal, de Caus. Ling. Lat. c. 152. 
 inter quae motus fit, sive esset in altero ex- 
 
HERMES. 195 
 
 because, in place, he who is above, has commonly the advantage 
 over him who is below, hence we transfer over and under to 
 dominion and obedience ; of a king we say, " he ruled over his 
 people ;" of a common soldier, " he served under such a general." 
 So, too, we say, " with thought, without attention, thinking over 
 a subject, under anxiety, from fear, out of love, through jea- 
 lousy," &c. All which instances, with many others of like kind, 
 shew that the first words of men, like their first ideas, had an 
 immediate reference to sensible objects, and that in after-days, 
 when they began to discern with their intellect, they took those 
 words which they found already made, and transferred them 
 by metaphor to intellectual conceptions. There is indeed no 
 method to express new ideas, but either this of metaphor, or 
 that of coining new words ; both which have been practised by 
 philosophers and wise men, according to the nature and exigence 
 of the occasion." 1 
 
 In the foregoing use of prepositions, we have seen how they are 
 applied, Kara irapaOecnv, " by way of juxta-position," that is to 
 say, where they are prefixed to a word without becoming a part 
 of it : but they may be used also, Kara crvvOecnv, " by way of 
 composition," that is, they may be prefixed to a word, so as to 
 become a real part of it. 11 Thus in Greek we have l-n-io-raaOai, 
 in Latin, intelligere, in English, "to understand;" so also, to 
 foretell, to overact, to undervalue, to outgo, &c., and in Greek 
 and Latin, other instances innumerable. In this case, the pre- 
 positions commonly transfuse something of their own meaning 
 into the word with which they are compounded ; and this im- 
 parted meaning, in most instances, will be found ultimately re- 
 solvable into some of the relations of place, as used either in 
 its proper or metaphorical acceptation. 
 
 m Among the words new coined we may and his sect ; the Avhole philosophy of such 
 
 ascribe to Anaxagoras, 6/j.oiofj.epeia : to sect, together with the connections and 
 
 Plato, iroi6rris : to Cicero, fjualitas : to dependencies of its several parts, whether 
 
 Aristotle, eVreAe'^eia : to the Stoics, oihris, logical, ethical, or physical ; he, I say, that, 
 
 Kepdns, and many others. Among the without this previous preparation, attempts 
 
 words transferred by metaphor from com- what I have said, will shoot in the dark ; 
 
 mon to special meanings, to the Platonics will be liable to perpetual blunders ; will 
 
 we may ascribe tSca: to the Pythagoreans explain, and praise, and censure merely by 
 
 and Peripatetics, icmriyopia and Karfyo- chance ; and though he may possibly to 
 
 pelV : to the Stoics, Karakuls, vTr6\iri\l/is, fools appear as a wise man, will certainly 
 
 KaOr)Kov : to the Pyrrhonists, e<rn, eV- among the wise, ever pass for a fool. Such 
 
 Several, eVe'x&j, &c. a man's intellect comprehends ancient phi- 
 
 And here I cannot but observe, that he losophy, as his eye comprehends a distant 
 
 who pretends to discuss the sentiments of prospect. He may see, perhaps, enough to 
 
 any one of these philosophers, or even to know mountains from plains, and seas fr6m 
 
 cite and translate him, (except in trite woods ; but from an accurate discernment 
 
 and obvious sentences,) without accurately of particulars, and their character, this, 
 
 knowing the Greek tongue in general ; the without further helps, it is impossible he 
 
 nice differences of many words apparently should attain. 
 
 synonymous ; the peculiar style of the au- n See Gaz. Gram. 1. iv. cap. de Praeposit. 
 
 thor whom he presumes to handle ; the For example, let us suppose some given 
 
 new coined words, and new significations space ; e and ex signify "out of that space ;" 
 
 to old words, used by such author per, "tJi ro/tr/h it," from beginning to end; 
 
 o2 
 
196 HERMES. 
 
 Lastly, there are times when prepositions totally lose their 
 connective nature, being converted into adverbs, and used in 
 syntax accordingly. Thus Homer : 
 
 r4\affffe Se iraffa. we 
 
 "And earth smiled all around." Iliad. T. 362. 
 
 But of this we have spoken in a preceding chapter. p One thing 
 we must, however, observe, before we finish this chapter, which 
 is, that whatever we may be told of cases in modern languages, 
 there are, in fact, no such things ; but their force and power is 
 expressed by two methods, either by situation, or by prepositions ; 
 the nominative and accusative cases, by situation ; the rest, by 
 prepositions. But this we shall make the subject of a chapter by 
 itself, concluding here our inquiry concerning prepositions. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONCERNING CASES. 
 
 As cases, or at least their various powers, depend on the know- 
 ledge, partly of nouns, partly of verbs, and partly of prepositions, 
 they have been reserved till those parts of speech had been ex- 
 amined and discussed, and are for that reason made the subject 
 of so late a chapter as the present. 
 
 There are no cases in the modern languages, except a few 
 among the primitive pronouns, such as / and me, je and moy ; 
 and the English genitive, formed by the addition of s, as when 
 from lion, we form lions ; from ship, ship's. From this defect, 
 
 m, " within it ;" sub, " under it." Hence, short of them ; subniger, " blackish ;" sub- 
 
 then,e and joer, in composition, "augment;" rubicundus, "reddish;" tending to black, 
 
 enormis, " something, not simply big, but and tending to red, but yet under the 
 
 big in excess ;" something got out of the standard, and below perfection, 
 
 rule, and beyond the measure; dico, "to Emo originally signified, "to takeaway;" 
 
 speak ;" edico, " to speak out ;" whence hence it came to signify to buy, because he, 
 
 edictum,"a,n edict," something so effectually who buys, takes away his purchase. Inter, 
 
 spoken, as all are supposed to hear, and all " between," implies discontinuance ; for in 
 
 to obey. So Terence : things continuous there can nothing lie be- 
 
 Dico, edico vobis. Eun. v. 5, 20. tween. From these two comes interimo, 
 
 which (as Donatus tells us in his Com- " to kill ;" that is to say, to take a man 
 
 ment) is an a#|??<m. Fari, " to speak ;" ef- away in the midst of life, by making a dis- 
 
 fari, " to speak out." Hence e/atum, " an continuance of his vital energy. So also 
 
 axiom," or self-evident proposition ; some- perimo, " to kill " a man ; that is to say, to 
 
 thing addressed, as it were, to all men, and take him away thoroughly ; for, indeed, 
 
 calling for universal assent. Cic. Acad. what more thorough taking away can well 
 
 ii. 29. Permagnus, perutilis, "great through- be supposed? The Greek verb, avaipe'iv, 
 
 out, useful through every part." and the English verb, " to take off," seem 
 
 On the contrary, in and sub diminish both to carry the same allusion. And thus 
 
 and lessen. Injustus, iniquus, " unjust, in- it is that prepositions become parts of other 
 
 equitable," that lies within justice and words, 
 
 equity, that reaches not so far, that falls P See before, p. 177. 
 
HERMES. 197 
 
 however, we may be enabled to discover, in some instances, what 
 a case is; the periphrasis, which supplies its place, being the 
 case (as it were) unfolded. Thus equi is analysed into du cheval, 
 " of the horse ;" equo into au cheval, " to the horse." And hence 
 we see that the genitive and dative cases imply the joint power 
 of a noun and preposition ; the genitive's preposition being #, de, 
 or $x; the dative^s preposition being ad, or versus. 
 
 We have not this assistance as to the accusative, which, in 
 modern languages, (a few instances excepted.) is only known 
 from its position, that is to say, by being subsequent to its verb 
 in the collocation of the words. 
 
 The vocative we pass over, from its little use, being not only 
 unknown to the modern languages, but often in the ancient being 
 supplied by the nominative. 
 
 The ablative, likewise, was used by the Romans only ; a case 
 they seem to have adopted to associate with their prepositions, 
 as they had deprived their genitive and dative of that privilege ; 
 a case certainly not necessary, because the Greeks do as well 
 without it, and because with the Romans themselves it is fre- 
 quently undistinguished. 
 
 There remains the nominative, which, whether it were a case 
 or no, was much disputed by the ancients. The Peripatetics 
 held it to be no case, and likened the noun, in this its primary 
 and original form, to a perpendicular line, such, for example, as 
 the line A B. 
 
 The variations from the nominative they considered as if A B 
 were to fall from its perpendicular ; as, for example, to A 0, 
 or A D. Hence, then, they only called these variations, TTTW- 
 o-6t9, casus, " cases," or " fallings." The Stoics, on the contrary, 
 and the grammarians with them, made the nominative a case 
 also : words they considered (as it were) to fall from the mind, 
 or discursive faculty. Now when a noun fell thence in its 
 primary form, they then called it Trrcocrt? opOrj, casus rectus, "an 
 erect, or upright case or falling;" such as A B, and by this 
 name they distinguished the nominative. When it fell from the 
 mind under any of its variations, as, for example, in the form of 
 a genitive, a dative, or the like, such variations they called TTTW- 
 cret9 TrXayt'at, casus obliqui, u oblique cases, or sidelong fallings," 
 (such as A C, or A D,) in opposition to the other, (that is, A B,) 
 which was erect and perpendicular.* 1 Hence, too, grammarians 
 called the method of enumerating the various cases of a noun, 
 q See Ammon. in Libr. de Interpr. p. 35. 
 
198 HERMES. 
 
 *Xlcr9, dedinatio, " a declension ;" it being a sort of progressive 
 descent from the noun's upright form through its various de- 
 clining forms ; that is, a descent from A B to A C, A D, &c. 
 
 Of these cases we shall treat but of four, that is to say, the 
 nominative, the accusative, the genitive, and the dative. 
 
 It has been said already, in the preceding chapter, that the 
 great objects of natural union are substance and attribute. Now 
 from this natural concord arises the logical concord of subject 
 and predicate, and the grammatical concord of substantive and 
 attributive/ These concords in speech produce propositions and 
 sentences, as that previous concord in nature produces natural 
 beings. This being admitted, we proceed by observing, that 
 when a sentence is regular and orderly, nature's substance, the 
 logician's subject, and the grammarian's substantive, are all de- 
 noted by that case which we call the nominative. For example : 
 Ccesar pugnat, ces fingitur, doftius cedificatur. We may remark, 
 too, by the way, that the character of this nominative may be 
 learnt from its attributive. The action implied in pugnat shews 
 its nominative Caesar to be an active efficient cause ; the passion 
 implied in fingitur shews its nominative ces to be a passive sub- 
 ject, as does the passion in wdificatur prove domus to be an 
 eifect. 
 
 As therefore every attributive would, as far as possible, con- 
 form itself to its substantive, so for this reason, when it has cases, 
 it imitates its substantive, and appears as a nominative also. So 
 we find it in such instances as Cicero est eloquens; vitium est turpe; 
 homo est animal, &c. When it has no cases, (as happens with 
 verbs,) it is forced to content itself with such assimilations as it 
 has, those of number and person ; s as when we say, Cicero lo- 
 quitur ; nos loquimur ; homines loquuntur. 
 
 From what has been said, we may make the following observa- 
 tions : that as there can be no sentence without a substantive, 
 so that substantive, if the sentence be regular, is always denoted 
 by a nominative ; that on this occasion all the attributives, that 
 have cases, appear as nominatives also ; that there may be a 
 regular and perfect sentence without any of the other cases, but 
 that without one nominative, at least, this is utterly impossible. 
 Hence, therefore, we form its character and description: the 
 nominative is that case, without which there can be no regular 
 and perfect sentence. 1 We are now to search after another case. 
 
 When the attributive in any sentence is some verb denoting 
 action, we may be assured the principal substantive is some 
 active efficient cause ; so we may call Achillej. and Lysippus in 
 
 r See before, p. 193. nominative. Of this kind are all sentences, 
 
 s What sort of number and person verbs made out of those verbs called by the Stoics 
 
 have, see before, p. 170, 1. Tra/mcri^a/tara, or irapaKaTrtyopfi/maTa : 
 
 ' We have added regular, as well as such as Sco/fparet ^cra^eAet, Socratem 
 
 perfect, because there may be irregular pcenitet., &c. See before, p. 169, 
 
 sentences, which may be perfect without a 
 
HERMES. 199 
 
 such sentences as Achilles vulnemvit, Lysippus fecit. But though 
 this be evident and clearly understood, the mind is still in sus- 
 pence, and finds its conception incomplete. Action, it well knows, 
 not only requires some agent, but it must have a subject also to 
 work on, and it must produce some effect. It is, then, to denote 
 one of these (that is, the subject or the effect) that the authors 
 of language have destined the accusative. Achilles vulneravit 
 Hectorem ; here the accusative denotes the subject. Lysippus 
 fecit statuas ; here the accusative denotes the effect. By these 
 additional explanations the mind becomes satisfied, and the sen- 
 tences acquire a perfection which before they wanted. In what- 
 ever other manner, whether figuratively, or with prepositions, 
 this case may have been used, its first destination seems to have 
 been that here mentioned, and hence therefore we shall form its 
 character and description : the accusative is that case which to 
 an efficient nominative and verb of action subjoins either the 
 effect or the passive subject. We have still left the genitive and 
 the dative, which we investigate as follows. 
 
 It has been said in the preceding chapter," that when the 
 places of the nominative and the accusative are filled by proper 
 substantives, other substantives are annexed by the help of 
 prepositions. Now though this be so far true in the modern 
 languages, that (a very few instances excepted) they know no 
 other method ; yet is not the rule of equal latitude with respect 
 to the Latin or Greek, and that from reasons which we are 
 about to offer. , 
 
 Among the various relations of substantives denoted by pre- 
 positions, there appear to be two principal ones ; and these are, 
 the term or point which something commences from, and the 
 term or point which something tends to. These relations the 
 Greeks and Latins thought of so great importance, as to distin- 
 guish them, when they occurred, by peculiar terminations of 
 their own, which expressed their force without the help of a 
 preposition. Now it is here we behold the rise of the ancient 
 genitive and dative : the genitive being formed to express all 
 relations commencing from itself; the dative all relations tending 
 to itself. Of this there can be no stronger proof than the 
 analysis of these cases in the modern languages which we have 
 mentioned already. v 
 
 It is on these principles that they say in Greek, 8eo/W <7ov, 
 <H'8ft>/u crot, " of thee I ask," " to thee 1 give." The reason is, 
 in requests, the person requested is one whom something is 
 expected from ; in donations, the person presented is one whom 
 something passes to. So again, TreTroirjTai, \iOov* " it is made 
 of stone." Stone was the passive subject, and thus it appears in 
 
 u See before, p. 194. "made of gold and ivory." So says Pau- 
 
 v See before, p. 190', 7. sanias of the Olympian Jupiter, 1. v. p. 400. 
 
 x Xpvffov ir7rot>?|U,eVos KCU eA.e<J>ai/Tos, See also Horn. Iliad. 2. 574. 
 
200 HERMES. 
 
 the genitive as being the term from, or out of which. Even in 
 Latin, where the syntax is more formal and strict, we read, 
 
 Implentur veteris Bacchi, pinguisque ferinse. Virg. 
 
 The old wine and venison were the funds or stores of or from 
 which they were filled. Upon the same principles, Hivco rov 
 {/Saro?, is a phrase in Greek ; and Je lois de Veau, a phrase in 
 French; as much as to say, " I take some or a certain part, 
 from or out of a certain whole." 
 
 When we meet in language such genitives as " the son of a 
 father;" "the father of a son;" "the picture of a painter;" "the 
 painter of a picture," &c., these are all relatives, and therefore 
 each of them reciprocally a term or point to the other, from or 
 out of which it derives its essence, or at least its intellection. y 
 
 The dative, as it implies tendency to, is employed among its 
 other uses to denote the final cause, that being the cause to 
 which all events, not fortuitous, may be said to tend. It is 
 thus used in the following instances among innumerable others. 
 
 Tibi suaveis dsedala tellus 
 Submittit floras. . Lucret. 
 
 Tibi brachia contrahit ardens 
 Scorpius. Virg. Georg. i. 
 
 Tibi serviat ultima thule. Ibid. 
 
 And so much for cases, their origin and use ; a sort of forms 
 or terminations which we could not well pass over, from their 
 great importance both in the Greek and Latin tongues; 2 but 
 which, however, not being among the essentials of language, 
 and therefore not to be found in many particular languages, can 
 be hardly said to fall within the limits of our inquiry. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 
 
 CONCERNING INTERJECTIONS. RECAPITULATION. CONCLUSION. 
 
 BESIDES the parts of speech before mentioned, there remains the 
 interjection. Of this kind among the Greeks are '/2, eO, Al, 
 
 y All relatives are said to reciprocate, or diutn, dupli dimidium. Categor. c. vii. 
 mutually infer each other, and therefore z Annon et illud observatione dignum 
 they are often expressed by this case, that (licet nobis modernis spiritus nonnihil re- 
 is to say, the genitive. Thus Aristotle: dundat) antiquas linguas plenas declina- 
 riaj/Ta Se ra irpos TI Trpbs a.VTi<np4<poVTa tionum, casuum, conjugationum, et similium 
 Ae'-yeTcu, otov 6 Sov\os SeffirArov SouAos, fuisse ; modernas, his fere destitutes, plu- 
 Kal 6 SeoTrjTTjs 5ot/Aou SetTTr^Trjs Aeyerat rima per prsepositiones et verba auxiliaria 
 el>ai, Kal rb 8nr\d(nov y/j.iffeos 8nr\d.(riov, segniter expedire ? Sane facile quis con- 
 Kal rb fyfjiiffv 8nr\a<riov ^fjLiffv : Omnia jiciat (utcunque nobis ipsi placeamus) in- 
 vero, quae sunt ad aliquid, referuntur ad ea, genia priorum seculorum nostris fuisse multo 
 quae reciprocantur. Ut servus dicitur do- acutiora et subtiliora. Bacon, de Augm. 
 mini servus ; et dominus, servi dominus ; Scient. vi. L 
 nccnon duplum, dimidii duplum ; et dimi- 
 
HERMES. 201 
 
 &c. ; among the Latins, Ah ! Heu ! Hei ! &c. ; among the 
 English, Ah! Alas! Fie! &c. These the Greeks have ranged 
 among their adverbs; improperly, if we consider the adverbial 
 nature, which always coincides with some verb as its principal, 
 and to which it always serves in the character of an attributive. 
 Now interjections coincide with no part of speech, but are either 
 uttered alone, or else thrown into a sentence, without altering 
 its form, either in syntax or signification. The Latins seem 
 therefore to have done better in separating them by themselves, 3 
 and giving them a name by way of distinction from the rest. 
 
 Should it be asked, if not adverbs, what then are they ? It 
 may be answered, not so properly parts of speech, as adven- 
 titious sounds ; certain voices of nature, rather than voices of 
 art, expressing those passions and natural emotions which spon- 
 taneously arise in the human soul, upon the view or narrative of 
 interesting events. 5 
 
 " And thus we have found that all words are either signifi- 
 cant by themselves, or only significant when associated ; that 
 those significant by themselves, denote either substances or 
 attributes, and are called for that reason substantives and attri- 
 butives; that the substantives are either nouns or pronouns; 
 that the attributives are either primary or secondary ; that the 
 primary attributives are either verbs, participles, or adjectives; 
 the secondary, adverbs. Again, that the parts of speech, only 
 significant when associated, are either definitives or connectives; 
 that the definitives are either articular or pronominal ; and that 
 the connectives are either prepositions or conjunctions."" 
 
 And thus have we resolved language as a whole into its con- 
 stituent parts, which was the first thing that we proposed in 
 the course of this inquiry. 
 
 a Vid. Servium in jEneid. xii. 486. signa laetitiae idem sunt apud omnes: sunt 
 
 b Interjectiones a Graecis ad adverbia re- igitur naturales. Si vero naturales, non 
 
 feruntur, atque eos sequitur etiam Boethius. sunt partes orationis. Nam eae partes, se- 
 
 Et recte quidem de iis, quando casum regunt. cundum Aristotelem, ex institute, non na- 
 
 Sed quando orationi solum inseruntur, ut tura, debent constare. Interjectionem Graeci 
 
 nota affectus, velut suspirii aut metus, vix adverbiis adnumerant ; sed falso. Nam 
 
 videntur ad classem aliquam pertinere, ut neque, &c. Sanct. Miner. 1. i. c. 2. Inter- 
 
 quae naturales sint notae ; non, aliarum jectionem Grseci inter adverbia ponunt, quo- 
 
 vocum instar, ex institute significant. Voss. niam haec quoque vel adjungitur verbis, vel 
 
 de Anal. 1. i. c. 1. Inter] ectio est vox af- verba ei subaudiuntur. Utsi dicam papa! 
 
 fectum mentis significans, ac citra verbi quid video vel per se -papae ! etiamsi 
 
 opem sententiam complens. Ibid. c. 3. non addatur, miror; habet in se ipsius verbi 
 
 Restat classium extrema, interjectio. Hujus significationem. Quae res maxime fecit 
 
 appellatio non similiter se liabet ac con- Romanorum artium scriptores separatim 
 
 junction is. Nam cum haec dicatur con- hanc partem ab adverbiis accipere ; quia 
 
 junctio, quia conjungat ; interjectio tamen, videtur affectum habere in sese verbi, et 
 
 non quia interjacet, sed quia interjicitur, plenam motus animi significationera, etiamsi 
 
 nomen accepit. Nee tamen de ovaiq. ejus non addatur verbum, demonstrare. Interjec- 
 
 est, ut interjiciatur ; cum per se compleat tio tamen non solum ilia, quae dicunt Graeci 
 
 sententiam, nee raro ab ea incipiat oratio. (r^erA-tao'/ibj', significat ; sed etiam voces, quae 
 
 Ibid. 1. iv. c. 28. Interjectionem non esse cujuscunque passionis animi pulsu per ex- 
 
 partem orationis sic ostendo : quod naturale clamationem interjiciuntur. Prise. 1. xv. 
 est, idem est apud omncs: sed gemitus et c See before, p. 110. 
 
202 HERMES. 
 
 But now, as we conclude, methinks I hear some objector de- 
 manding, with an air of pleasantry and ridicule, " Is there no 
 speaking, then, without all this trouble ? Do we not talk every 
 one of us, as well unlearned as learned, as well poor peasants 
 as profound philosophers f We may answer, by interrogating 
 on our part, Do not those same poor peasants use the lever and 
 the wedge, and many other instruments, with much habitual 
 readiness ? And yet have they any conception of those geome- 
 trical principles from which those machines derive their efficacy 
 and force ? And is the ignorance of these peasants a reason for 
 others to remain ignorant, or to render the subject a less be- 
 coming inquiry? Think of animals and vegetables that occur 
 every day ; of time, of place, and of motion ; of light, of colours, 
 and of gravitation ; of our very senses and intellect, by which 
 we perceive every thing else : that they are we all know, and 
 are perfectly satisfied ; what they are is a subject of much ob- 
 scurity and doubt. Were we to reject this last question, be- 
 cause we are certain of the first, we should banish all philosophy 
 at once out of the world. d 
 
 But a graver objector now accosts us. " What (says he) is the 
 utility \ Whence the profit, where the gain \ " Every science 
 whatever (we may answer) has its use. Arithmetic is excellent 
 for the gauging of liquors ; geometry, for the measuring of 
 estates ; astronomy, for the making of almanacks ; and grammar, 
 perhaps, for the drawing of bonds and conveyances. 
 
 Thus much to the sordid. If the liberal ask for something 
 better than this, we may answer and assure them, from the best 
 authorities, that every exercise of the mind upon theorems of 
 science, like generous and manly exercise of the body, tends to 
 call forth and strengthen nature's original vigour. Be the sub- 
 ject itself immediately lucrative or not, the nerves of reason are 
 braced by the mere employ, and we become abler actors in the 
 drama of life, whether our part be of the busier or of the se- 
 dater kind. 
 
 Perhaps, too, there is a pleasure even in science itself, distinct 
 from any end to which it may be further conducive. Are not 
 health and strength of body desirable for their own sakes, though 
 we happen not to be fated either for porters or draymen ? and 
 have not health and strength of rnind their intrinsic worth also, 
 
 d 5 AAA' e<m iroXXa T>J> OVTWV, a rty number of things, many which have a most 
 
 fifif virap^iv e%ei yv(api/j.(aTdT7)v, ayvwffTo- known existence, but a most unknown es- 
 
 ra.Tt]v 5e T^V overlay' taffirfp v^re fftf^ftSt sence ; such for example as motion, place, 
 
 KOI 6 T&ros, ert 5e /*aAAoj> 6 xp vos - an d, more than either of them, time. The 
 
 'E/ca(TTou yap TOVTWV T> n\v eJvai yvcapt/mov existence of each of these is known and in- 
 
 itai ava(j.<pi\KTov' ris Se TTOTC tffTiv av- disputable, but what their essence is, or na- 
 
 T<av rj ovcria, ruv xaAeTrcoraTWP 6padr)vai. ture, is among the most difficult things to 
 
 "Effri Se STJ TI TUV TOLOVTWV ical TJ tywxfy' discern. The soul also is in the same class : 
 
 rb fifv yap sivou n rriv \J/u%r;i/, yvcapijJi^Ta,- that it is something, is most evident ; but 
 
 TOV ical (pavsp&TaToi'' TI Se Trort fffTiv, oit what it is, is a matter not so easy to learn." 
 
 : "There are in the Alex. Aphrod. de Anima, p. 142. 
 
HERMES. 203 
 
 though not condemned to the low drudgery of sordid emolu- 
 ment? Why should there not be a good (could we have the 
 grace to recognise it) in the mere energy of our intellect, as 
 much as in energies of lower degree ? The sportsman believes 
 there is good in his chase, the man of gaiety in his intrigue, even 
 the glutton in his meal. We may justly ask of these, Why they 
 pursue such things ? but if they answer, " they pursue them be- 
 cause they are good," it would be folly to ask them further, Why 
 they pursue what is good ? It might well, in such case, be re- 
 plied on their behalf, (how strange soever it may at first appear,) 
 " that if there was not something good, which was in no respect 
 useful, even things useful themselves could not possibly have 
 existence." For this is in fact no more than to assert, that some 
 things are ends, some things are means ; and that if there were 
 no ends, there could be, of course, no means. 
 
 It should seem, then, the grand question was, What is good ? 
 that is to say, what is that which is desirable, not for something 
 else, but for itself? for whether it be the chase, or the intrigue, 
 or the meal, may be fairly questioned, since men in each instance 
 are far from being agreed. 
 
 In the mean time, it is plain, from daily experience, there are 
 infinite pleasures, amusements, and diversions; some for summer, 
 others for winter ; some for country, others for town ; some easy, 
 indolent, and soft ; others boisterous, active, and rough ; a mul- 
 titude diversified to every taste, and which for the time are en- 
 joyed as perfect good, without a thought of any end that may 
 be further obtained. Some objects of this kind are at times 
 sought by all men, excepting alone that contemptible tribe, 
 who, from a love to the means of life, wholly forgetting its end, 
 are truly, for that reason, called misers, or miserable. 
 
 If there be supposed, then, a pleasure, a satisfaction, a good, 
 a something valuable for itself without view to any thing further, 
 in so many objects of the subordinate kind ; shall we not allow 
 the same praise to the sublimest of all objects? Shall the in- 
 tellect alone feel no pleasures in its energy, when we allow them 
 to the grossest energies of appetite and sense ? Or if the reality 
 of all pleasures and goods were to be controverted, may not the 
 intellectual sort be defended, as rationally as any of them ? 
 Whatever may be urged in behalf of the rest (for we are not 
 now arraigning them) we may safely affirm of intellectual good, 
 that it is " the good of that part which is most excellent within 
 us; that it is a good accommodated to all places and times; which 
 neither depends on the will of others, nor on the affluence of ex- 
 ternal fortune ; that it is a good which decays not with de- 
 caying appetites, but often rises in vigour when those are no 
 more."* 
 
 There is a difference, we must own, between this intellectual 
 
 e See before, p. 48. 
 
204 HERMES. 
 
 virtue, and moral virtue. Moral virtue, from its employment, 
 may be called more human, as it tempers our appetites to the 
 purposes of human life. But intellectual virtue may be surely 
 called more divine, if we consider the nature and sublimity of 
 its end. 
 
 Indeed, for moral virtue, as it is almost wholly conversant 
 about appetites and affections, either to reduce the natural ones 
 to a proper mean, or totally to expel the unnatural and vicious, 
 it would be impious to suppose the Deity to have occasion for 
 such an habit, or that any work of this kind should call for his 
 attention. Yet God is, and lives. So we are assured from 
 scripture itself. What then may we suppose the divine life to 
 be ? Not a life of sleep, as the fables tell us of Endymion. If 
 we may be allowed, then, to conjecture, with a becoming reve- 
 rence, what more likely than a perpetual energy of the purest 
 intellect about the first, all-comprehensive objects of intellection, 
 which objects are no other than that intellect itself? For in 
 pure intellection it holds the reverse of all sensation, that the 
 perceiver and thing perceived are always one and the same/ 
 
 It was speculation of this kind concerning the Divine Nature 
 which induced one of the wisest among the ancients to believe, 
 "that the man who could live in the pure enjoyment of his mind, 
 and who properly cultivated that divine principle, was happiest 
 in himself, and most beloved by the gods. For if the gods had 
 any regard to what passed among men, (as it appeared they had,) 
 it was probable they should rejoice in that which was most ex- 
 cellent, and by nature the most nearly allied to themselves ; 
 and as this was mind, that they should requite the man who 
 most loved and honoured this, both from his regard to that 
 which was dear to themselves, and from his acting a part 
 which was laudable and right." g 
 
 And thus in all science there is something valuable for itself, 
 because it contains within it something which is divine. 
 
 f Et ovv OVTCDS ft e%t, &s ^ueTs rare, 6 imaginary deities, of whom some had no 
 
 ebs del, 6avfj.affr6v el Se fcaAAoi/, Irt pretensions to life at all ; others to none 
 
 Qavpaffi&Ttpov' e^et Se &>Se, Kal 0?^ Se 76 higher than to vegetables or brutes ; and 
 
 virdpx*i' f) yap NoO eWp-yeta, a>^' e'/ce/os the best were nothing better than illustrious 
 
 Se, rj tvepyeia' eVe'pyeta Se TJ Ka6' auTrjv, men, whose existence was circumscribed by 
 
 fKtivov far; aplffrrj Kal ctfStos. <Pa.fj.ev Se the short period of humanity. 
 
 rbv &ebv fivai u>ov atSiov, apiffrov &<TTe To the passage above quoted, may be 
 
 co$? /cal aikv a-vvex^s Kal atStos virdpx*i added another, which immediately precedes 
 
 Ttf 0e, rovro yap 6 &e6s. Ta>> pera TO it. Aiirbv Se voe? 6 vovs Kara ^erdx^iv 
 
 <f>va" A'. '. It is remarkable in scripture, TOV J/OTJTOJ}' i/oTjrbs yap yiveTai, Qiyyavow 
 
 that God is peculiarly characterized as a Kal vocav Sxrre ravT-bf vovs Kal vdyrov. 
 
 living God, in opposition to all false and 'H6iK' NtKO/tox' rb K'. Ke^>. TJ'. 
 
HERMES. 205 
 
 BOOK III. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT INTO ITS PRINCIPAL PARTS. 
 
 SOME things the mind performs through the body ; as, for ex- 
 ample, the various works and energies of art. Others it per- 
 forms without such medium ; as, for example, when it thinks, 
 and reasons, and concludes. Now though the mind, in either 
 case, may be called the principle or source, yet are these last 
 more properly its own peculiar acts, as being immediately refer- 
 able to its own innate powers. And thus is mind ultimately 
 the cause of all ; of every thing at least that is fair and good. 
 
 Among those acts of mind more immediately its own, that of 
 mental separation may be well reckoned one. Corporeal sepa- 
 rations, however accurate otherwise, are in one respect incom- 
 plete, as they may be repeated without end. The smallest 
 limb, severed from the smallest animalcule, (if we could suppose 
 any instrument equal to such dissection,) has still a triple exten- 
 sion of length, breadth, and thickness ; has a figure, a colour, 
 with perhaps many other qualities, and so will continue to have 
 though thus divided to infinity. But the mind surmounts all 
 power of concretion, 3 and can place in the simplest manner 
 every attribute by itself: convex without concave ; colour with- 
 out superficies ; superficies without body ; and body without its 
 accidents ; as distinctly each one as though they had never been 
 united. 
 
 And thus it is that it penetrates into the recesses of all things, 
 not only dividing them, as wholes, into their more conspicuous 
 parts, but persisting till it even separate those elementary prin- 
 ciples, which, being blended together after a more mysterious 
 manner, are united in the minutest part as much as in the 
 mightiest whole. b 
 
 Now if matter and form are among these elements, and 
 deserve perhaps to be esteemed as the principal among them, 
 it may not be foreign to the design of this treatise, to seek 
 whether these, or any things analogous to them, may be found 
 in speech or language. This, therefore, we shall attempt after 
 the following method. 
 
 a Itaque naturae facienda est prorsus so- terms of great import in the days of ancient 
 
 lutio et separatio ; non per ignem certe, sed philosophy, when things were scrutinized 
 
 per mentem, tanquam ignem divinum. rather at their beginning than at their end. 
 
 Bacon. Organ. 1. ii. 1 6. They have been but little regarded by 
 
 b See below, p. 207, note c. modern philosophy, which almost wholly 
 
 c See before, p. 117, 119. " Matter" employs itself about the last order of sub- 
 
 and " form" (in Greek i-Ar; and eTSos) were stance, that is to say, the tangible, corporeal, 
 
206 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 Every thing in a manner, whether natural or artificial, is in 
 its constitution compounded of something common and some- 
 
 or concrete, and which acknowledges no 
 separations even in this, but those made by 
 mathematical instruments or chemical pro- 
 cess. 
 
 The original meaning of the word v\i), 
 was sylva, " a wood." Thus Homer : 
 
 Tpe/j-e 8' otipea /j.aKpa /cot u\r), 
 Hoffcrlv VTT* aOavdroiffL Hofftiodowos I6vros. 
 An Neptune past, the mountains and the wood 
 Trembled beneath the god's immortal feet. 
 
 Hence as wood was perhaps the first and 
 most useful kind of materials, the word V\TI, 
 which denoted it, came to be by degrees 
 extended, and at length to denote matter 
 or materials in general. In this sense brass 
 was called the uATj or " matter" of a statue ; 
 stone, the uArj or " matter" of a pillar ; and 
 so in other instances. The Platonic Chal- 
 cidius, and other authors of the latter 
 Latinity, use sylva under the same extended 
 and comprehensive signification. 
 
 Now as the species of matter here men- 
 tioned (stone, metal, wood, &c.) occur most 
 frequently in common life, and are all 
 nothing more than natural substances or 
 bodies, hence by the vulgar, matter and body 
 have been taken to denote the same thing ; 
 material to mean corporeal; immaterial, in- 
 corporeal,^. But this was not the sentiment 
 of philosophers of old, by whom the term 
 matter was seldom used under so narrow an 
 acceptation. By these, every thing was 
 called vXri, or "matter," whether corporeal or 
 incorporeal, which was capable of becoming 
 something else, or of being moulded into 
 something else, whether from the operation 
 of art, of nature, or a higher cause. 
 
 In this sense, they not only called brass 
 the U'ATJ of a statue, and timber of a boat, 
 but letters and syllables they called the 
 vXai of words ; words, or simple terms, the 
 v\cu of propositions ; and propositions them- 
 selves the v\ai of syllogisms. The Stoics 
 held all things out of our own power, (T& 
 OVK e(/> 5 iHJ.1v,) such as wealth and poverty, 
 honour and dishonour, health and sickness, 
 life and death, to be the v\a.i, or materials 
 of virtue or moral goodness, which had its 
 essence in a proper conduct with respect to 
 all these. (Vid. Arr. Epict. 1. i. c. 29. Also 
 the Dialogue concerning Happiness, p. 
 75, and note t. M. Ant. xii. 29 ; vii. 
 29 ; x. 18, 19 ; where the v\iKbv arid 
 amwSes are opposed to each other.) The 
 Peripatetics, though they expressly held the 
 soul to be a<rct>fj.a,Tos, or " incorporeal," yet 
 still talked of a vovs v\iicbs, "a material 
 mind" or " intellect." This to modern ears 
 may possibly sound somewhat harshly. Yet 
 if wo translate the words, "natural capa- 
 
 city," and consider them as only denoting 
 that original and native power of intellec- 
 tion, which being previous to all human 
 knowledge, is yet necessary to its reception ; 
 there seems nothing then to remain that 
 can give us offence. And so much for the 
 idea of //AT;, or " matter." See Alex. Aphrod. 
 de Anim. p. 144. b. 145. Arist. Metaph. 
 p. 121, 122, 141. edit. Sylb. Procl. in 
 Euclid, p. 22, 23. 
 
 As to e?Sos, its original meaning was 
 that of " form" or " figure," considered as 
 denoting visible symmetry and proportion ; 
 and hence it had its name from eTSco, " to 
 see;" beauty of person being one of the 
 noblest and most excellent objects of sight. 
 Thus Euripides, 
 
 np&Tov fjikv e?Sos &iov Tvpavvio'os. 
 Pair form to empire gavethe first pretence. 
 Now as the form or figure of visible beings 
 tended principally to distinguish them, and 
 to give to each its name and essence ; hence 
 in a more general sense, whatever of any 
 kind (whether corporeal or incorporeal) was 
 peculiar, essential, and distinctive, so as by 
 its accession to any beings, as to its v\rj or 
 " matter," to mark them with a character 
 which they had not before, Avas called by 
 the ancients elSoy, or " form." Thus not 
 only the shape given to the brass was 
 called the elSos, or "form" of the statue ; 
 but the proportion assigned to the drugs 
 was the elSos or "form" of the medicine ; 
 the orderly motion of the human body was 
 the eTSos or " form" of the dance ; the just 
 arrangement of the propositions, the e?Sos 
 or " form" of the syllogism. In like manner, 
 the rational and accurate conduct of a wise 
 and good man, in all the various relations 
 and occurrences of life, made that e?5os or 
 " form" described by Cicero to his son : 
 Formam quidam ipsam, Marce fili, et tan-' 
 quam faciem honesti vides: quae, si oculis 
 cerncretur, mirabiles amores (ut ait Plato) 
 excitaret sapientiae, &c. De Offic. i. 
 
 We may go further still: the Supreme 
 Intelligence which passes through all things, 
 and which is the same to our capacities as 
 light is to our eyes, this Supreme Intelli- 
 gence has been called e?5os e7Soj/, "the 
 form of forms," as being the fountain of all 
 symmetry, of all good, and of all truth ; 
 and as imparting to every being those es- 
 sential and distinctive attributes which 
 make it to be itself, and not any thing else. 
 
 And so much concerning form, as before 
 concerning matter. We shall only add, 
 that it is in the uniting of these that every 
 thing generable begins to exist ; in their 
 separating, to perish, and bo at an end ; 
 
HERMES. 
 
 207 
 
 thing peculiar; of something common, and belonging to many 
 other things ; and of something peculiar, by which it is distin- 
 guished, and made to be its true and proper self. 
 
 Hence language, if compared according to this notion to the 
 murmurs of a fountain, or the dashings of a cataract, has in 
 common this, that, like them, it is a sound. But then, on the 
 contrary, it has in peculiar this, that whereas those sounds have 
 no meaning or signification, to language a meaning or significa- 
 tion is essential. Again, language, if compared to the voice of 
 irrational animals, has in common this, that, like them, it has a 
 meaning. But then it has this in peculiar to distinguish it from 
 them, that whereas the meaning of those animal sounds is 
 derived from nature, that of language is derived, not from 
 nature, but from compact. d 
 
 From hence it becomes evident, that language, taken in the 
 most comprehensive view, implies certain sounds, having certain 
 meanings ; and that of these two principles, the sound is as the 
 matter, common (like other matter) to many different things ; 
 the meaning as that peculiar and characteristic form, by which 
 the nature or essence of language becomes complete. 
 
 that while the two co-exist, they co-exist 
 not by juxta-position, like the stones in a 
 wall, but by a more intimate coincidence, 
 complete in the minutest part ; that hence, 
 if we were to persist in dividing any sub- 
 stance (for example marble) to infinity, 
 there would still remain after every section 
 both matter and form, and these as per- 
 fectly united as before the division began : 
 lastly, that they are both pre-existent to 
 the beings which they constitute ; the 
 matter being to be found in the world at 
 large ; the /.'/rm, if artificial, pre-existing 
 within the artificer, or if natural, within 
 the Supreme Cause, the sovereign artist of 
 the universe. 
 
 Pulchrum piilclterrimus ipse 
 Mundum mentc gerens^ similique in imagine 
 
 formans. 
 
 Even without speculating so high as this, 
 we may see among all animal and vegetable 
 substances, the form pre-existing in their 
 immediate generating cause ; oak being the 
 parent of oak, lion of lion, man of man, &c. 
 Cicero's account of these principles is as 
 follows : 
 
 MATTER. 
 
 Sed subjectam putant omnibus sine ulla 
 specie, atque carentem omni ilia qualitate 
 (faciamus enim tractando usitatius hoc 
 verbum ct tritius) materiam quandam, ex 
 qua omnia expressa atque efficta sint : (quse 
 tota omnia accipere possit, omnibusque 
 modis mutari atque ex omni parte) eoque 
 etiam interire, non in nihilum, &c. Acad. 
 i. 8. 
 
 FORM. 
 
 Sed ego sic statuo, nihil esse in ullo 
 genere tarn pulchrum, quo non pulchrius id 
 sit, unde illud, ut ex ore aliquo, quasi 
 imago, exprimatur, quod neque oculis, neque 
 auribus, neque ullo sensu percipi potest : 
 cogitatione tantum et mente complectimur. 
 Has rerum formas appellat ideas ille non 
 intelligendi solum, sed etiam dicendi gravis- 
 simus auctor et magister, Plato: easque 
 gigni negat, et ait semper esse, ac ratione 
 et intelligentia contineri : csetera nasci occi- 
 dere, fluere, labi ; nee diutius esse uno et 
 eodem statu. Quidquid cst igitur, de quo 
 ratione et via disputetnr, id est ad ultimam 
 sui generis formam specicmque redigendum. 
 Cic. ad M. Brut. Orat. 
 
 d The Peripatetics (and with just reason) 
 in all their definitions, as well of words as 
 of sentences, made it a part of their cha- 
 racter to be significant Kara <rw6riKr]v 9 " by 
 compact." See Aristot. de Interp. c. 2. 4. 
 Boethius translates the words Kara crvv- 
 Q-t\KT}v, " ad placitum," or " secundum placi- 
 tum," and thus explains them in his com- 
 ment : Secundum placitum vero est, quod 
 secundum quandam positionem, placitum- 
 que ponentis aptatur ; millum enim nomen 
 naturaliter constitutum cst, neque unquam, 
 sicut subjccta res a natura cst, ita quoque 
 a natura veniente vocabulo nuncupatur. 
 Sed hominum genus, quod et ratione, et 
 oratione vigeret, nomina posuit, eaque qui- 
 bus libuit literis syllabi squc conjungens, 
 singulis subjectarum rerum substantiis dcdit. 
 Booth, in lib. de Interpret, p. 308. 
 
208 HERMES. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 UPON THE MATTER, OB COMMON SUBJECT OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 THE v\rj, or " matter of language," comes first to be considered ; 
 a subject which order will not suffer us to omit, but in which 
 we shall endeavour to be as concise as we can. Now this v\7j, 
 or " matter," is sound ; and sound is that sensation peculiar to 
 the sense of hearing, when the air hath felt a percussion adequate 
 to the producing such effect. 6 
 
 As the causes of this percussion are various, so from hence 
 sound derives the variety of its species. 
 
 Further, as all these causes are either animal or inanimate, 
 so the two grand species of sounds are likewise animal or in- 
 animate. 
 
 There is no peculiar name for sound inanimate ; nor even for 
 that of animals, when made by the trampling of their feet, the 
 fluttering of their wings, or any other cause, which is merely 
 accidental. But that which they make by proper organs, in 
 consequence of some sensation or inward impulse, such animal 
 sound is called a voice. 
 
 As language therefore implies that sound called human voice, 
 we may perceive that to know the nature and powers of the 
 human voice, is in fact to know the matter or common subject of 
 language. 
 
 Now the voice of man, and it should seem of all other animals, 
 is formed by certain organs between the mouth and the lungs, 
 and which organs maintain the intercourse between these two. 
 The lungs furnish air, out of which the voice is formed ; and the 
 mouth, when the voice is formed, serves to publish it abroad. 
 
 What these vocal organs precisely are, is not in all respects 
 agreed by philosophers and anatomists. Be this as it will, it is 
 certain that the mere primary and simple voice is completely 
 formed, before ever it reach the mouth, and can therefore (as 
 well as breathing) find a passage through the nose, when the 
 mouth is so far stopped, as to prevent the least utterance. 
 
 Now pure and simple voice, being thus produced, is (as before 
 
 e This appears to be Priscian's meaning 'A/couetv 5e, rov /tercet/ rov re tywvovvros 
 
 when he says of a voice, what is more /ecu rov aKovoi/ros aepos ir\firrop.fvov <r<f>ai- 
 
 properly true of sound in general, that it is, poeiSws, elra Kv/jiarov/j.evov, nal rats a/cools 
 
 suum sensibile aurium, id est, quod proprie Trpoffiriirrovros, &s Kv/aarovrai rb v rrj 
 
 auribus accidit. Lib. i. p. 537. 8e|a,uej/?? uSwp Kara KVK\OVS inrb rov 
 
 The following account of the Stoics, c/n^\7]0vros \i9ov : " Porro audire, cum is, 
 
 which refers the cause of sound to an un- qui medius inter loquentem, et audientem 
 
 dulation in the air propagated circularly, est, aer verberatur orbiculariter, deinde 
 
 as when we drop a stone into a cistern of agitatus auribus influit, quemadmodum et 
 
 water, seems to accord with the modern cisternae aqua per orbes injecto agitatur 
 
 hypothesis, and to be as plausible as any : lapide." Diog. Laert. vii. 
 
HERMES. 
 
 209 
 
 rrjs 
 
 was observed) transmitted to the mouth. Here, then, by means 
 of certain different organs, which do not change its primary 
 qualities, but only superacld others, it receives the form or 
 character of articulation. For articulation is in fact nothing else, 
 than that form or character, acquired to simple voice, by means 
 of the mouth and its several organs, the teeth, the tongue, the 
 lips, fec. The voice is not by articulation made more grave or 
 acute, more loud or soft, (which are its primary qualities,) but it 
 acquires to these characters certain others additional, which are 
 perfectly adapted to exist along with them. f 
 
 The simplest of these new characters are those acquired through 
 the mere openings of the mouth, as these openings differ in giving 
 the voice a passage. It is the variety of configurations in these 
 openings only, which gives birth and origin to the several vowels; 
 and hence it is they derive their name, by being thus eminently 
 vocal, g and easy to be sounded of themselves alone. 
 
 There are other articulate forms, which the mouth makes not 
 by mere openings, but by different contacts of its different parts ; 
 
 f The several organs above mentioned 
 not only serve the purposes of speech, but 
 those very different ones likewise of masti- 
 cation and respiration ; so frugal is nature 
 in thus assigning them double duty, and so 
 careful to maintain her character of doing 
 nothing in vain. 
 
 He that would be informed how much 
 better the parts here mentioned are framed 
 for discourse in man, who is a discursive 
 animal, than they are in other animals, 
 who are not so, may consult Aristotle in 
 his treatise de Animal. Part. lib. ii. c. 17 ; 
 lib. iii. c. 1. 3. De Anima, lib. ii. c. 8. 
 s. 23, &c. 
 
 And here, by the way, if such inquirer 
 be of a genius truly modern, he may pos- 
 sibly wonder how the philosopher, consider- 
 ing (as it is modestly phrased) the age in 
 which he lived, should know so much, and 
 reason so well. But if he have any taste 
 or value for ancient literature, he may with 
 much juster cause wonder at the vanity of 
 his contemporaries, who dream all philo- 
 sophy to be the invention of their own age, 
 knowing nothing of those ancients still re- 
 maining for their perusal, though they are 
 so ready on every occasion to give the pre- 
 ference to themselves. 
 
 The following account from Ammonius 
 will shew whence the notions in this chapter 
 are taken, and what authority we have to 
 distinguish voice from mere sound ; and 
 articulate voice from simple voice. 
 
 Kat $6(f>os {Lev fffn irXriyi] depos atVffyrv; 
 
 s, orav Sta rr/s ffvffro\T]s rov BupaKos 
 fK9\ifi6/j.i'os airb rov irtsfv/jLOvos 6 cltrirvfv- 
 Ofls dflp Trpoo~iriiTTr] a9p6<tis rfj Ka\ov(j.firp 
 
 aprrjpia., Kal rfj fnrepcaq, tfroi 
 yapyape&vi, Kal Sta TT}S ir\T)yr)s 
 riva ftx ov o.l(rf)r}rbv, Kara riva bp^.r\v TT?S 
 tyvXys' 'dirtp ""i riav f/uLTrvvo~ru>i/ irapa 
 rots /j.ovo-tKo'is Ka\ovp.4vwv opydvcav (TVfjL- 
 jSatj/et, olov a,v\(av Kal o~vpiyy<av' 
 y\carrr]s, Kal rwv 686vrti)v, /cat 
 irpbs fitis rfyv 5id\fKroi> avayKaicav 
 irpbs e rfyv oTrAcDs ((xav^v ov iravrtas ffvp.- 
 fta\\o^.4v(av : " Estque sonus, ictus aeris qui 
 auditu sentitur : vox autem est sonus, quern 
 aniinans edit, cum per thoracis compres- 
 sionem aer attractus a pulmone, elisus simul 
 totus in arteriam, quam asperam vocant, et 
 palatum, aut gurgulionem impingit, et ex 
 ictu sonum quendam sensibilem pro animi 
 quodam impetu perficit. Id quod in in- 
 strumentis quae quia inflant, ideo [*.- 
 irvevn-TO, a musicis dicuntur, usu venit, ut 
 in tibiis, ac fistulis contingit, cum lingua, 
 dentes, labiaque ad loquelam necessaria sint, 
 ad vocem vero simplicem non omnino con- 
 ferant." Ammon. in lib. De Interpr. p. 25. 
 B. Vid. etiam Boerhaave Institut. Medic. 
 sect. 626. 630. 
 
 It appears that the Stoics (contrary to 
 the notion of the Peripatetics) used the 
 word (pcoi/r;, to denote sound in general. 
 They defined it therefore to be, T> ?5iov 
 aKrd-rjTbv ct/coTjs, which justifies the defini- 
 tion given by Priscian, in the note pre- 
 ceding. Animal sound they defined to be, 
 orjp, virb op/UTjs TrerrATjyjueVos. "air struck 
 (and so made audible) by some animal im- 
 pulse ;" and human or rational sound, they 
 defined, tvapQpos Ka\ curb Siavoias tKirepiro- 
 jueV/j, "sound articulate and derived from 
 the discursive faculty." Diog. Laert. vii. 55. 
 
210 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 such, for instance, as it makes by the junction of the two lips, of 
 the tongue with the teeth, of the tongue with the palate, and 
 the like. 
 
 Now as all these several contacts, unless some opening of the 
 mouth either immediately precede, or immediately follow, would 
 rather occasion silence, than to produce a voice; hence it is, 
 that with some such opening, either previous or subsequent, 
 they are always connected. Hence also it is, that the articula- 
 tions so produced are called consonant, because they sound not 
 of themselves, and from their own powers, but at all times in 
 company with some auxiliary vowel. h 
 
 There are other subordinate distinctions of these primary 
 articulations, which to enumerate would be foreign to the design 
 of this treatise. 
 
 It is enough to observe, that they are all denoted by the com- 
 mon name of element, 1 inasmuch as every articulation of every 
 other kind is from them derived, and into them resolved. Under 
 their smallest combination they produce a syllable ; syllables 
 properly combined produce a word ; words properly combined 
 produce a sentence ; and sentences properly combined produce 
 an oration or discourse. 
 
 And thus it is, that to principles apparently so trivial, k as 
 
 because no other was deemed requisite to 
 rational communication. Words, at the same 
 time, the medium of this communication, 
 being (as Homer well describes them) 
 eTrea TrrepoeWa, " winged words," were re- 
 presented in their velocity by the wings of 
 his bonnet. 
 
 Let us suppose such a Hermes, having 
 the front of his basis (the usual place for 
 inscriptions) adorned with some old alpha- 
 bet, and having a veil flung across, by 
 which that alphabet is partly covered. Let 
 a youth be seen drawing off this veil ; and 
 a nymph, near the youth, transcribing what 
 she there discovers. 
 
 Such a design would easily indicate its 
 meaning. The youth we might imagine to 
 be the genius of man, (naturae Deus humanse, 
 as Horace styles him ;) the nymph to be 
 /j.vr)/ji.o<rwri, or "memory;" as much as to 
 insinuate that " man, for the preservation of 
 his deeds and inventions, was necessarily 
 obliged to have recourse to letters ; and 
 that memory, being conscious of her own 
 insufficiency, was glad to avail herself of so 
 valuable an acquisition." 
 
 As to Hermes, his history, genealogy, 
 mythology, figure, &c. vid. Platon. Phileb. 
 vol. ii. p. 18. edit. Serran. Diod. Sic. 1. i. 
 Horat. od. x. 1. 1. Hcsiod. Theog. v. 937. 
 cum Comment. Joan. Diaconi. Thucyd. vi. 
 27. et Scholiast in loc. Pighium apud 
 Gronov. Thesaur. vol. ix. p. 1164. 
 
 For the value and importance of princi- 
 
 1 The Stoic definition of an element is 
 as follows : etrrt Se a'Toi^e'iov, e ov Trputrov 
 yivtrat TO. yivo/j.zi'a, Kal eis 'b e(r%aro^ ava- 
 Xverai : " an element is that out of which, 
 as their first principle, things generated are 
 made, and into which, as their last remains, 
 they are resolved." Diog. Laert. vii. 176. 
 What Aristotle says upon elements, with re- 
 spect to the subject here treated, is worth at- 
 tending to : fytavris <TTotxe?a, ef 3>v <riryKiTat 
 T] (/>awJ?, Kal ets a Siaipe'irai ca^ara" fKeiva 
 8e /iTj/cer' is &\\as (fxavas erepas T< et'Set 
 avruv : " the elements of articulate voice 
 are those things out of which the voice is 
 compounded, and into which, as its last 
 remains, it is divided : the elements them- 
 selves being no further divisible into other 
 articulate voices, differing in species from 
 them." Metaph. v. c. 3. 
 
 k The Egyptians paid divine honours to 
 the inventor of letters, and regulator of 
 language, whom they called Theuth. By 
 the Greeks he was worshipped under the 
 name of Hermes, and represented commonly 
 by a head alone without other limbs, stand- 
 ing upon a quadrilateral basis. The head 
 itself was that of a beautiful youth, having 
 on it a petasus, or bonnet, adorned with 
 two wings. 
 
 There was a peculiar reference in this 
 figure to the 'Epjiiijs \6yios, " the Hermes of 
 language or discourse." He possessed no 
 other part of the human figure but the head, 
 
HERMES. 
 
 211 
 
 about twenty plain elementary sounds, we owe that variety of 
 articulate voices, which have been sufficient to explain the senti- 
 ments of so innumerable a multitude, as all the present and past 
 generations of men. 
 
 It appears, from what has been said, that the matter or 
 common subject of language is that species of sounds called 
 voices articulate. 
 
 What remains to be examined in the following chapter, is 
 language under its characteristic and peculiar form, that is to 
 say, language considered, not with respect to sound, but to 
 meaning. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 UPON THE FORM, OR PECULIAR CHARACTER, OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 voice there accedes by compact a 
 
 WHEN to any articulate 
 
 meaning or signification, such voice by such accession is then 
 called a word ; and many words, possessing their significations 
 (as it were) under the same compact, 1 unite in constituting a 
 particular language. 
 
 pies, and the difficulty in attaining them, 
 see Aristot. de Sophist. Blench, c. 34. 
 
 The following passage, taken from that 
 able mathematician Tacquet, will be found 
 peculiarly pertinent to what has been said 
 in this chapter concerning elementary sounds, 
 p. 324, 325. 
 
 Mille milliones scriptorum mille annorum 
 millionibus non srcribent omnes 24 litte- 
 rarum alphabet! permutationes, licet singuli 
 quotidie absolverent 40 paginas, quarum 
 unaquaeque contineret diversos ordines lit- 
 terarum 24. Tacquet Arithmeticae Theor. 
 p. 381. edit. Antverp. 1663. 
 
 1 See before, note d, p. 207. See also 
 p. 27, note c; and p. 28, note b. 
 
 The following quotation from Ammonius 
 is remarkable : KaGdirep olv rb fs.ev Kara 
 
 0eVet Kal Kara awQ"l}Kr\v, Kal rb fj.ev u- 
 AOJ', <uo"et, T] 5e Gi>pa, Becrfi' ovrca Kal rb 
 (f)cove7v^ <pv(Ti) rb Se St' 6vo/J.druv $) 
 
 f, Qfffet Kal eot/ce rfyv 
 
 ivva/juv, opyavav oixrav 
 
 v, Kara fyvaiv *X flv & avOpoowos 
 as rots a\6yots u>ots' rb Se 
 6v6fj.acriv, f) prj/JLaffiv, rj rots e rovrwv 
 ffvyKGi/Afvois \6yois xp^l (J '^ ai irpbs rrjv (ff\- 
 fj-atriav (ou/ceVt (pvcrei oScrty, aAAa 
 pbs ra a\oya cac 
 TU>V avroKivr]rov 
 
 'va Kal fv avrcS rep (j>(av?v rf rex 
 SiaKpivrfrai Svvafjus' Sr)\ov(Ti 8e ravra ot 
 fls Ka\\os ffvvri6f/j.voi \6yoi fJt-fra perpuv, 
 rj avev /j-frpuv : " In the same manner, 
 therefore, as local motion is from nature, 
 but dancing is something positive ; and as 
 timber exists in nature, but a door is some- 
 thing positive ; so is the power of pro- 
 ducing a vocal sound founded in nature, 
 but that of explaining ourselves by nouns, 
 or verbs, something positive. And hence it 
 is, that as to the simple power of producing 
 vocal sound, (which is, as it were, the organ 
 or instrument to the soul's faculties of 
 knowledge or volition,) as to this vocal 
 power, I say, man seems to possess it from 
 nature, in like manner as irrational ani- 
 mals : but as to the employing of nouns, or 
 verbs, or sentences composed out of them, 
 in the explanation of our sentiments, (the 
 thing thus employed being founded not in 
 nature, but<in position,) this he seems to 
 possess by way of peculiar eminence, be- 
 cause he alone, of all mortal beings, par- 
 takes of a soul, which can move itself, and 
 operate artificially ; so that even in the 
 subject of sound, his artificial power shews 
 itself ; as the various elegant compositions, 
 both in metre and without metre, abun- 
 dantly prove." Ammon. de Interpr. p. 
 51. A. 
 
 It must be observed, that the operating 
 artificially, (euepye'iv rexi/t/cws,) of which 
 
 p 2 
 
212 HERMES. 
 
 It appears from hence, that a word may be defined, " a voice 
 articulate and significant by compact ;" and that language may 
 be defined, " a system of such voices, so significant. 11 
 
 It is from notions like these concerning language and words, 
 that one may be tempted to call language a kind of picture of 
 the universe, where the words are as the figures or images of all 
 particulars. 
 
 And yet it may be doubted how far this is true. For if 
 pictures and images are all of them imitations, it will follow, 
 that whoever has natural faculties to know the original, will, by 
 help of the same faculties, know also its imitations. But it by 
 no means follows, that he who knows any being, should know, 
 for that reason, its Greek or Latin name. 
 
 The truth is, that every medium through which we exhibit 
 any thing to another's contemplation, is either derived from 
 natural attributes, and then it is an imitation ; or else from ac- 
 cidents quite arbitrary, and then it is a symbol. 
 
 Now if it be allowed, that in far the greater part of things, 
 not any of their natural attributes are to be found in articulate 
 voices, and that yet through such voices things of every kind 
 are exhibited, it will follow, that words must of necessity be 
 symbols, because it appears that they cannot be imitations. 
 
 But here occurs a question, which deserves attention : " Why, 
 in the common intercourse of men with men, have imitations 
 been neglected, and symbols preferred, although symbols are 
 only known by habit or institution, while imitations are re- 
 
 Amraonius here speaks, and which he con- Avvarai Se TIS viroOeo-Qai Kal S6paros 
 
 siders as a distinctive mark peculiar to the avdraffiv^ Kal /JeAous a<peo~iv., Kal aAAa fj.v- 
 
 human soul, means something very different pla : " A representation, or resemblance, 
 
 from the mere producing works of elegance differs from a symbol, inasmuch as the re- 
 
 and design ; else it could never be a mark semblance aims, as far as possible, to repre- 
 
 of distinction between man and many other sent the very nature of the thing, nor is it 
 
 species of animals, such as the bee, the in our power to shift or vary it Thus, a 
 
 beaver, the swallow, &c. See before, p. 3, 4, representation intended for Socrates, in a 
 
 and 62. picture, if it have not those circumstances 
 
 ra AiaQepei Se rb dpotw/jia rov <rvp.&6\ov, peculiar to Socrates, the bald, the flat-nosed, 
 
 Ka.Q6ffov rb fj.ev dfjLoicafjLa rfyv <pvo~iv avrty aud the eyes projecting, cannot properly be 
 
 rov irpdy/j.aros Kara rb Svvarbv aireiKovi- called a representation of him. But a 
 
 etr0ai $ov\erai, Kal OVK effrtv *<$>' r](uv symbol, or sign, (for the philosopher Ari- 
 
 avrb ibLera7r\dffai' rb yap ev rfj eiK^vi ye- stotle uses both names,) is wholly in our 
 
 ypa/j./j.evov rov ^uKpdrovs, tftofttfM, el ^ own power, as depending singly for its 
 
 Kal rb QaXaKpbv, Kal rb (ri/jLbv, Kal rb existence on our imagination. Thus, for 
 
 ec6(J>0aA;u0i> Ixet rov Saj/cparoi/s, ou/ceV &j/ example, as to the time when two armies 
 
 avrov Xeyoiro clvai 6/j.oLcap.a' rb Se ye should engage, the symbol or sign may be 
 
 CTV/J.PO\OV, tfroi (rr)/j.e'iov, (a.fj.^)6repa yap 6 the sounding of a trumpet, the throwing of 
 
 <t>i\6ffo<pos avrb avofj.dei) rb oXov e(p' r^uv a torch, (according to what Euripides says, 
 
 ^et, are Kal e~K /j.6isr)s \)<^i.<rr6.^vov rrjs Hut when the flaming torch was hurled, 
 
 fj/jierepas tinvoias ' olov, rov irore Se? ffv/u.- the sign 
 
 fid\\etv dAA^Aois robs TroXepowras, Sv- Of purple fight, as when the trumpet 
 
 varai avfj.fio\ov elvai Kal <rd\inyyos cbnr;- sounds, &c.) 
 
 X??<m, fal \afj.nd8os ptyis, KaGajrep tyt]<Av or else one may suppose the elevating of a 
 
 Evpnri8r)Si spear, the darting of a weapon, and a thou- 
 
 'Eirel 8' a<pei6r) irvpffbs, us rvpcnjviKrls sand ways beside." Ammon. in Lib. de 
 
 <")M <poivtov p-dx^s. Interp. p. 17. B. 
 
HERMES. 213 
 
 cognised by a kind of natural intuition 2" To this it may be 
 answered, that if the sentiments of the mind, like the features of 
 the face, were immediately visible to every beholder, the art of 
 speech or discourse would have been perfectly superfluous. But 
 now, while our minds lie enveloped and hid, and the body (like 
 a veil) conceals every thing but itself, we are necessarily com- 
 pelled, when we communicate our thoughts, to convey them to 
 each other through a medium which is corporeal." And hence 
 it is that all signs, marks, imitations, and symbols must needs be 
 sensible, and addressed as such to the senses. Now the senses, 
 we know, never exceed their natural limits ; the eye perceives 
 no sounds; the ear perceives no figures nor colours. If, there- 
 fore, we were to converse, not by symbols but by imitations, as 
 far as things are characterized by figure and colour, our imita- 
 tion would be necessarily through figure and colour also. Again, 
 as far as they are characterized by sounds, it would, for the same 
 reason, be through the medium of sounds. The like may be said 
 of all the other senses, the imitation still shifting along with the 
 objects imitated. We see, then, how complicated such imitation 
 would prove. 
 
 If we set language, therefore, as a symbol, in opposition to 
 such imitation ; if we reflect on the simplicity of the one, and 
 the multiplicity of the other; if we consider the ease and speed 
 with which words are formed, (an ease which knows no trouble 
 or fatigue, and a speed p which equals the progress of our very 
 thoughts,) if we oppose to this the difficulty and length of imi- 
 tations ; if we remember that some objects are capable of no 
 imitations at all, but that all objects universally may be typified 
 by symbols ; we may plainly perceive an answer to the question 
 here proposed, " Why, in the common intercourse of men with 
 men, imitations have been rejected, and symbols preferred." 
 
 Hence, too, we may perceive a reason, why there never was 
 a language, nor indeed can possibly be framed one, to express 
 the properties and real essences of things, as a mirror exhibits 
 their figures and their colours. For if language of itself imply 
 nothing more than certain species of sounds, with certain mo- 
 tions concomitant ; if to some beings sound and motion are no 
 attributes at all ; if to many others, where attributes, they are 
 no way essential, (such as the murmurs and wavings of a tree 
 
 i, yvfj.va.1 juei/ ov<rai tur : quocirca opus eis fuit nominibus, qui- 
 
 Si' avTuv Tu>v vov}- bus res inter se signiftcarent." Amrnon. in 
 
 /JLCLTUV a-t] /Active iv a\\T]\ais ra irpdy/jiara' Praedicam. p. 18. A. 
 
 'Eirfiti)) 5e a-wfiaffi (TwSeSej/rcu, S//CTJI/ vi- Quicquid scindi possit in differentias 
 
 <t>ovs TrepiKaXvTrTovcriv auruv rb voepbv, satis numerosas, ad notionum varietatem 
 
 e'SeTjflrjcrai/ r&v ovopdrctv, Si $>v <rrifj.ai- explicandam (modo differentiae illse sensui 
 
 vowiv a\\-f)\ais ra irpa.yijLa.Ta. : " Animi perceptibiles sint) fieri potest vehiculum 
 
 nostri a corporis compage secret! res vicissim cogitationum de homine in hominem. Ba- 
 
 animi conceptionibus significare possent : con. de Augm. Scient. vi. 1. 
 cum autem corporibus involuti sint, perinde P "ETTCO TrrepoeWo. See before, p. 211. 
 ac nebula, ipsorum intelligendi vis obtegi- 
 
214 HERMES. 
 
 during a storm,) if this be true it is impossible the nature of 
 such beings should be expressed, or the least essential property 
 be any way imitated, while between the medium and themselves 
 there is nothing connatural. q 
 
 It is true, indeed, when primitives were once established, it 
 was easy to follow the connection and subordination of nature, 
 in the just deduction of derivatives and compounds. Thus the 
 sounds water and fire, being once annexed to those two ele- 
 ments, it was certainly more natural to call beings participating 
 of the first watery, of the last fiery, than to commute the terms, 
 and call them by the reverse. But why, and from what natural 
 connections the primitives themselves might not be commuted, 
 it will be found, I believe, difficult to assign a reason, as well in 
 the instances before us, as in most others. We may here also 
 see the reason why all language is founded in compact, and not 
 in nature ; for so are all symbols, of which words are a certain 
 species. 
 
 The question remains, if words are symbols, then symbols of 
 what? If it be answered "Of things;" the question returns, "Of 
 what things ?" If it be answered, " Of the several individuals of 
 sense, the various particular beings which exist around us:" to this, 
 it is replied, may be raised certain doubts. In the first place, 
 every word will be in fact a proper name. Now if all words are 
 proper names, how came lexicographers, whose express business 
 is to explain words, either wholly to omit proper names, or, at 
 least, to explain them, not from their own art, but from history ? 
 
 Again, if all words are proper names, then, in strictness, no 
 word can belong to more than one individual. But if so, then, 
 as individuals are infinite, to make a perfect language, words 
 must be infinite also. But if infinite, then incomprehensible, 
 and never to be attained by the wisest men ; whose labours in 
 language upon this hypothesis would be as idle as that study of 
 infinite written symbols, which missionaries (if they may be 
 credited) attribute to the Chinese. 
 
 Again, if all words are proper names, or (which is the same) 
 the symbols of individuals ; it will follow, as individuals are not 
 only infinite, but ever passing, that the language of those who 
 lived ages ago will be as unknown now as the very voices of the 
 speakers. Nay, the language of every province, of every town, 
 of every cottage, must be everywhere different and everywhere 
 changing, since such is the nature of individuals which it follows. 
 
 Again, if all words are proper names, the symbols of indivi- 
 duals, it will follow that in language there can be no general 
 proposition, because upon the hypothesis all terms are parti- 
 cular ; nor any affirmative proposition, because no one individual 
 in nature is another. It remains, there can be no propositions 
 but particular negatives. But if so, then is language incapable 
 
 <i See before, p. 32. 
 
HERMES. 215 
 
 of communicating general affirmative truths ; if so, then of com- 
 municating demonstration; r if so, then of communicating sciences, 
 which are so many systems of demonstrations ; if so, then of 
 communicating arts, which are the theorems of science applied 
 practically ; if so, we shall be little better for it either in specu- 
 lation or in practice. s And so much for this hypothesis ; let us 
 now try another. 
 
 If words are not the symbols of external particulars, it follows, 
 of course, they must be the symbols of our ideas ; for this is 
 evident, if they are not symbols of things without, they can 
 only be symbols of something within. 
 
 Here then the question recurs, if symbols of ideas, then of what 
 ideas ? Of sensible ideas. Be it so, and what follows ? Every 
 thing, in fact, which has followed already from the supposition of 
 their being the symbols of external particulars ; and that from 
 this plain and obvious reason, because the several ideas which 
 particulars imprint, must needs be as infinite and mutable as 
 they are themselves. 
 
 If, then, words are neither the symbols of external particulars, 
 nor yet of particular ideas, they can be symbols of nothing else, 
 except of general ideas, because nothing else, except these, 
 remains. And what do we mean by general ideas ? We mean 
 such as are common to many individuals ; not only to individuals 
 which exist now, but which existed in ages past, and will exist 
 in ages future ; such, for example, as the ideas belonging to the 
 words man, lion, cedar. Admit it, and what follows? It 
 follows, that if words are the symbols of such general ideas, 
 lexicographers may find employ, though they meddle not with 
 proper names. 
 
 It follows, that one word may be not homonymously, but 
 truly and essentially common to many particulars, past, present, 
 and future ; so that however these particulars may be infinite 
 and ever fleeting, yet language, notwithstanding, may be definite 
 and steady. But if so, then attainable even by ordinary capa- 
 cities, without danger of incurring the Chinese absurdity. 1 
 
 Again, it follows that the language of those who lived ages 
 ago, as far as it stands for the same general ideas, may be as 
 intelligible now as it was then. The like may be said of the 
 same language being accommodated to distant regions, and even 
 to distant nations, amidst all the variety of ever new and ever 
 changing objects. 
 
 Again, it follows that language may be expressive of general 
 truths ; and if so, then of demonstration, and sciences, and arts ; 
 and if so, become subservient to purposes of every kind." 
 
 r See p. 94, and note g. firmative. So true are those verses, how- 
 
 6 The whole of Euclid (whose elements ever barbarous as to their style, 
 
 may be called the basis of mathematical Syllogizari non est ex particulari, 
 
 science) is founded upon general terms and Neve negativis, recte concliidere si vis. 
 
 general propositions, most of which are af- ! See p. 214. u See before, note s. 
 
216 HERMES. 
 
 Now if it be true " that none of these things could be asserted 
 of language, were not words the symbols of general ideas ; and 
 it be further true that these things may be all undeniably 
 asserted of language ;" it will follow, (and that necessarily,) that 
 words are the symbols of general ideas. 
 
 And yet, perhaps, even here may be an objection. It may be 
 urged, if words are the symbols of general ideas, language may 
 answer well enough the purpose of philosophers who reason 
 about general and abstract subjects ; but what becomes of the 
 business of ordinary life ? Life, we know, is merged in a multi- 
 tude of particulars, where an explanation by language is as 
 requisite as in the highest theorems. The vulgar, indeed, want 
 it to no other end. How then can this end in any respect be 
 answered, if language be expressive of nothing further than 
 general ideas 2 
 
 To this it may be answered, that arts surely respect the 
 business of ordinary life ; yet so far are general terms from being 
 an obstacle here, that without them no art can be rationally 
 explained. How, for instance, should the measuring artist 
 ascertain to the reapers the price of their labours, had not he 
 first, through general terms, learned those general theorems that 
 respect the doctrine and practice of mensuration ? 
 
 But suppose this not to satisfy a persevering objector ; sup- 
 pose him to insist, that, admitting this to be true, there were 
 still a multitude of occasions for minute particularizing, of which 
 it was not possible for mere generals to be susceptible ; suppose, 
 I say, such an objection, what should we answer? That the 
 objection was just ; that it was necessary to the perfection and 
 completion of language, that it should be expressive of par- 
 ticulars as well as of generals. We must however add, that its 
 general terms are by far its most excellent and essential part, 
 since from these it derives " that comprehensive universality, 
 that just proportion of precision and permanence, without which 
 it could not possibly be either learned or understood, or applied 
 to the purposes of reasoning and science ;" that particular terms 
 have their utility and end, and that therefore care too has been 
 taken for a supply of these. 
 
 One method of expressing particulars is that of proper names. 
 This is the least artificial, because proper names being in every 
 district arbitrarily applied, may be unknown to those who know 
 the language perfectly well, and can hardly therefore with 
 propriety be considered as parts of it. The other, and more 
 artificial method, is that of definitives or articles/ whether we 
 assume the pronominal, or those more strictly so called. And 
 here we cannot enough admire the exquisite art of language, 
 which, without wandering into infinitude, contrives how to 
 denote things infinite ; that is to say, in other words, which, by 
 * See before, p. 137, 8, and 184, 5. 
 
HERMES. 217 
 
 the small tribe of definitives properly applied to general terms, 
 knows how to employ these last, though in number finite, to the 
 accurate expression of infinite particulars. 
 
 To explain what has been said by a single example. Let the 
 general term be man. I have occasion to apply this term to the 
 denoting of some particular. Let it be required to express this 
 particular, as unknown, I say a man ; known, I say the man ; 
 indefinite, any man ; definite, a certain man ; present and near, 
 this man ; present and distant, that man ; like to some other, 
 such a man ; an indefinite multitude, many men ; a definite 
 multitude, a thousand men ; the ones of a multitude, taken 
 throughout, every man ; the same ones, taken with distinction, 
 each man ; taken in order, first man, second man, &c. ; the 
 whole multitude of particulars taken collectively, all men ; the 
 negation of this multitude, no man. But of this we have 
 spoken already, when we inquired concerning definitives. 
 
 The sum of all is, that words are the symbols of ideas both 
 general and particular ; yet of the general, primarily, essentially, 
 and immediately ; of the particular, only secondarily, accident- 
 ally, and mediately. 
 
 Should it be asked, "Why has language this double capacity f 
 May we not ask, by way of return, Is it not a kind of reciprocal 
 commerce, or intercourse of our ideas ? Should it not therefore 
 be framed so as to express the whole of our perception ? Now 
 can we call that perception entire and whole, which implies 
 either intellection without sensation, or sensation without intel- 
 lection 2 If not, how should language explain the whole of our 
 perception, had it not words to express the objects proper to 
 each of the two faculties ? 
 
 To conclude : as in the preceding chapter we considered lan- 
 guage with a view to its matter, so here we have considered it 
 with a view to its form. Its matter is recognised, when it is 
 considered as a voice ; its form, as it is significant of our several 
 ideas ; so that, upon the whole, it may be defined, "A system of 
 articulate voices, the symbols of our ideas, but of those princi- 
 pally which are general or universal.''' 1 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONCERNING GENERAL OR UNIVERSAL IDEAS. 
 
 MUCH having been said in the preceding chapter about general or 
 universal ideas, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to inquire, by what 
 process we come to perceive them, and what kind of beings they 
 are ; since the generality of men think so meanly of their ex- 
 istence, that they are commonly considered as little better than 
 
218 HERMES. 
 
 shadows. These sentiments are not unusual, even with the phi- 
 losopher, now-a-days, and that from causes much the same with 
 those which influence the vulgar. 
 
 The vulgar, merged in sense from their earliest infancy, and 
 never once dreaming any thing to be worthy of pursuit, but 
 what either pampers their appetite, or fills their purse, imagine 
 nothing to be real, but what may be tasted or touched. The 
 philosopher, as to these matters being of much the same opinion, 
 in philosophy looks no higher than to experimental amusements, 
 deeming nothing demonstration, if it be not made ocular. Thus, 
 instead of ascending from sense to intellect, (the natural progress 
 of all true learning,) he hurries, on the contrary, into the midst 
 of sense, where he wanders at random without any end, and 
 is lost in a labyrinth of infinite particulars. Hence, then, the 
 reason why the sublimer parts of science, the studies of mind, 
 intellection, and intelligent principles, are in a manner neglected ; 
 and, as if the criterion of all truth were an alembic or an air- 
 pump, what cannot be proved by experiment is deemed no better 
 than mere hypothesis. 
 
 And yet it is somewhat remarkable, amid the prevalence 
 of such notions, that there should still remain two sciences in 
 fashion, and these having their certainty of all the least contro- 
 verted, which are not in the minutest article depending upon 
 experiment : by these I mean arithmetic and geometry/ But 
 to come to our subject concerning general ideas. 
 
 Man's first perceptions are those of the senses, inasmuch as 
 they commence from his earliest infancy. These perceptions, if 
 not infinite, are at least indefinite, and more fleeting and transient 
 than the very objects which they exhibit, because they not only 
 
 y The many noble theorems (so useful his name for the more honourable one of 
 in life, and so admirable in themselves) artist, when to his experience he adds sci- 
 with which these two sciences so eminently ence, and is thence enabled to tell us, not 
 abound, arise originally from principles the only what is to be done, but why it is to 
 most obvious imaginable ; principles so little be done ; for art is a composite of experience 
 wanting the pomp and apparatus of experi- and science, experience providing it ma- 
 men t, that they are self-evident to every one terials, and science giving them a form, 
 possessed of common sense. I would not In the mean time, while experiment is 
 be understood in what I have here said, or thus necessary to all practical wisdom ; with 
 may have said elsewhere, to undervalue ex- respect to pure and speculative science (as 
 periment, whose importance and utility I we have hinted already) it has not the least 
 freely acknowledge in the many curious to do. For who ever heard of logic, or 
 nostrums and choice receipts with which geometry, or arithmetic being proved ex- 
 it has enriched the necessary arts of life, perimentally ? It is, indeed, by the applica- 
 Nay, I go further : I hold all justifiable prac- tion of these that experiments are rendered 
 tice in every kind of subject to be founded useful ; that they are assumed into philoso- 
 in experience, which is no more than the phy, and in some degree made a part of it, 
 result of many repeated experiments. But being otherwise nothing better than puerile 
 I must add, withal, that the man who acts amusements. But that these sciences them- 
 from experience alone, though he act ever selves should depend upon the subjects on 
 so well, is but an empiric or quack, and which they Avork, is, as if the marble were 
 that not only in medicine, but in every to fashion the chisel, and not the chisel the 
 other subject. It is then only that we marble, 
 recognise art, and that the empiric quits 
 
HERMES. 219 
 
 depend upon the existence of those objects, but because they 
 cannot subsist without their immediate presence. Hence, there- 
 fore, it is, that there can be no sensation of either past or future, 
 and consequently, had the soul no other faculties than the senses, 
 it never could acquire the least idea of time. 2 
 
 But, happily for us, we are not deserted here. We have, in 
 the first place, a faculty called imagination or fancy, which 
 however as to its energies it may be subsequent to sense, yet is 
 truly prior to it, both in dignity and use : this it is which retains 
 the fleeting forms of things, when things themselves are gone, 
 and all sensation at an end. 
 
 That this faculty, however connected with sense, is still per- 
 fectly different, may be seen from hence : we have an imagina- 
 tion of things that are gone and extinct, but no such things can 
 be made objects of sensation ; we have an easy command over 
 the objects of our imagination, and can call them forth in almost 
 what manner we please, but our sensations are necessary, when 
 their objects are present, nor can we control them but by re- 
 moving either the objects or ourselves. 3 
 
 As the wax would not be adequate to its business of signature, 
 had it not a power to retain, as well as to receive ; the same 
 holds of the soul, with respect to sense and imagination. Sense 
 is its receptive power, imagination its retentive. Had it sense 
 without imagination, it would not be as wax, but as water; 
 where though all impressions may be instantly made, yet as 
 soon as made they are as instantly lost. 
 
 Thus, then, from a view of the two powers taken together, 
 we may call sense (if we please) a kind of transient imagina- 
 tion ; and imagination, on the contrary, a kind of permanent 
 sense. 5 
 
 z See before, p. 147. See also p. 149, habitation, thence of woods, thence of tim- 
 
 note s. ber, thence of ships, sea-fights, admirals, 
 
 a Besides the distinguishing of sensation &c. 
 
 from imagination, there are two other facul- If the distinction between memory and 
 
 ties of the soul, which, from their nearer fancy be not sufficiently understood, it may 
 
 alliance, ought carefully to be distinguished be illustrated by being compared to the 
 
 from it, and these are p.v^p.1] and ava^j/rjcny, view of a portrait. When we contemplate 
 
 " memory " and " recollection." a portrait without thinking of whom it is 
 
 When we view some relict of sensation the portrait, such contemplation is analogous 
 
 reposed within us, without thinking of its to fancy ; when we view it with reference 
 
 rise, or referring it to any sensible object, to the original, whom it represents, such 
 
 this is fancy or imagination. contemplation is analogous to memory. 
 
 When we view some such relict, and refer We may go further : imagination or fancy 
 it, withal, to that sensible object which in may exhibit (after a manner) even things 
 time past was its cause and original, this is that are to come. It is here that hope and 
 memory. fear paint all their pleasant and all their pain- 
 Lastly, the road which leads to memory ful pictures of futurity ; but memory is con- 
 through a series of ideas, however connected, fined in the strictest manner to the past, 
 whether rationally or casually, this is re- What we have said may suffice for our 
 collection. I have added casually, as well present purpose. He that would learn more 
 as rationally, because a casual connection may cousxilt Aristot. de Anima, 1. iii. c. 3, 4. 
 is often sufficient. Thus, from seeing a and his treatise De Mem. et Reminisc. 
 garment I think of its owner, thence of his b Tf roivvv $<n\v y QavTcuria, 5e &i/ 
 
220 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 Now as our feet in vain venture to walk upon the river, till 
 the frost bind the current, and harden the yielding surface ; so 
 does the soul in vain seek to exert its higher powers, the powers, 
 I mean, of reason and intellect, till imagination first fix the 
 fluency of sense, and thus provide a proper basis for the support 
 of its higher energies. 
 
 After this manner, in the admirable economy of the whole, 
 are natures subordinate made subservient to the higher. Were 
 there no things external, the senses could not operate ; were 
 there no sensations, the imagination could not operate ; and 
 were there no imagination, there could be neither reasoning nor 
 intellection, such at least as they are found in man, where they 
 have their intensions and remissions in alternate succession, and 
 are at first nothing better than a mere capacity or power. 
 Whether every intellect begins thus, may be perhaps a ques- 
 tion ; especially if there be any one of a nature more divine, to 
 which "intension and remission and mere capacity are un- 
 known." But not to digress. 
 
 God (as far as we can conjecture upon so 
 transcendent a subject) is not only complete 
 throughout eternity, but complete in every 
 instant, and is for that reason immutable 
 and superior to all motion. 
 
 It is to this distinction that Aristotle 
 alludes, when he tells us, Ou yap ^6vov 
 Kivfiffedas tcrriv fi/epytia, a\\a Kal aKiVTj- 
 crias' Kal rjSov}) fj.a\\ov eV r)pe,tua eo"TiJ/, 
 ?) eV Kivf]ffei' jUeTa^SoA^ Se iravTtav y\vKv, 
 Kararbv TroirjT^t', SiaTrovrjptav rivd' &<nrfp 
 yap avQptoiros v/j.erdpo\os 6 trovrjpbs^ Kal 
 r] (pi'icrts r} Seo/ieVr; jUerajSoAfjs' ou yap 
 aTrAf?, ouS' eViei/djs : " For there is not only 
 an energy of motion, but of immobility ; 
 and pleasure or felicity exists rather in rest 
 than in motion ; change of all things being 
 sweet (according to the poet) from a prin- 
 ciple of pravity in those who believe so. 
 For in the same manner as the bad man is 
 one fickle and changeable, so is that nature 
 bad that requireth variety, inasmuch as such 
 nature is neither simple nor even." Eth. 
 Nicom. vii. 14. and Ethic. Eudem. vi. sub. 
 fin. 
 
 It is to this unalterable nature of the 
 Deity that Boethius refers, when he says, in 
 those elegant verses, 
 
 Tempus ah JEvo 
 
 Ire jubes stabiliscjue manens das cuncta, 
 
 moveri. 
 
 From this single principle of immobility 
 may be derived some of the noblest of the 
 divine attributes ; such as that of impas- 
 sive, incorruptible, incorporeal, &c. Vide 
 Aristot. Physic, viii. Metaphys. xiv. c. 6, 7. 
 9, 10. edit. Du Val. See also p. 1 1, note g; 
 also p. 6 5, note 6, where the verses of Boethius 
 are quoted at length. 
 
 Se? voeiv ev 7)fj."iv airb TUV 
 evepyei&v ruv irepl TO aiV^Tjra, otov TVTTTOV 
 (lege TUTTOI/) Tij/a Kal avafaypd.Q'ri/j.a eV r<5 
 irpcttTCf) atV077T7jpiqt), ^y/caraAetyi/m Tt TTJS 
 
 VTTO TOU alffOriTOV yiVOjJ.4vt]S /CtH]<rea>S, ft 
 
 Kal /uyKfTi TOU alcrdrjrov Trap6vTos, inrofj.4vL 
 Te wai trw^eTcu, oi/ &a"jrep eiiuav rts avrov, 
 o Kal TTJS fJLVi]p.i]s Tjfjuv <Tca6/J.i'ov afaiov 
 y literal' TO TOIOVTOV 67/caTaAetjU^a, Kal rbv 
 TOIOVTOV &a"irfp TUTTOI/, (pavTaffiav KaXovffiv. 
 "Now, what fancy or imagination is, we 
 may explain as follows: we may conceive 
 to be formed within us, from the operations 
 of our senses about sensible subjects, some 
 impression (as it were) or picture in our 
 original sensorium, being a relict of that 
 motion caused within us by the external 
 object ; a relict, which, when the external 
 object is no longer present, remains, and is 
 still preserved, being as it were its image, 
 and which, by being thus preserved, be- 
 comes the cause of our having memory. 
 Now such a sort of relict and (as it were) 
 impression, they call fancy or imagination." 
 Alex. Aphrod. de Anima, p. 135. B. edit. 
 Aid. 
 
 c See p. 164, note on. The life, energy, or 
 manner of man's existence, is not a little dif- 
 ferent from that of the Deity. The life of 
 man has its essence in motion. This is not 
 only true with respect to that lower and sub- 
 ordinate life, which he shares in common 
 with vegetables, and which can no longer 
 subsist than while the fluids circulate, but 
 it is likewise true in that life which is pe- 
 culiar to him as man. Objects from with- 
 out first move our faculties, and thence we 
 move of ourselves either to practice or con- 
 templation. But the life or existence of 
 
HERMES. 221 
 
 It is then on these permanent phantasms that the human 
 mind first works, and by an energy as spontaneous and familiar 
 to its nature, as the seeing of colour is familiar to the eye, it 
 discerns at once what in many is one ; what in things dissimilar 
 and different is similar and the same. d By this it comes to 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that 
 though we are not gods, yet as rational 
 beings we have within us something divine, 
 and that the more we can become superior 
 to our mutable, variable, and irrational part, 
 and place our welfare in that good which 
 is immutable, permanent, and rational, the 
 higher we shall advance in real happiness 
 and wisdom. This is (as an ancient writer 
 says) diiotooffts rep eo> Kara T& SwarV, 
 "the becoming like to God, as far as in our 
 power." Tols ^tei/ yap Beats TTUS 6 @ios 
 fj.aKa.pios' TOLS 6 aj/Bpdjrois, efi CHTOV 
 6fj.oictifj.d ri TTJS roiavTrjs evepyeias virdpxei : 
 "For to the gods (as says another ancient) 
 the whole of life is one continued happi- 
 ness ; but to men, it is so far happy, as it 
 rises to the resemblance of so divine an 
 energy." See Plat, in Thesetet. Arist. 
 Eth. x. 8. 
 
 d This connective act of the soul, by 
 which it views one in many, is perhaps one 
 of the principal acts of its most excellent 
 part. It is this removes that impenetrable 
 mist, which renders objects of intelligence 
 invisible to lower faculties. Were it not 
 for this, even the sensible woi'ld (with the 
 help of all our sensations) would appear as 
 unconnected as the words of an index. It 
 is certainly not the figure alone, nor the 
 touch alone, nor the odour alone, that 
 makes the rose, but it is made up of all 
 these, and other attributes united ; not an 
 unknown constitution of insensible parts, 
 but a known constitution of sensible parts, 
 unless we choose to extirpate the possibility 
 of natural knowledge. 
 
 What then perceives this constitution or 
 union ? Can it be any of the senses ? No 
 one of these, we know, can pass the limits 
 of its own province. Were the smell to 
 perceive the union of the odour and the 
 figure, it would not only be smell, but it 
 would be sight also. It is the same in other 
 instances. We must necessarily therefore 
 recur to some higher collective power, to 
 give us a prospect of nature, even in these 
 her subordinate wholes, much more in that 
 comprehensive whole, whose sympathy is 
 universal, and of which these smaller wholes 
 are all no more than parts. 
 
 But nowhere is this collecting, and (if I 
 may be allowed the expression) this unifying 
 power more conspicuous, than in the sub- 
 jects of pure truth. By virtue of this 
 power, the mind views one general idea in 
 
 many individuals ; one proposition in many 
 general ideas ; one syllogism in many pro- 
 positions ; till at length, by properly re- 
 peating and connecting syllogism with 
 syllogism, it ascend into those bright and 
 steady regions of science, 
 
 Quas neque concutiunt venti, neque nubila 
 nimbis 
 
 Adspergunt, &c. Lucr. 
 
 Even negative truths and negative con- 
 clusions cannot subsist, but by bringing 
 terms and propositions together, so necessary 
 is this uniting power to every species of 
 knowledge. See pages 117 and 189. 
 
 He that would better comprehend the 
 distinction between sensitive perception, 
 and intellective, may observe that when a 
 truth is spoken, it is heard by our ears, arid 
 understood by our minds. That these two 
 acts are different, is plain, from the example 
 of such, as hear the sounds, without know- 
 ing the language. But to shew their dif- 
 ference still stronger, let us suppose them 
 to concur in the same man, who shall both 
 hear and understand the truth proposed. 
 Let the truth be, for example, the angles 
 of a triangle are equal to two right angles. 
 That this is one truth, and not two or many 
 truths, I believe none will deny. Let me 
 ask, then, in what manner does this truth 
 become perceptible (if at all) to sensation ? 
 The answer is obvious ; it is by successive 
 portions of little and little at a time. When 
 the first word is present, all the subsequent 
 are absent ; when the last word is present, 
 all the previous are absent ; when any of 
 the middle words are present, then are 
 there some absent, as well of one sort as 
 the other. No more exists at once than a 
 single syllable, and the remainder as nmch 
 is not, (to sensation at least,) as though it 
 never had been, or never was to be. And 
 so much for the perception of sense, than 
 which we see nothing can be more dissipated, 
 fleeting, and detached. And is that of the 
 mind similar ? Admit it, and what follows ? 
 It follows, that one mind would no more 
 recognise one truth, by recognising its terms 
 successively and apart, than many distant 
 minds would recognise it, were it distri- 
 buted among them, a different part to each. 
 The case is, every truth is one, though its 
 terms are many. It is in no respect true 
 by parts at a time, but it is true of necessity 
 at once and in an instant. What powers 
 therefore recognise this oneness, or unity ? 
 
222 HERMES. 
 
 behold a kind of superior objects ; a new race of perceptions, 
 more comprehensive than those of sense ; a race of perceptions, 
 each one of which may be found entire and whole in the separate 
 individuals of an infinite and fleeting multitude, without de- 
 parting from the unity and permanence of its own nature. 
 
 Where even does it reside, or what makes 
 it? Shall we answer, with the Stagirite, 
 TO 8e kv iroiovv rovro 6 vous fKaffrov. If 
 this be allowed, it should seem, where 
 sensation and intellection appear to concur, 
 that sensation was of many, intellection 
 was of one ; that sensation was temporary, 
 divisible, and successive ; intellection, in- 
 stantaneous, indivisible, and at once. 
 
 If we consider the radii of a circle, we 
 shall find at the circumference that they are 
 many ; at the centre that they are one. 
 Let us then suppose sense and mind to view 
 the same radii, only let sense view them at 
 the circumference, mind at the centre ; and 
 hence we may conceive, how these powers 
 differ, even where they jointly appear to 
 operate in perception of the same object. 
 
 There is another act of the mind, the very 
 reverse of that here mentioned ; an act, by 
 which it perceives not one in many, but 
 many in one. This is that mental separa- 
 tion, of which we have given some account 
 in the first chapter of this book ; that 
 resolution or analysis which enables us to 
 investigate the causes, and principles, and 
 elements of things. It is by virtue of this, 
 that we are enabled to abstract any parti- 
 cular attribute, and make it by itself the 
 subject of philosophical contemplation. Were 
 it not for this, it would be difficult for par- 
 ticular sciences to exist ; because otherwise 
 they would be as much blended, as the 
 several attributes of sensible substances. 
 How, for example, could there be such a 
 science as optics, were we necessitated to 
 contemplate colour concreted with figure, 
 two attributes which the eye can never 
 view, but associated ? I mention not a 
 multitude of other sensible qualities, some 
 of which still present themselves, whenever 
 we look on any coloured body. 
 
 Those two noble sciences, arithmetic and 
 geometry, would have no basis to stand on, 
 were it not for this separative power. They 
 are both conversant about quantity ; geo- 
 metry about continuous quantity, arithmetic 
 about discrete. Extension is essential to 
 continuous quantity ; monads, or units, to 
 discrete. By separating from the infinite 
 individuals, with which we are surrounded, 
 those infinite accidents, by which they are 
 all diversified, we leave nothing but those 
 simple and perfectly similar units, which 
 being combined make number, and are the 
 subject of arithmetic. Again, by separating 
 
 from body every possible subordinate acci- 
 dent, and leaving it nothing but its triple 
 extension of length, breadth, and thickness, 
 (of which were it to be deprived, it would 
 be body no longer,) we arrive at that pure 
 and unmixed magnitude, the contemplation 
 of whose properties makes the science of 
 geometry. 
 
 By the same analytical or separate power, 
 we investigate definitions of all kinds, each 
 one of which is a developed word, as the 
 same word is an inveloped definition. 
 
 To conclude : in composition and division 
 consists the whole of science ; composition 
 making affirmative truth, and shewing us 
 things under their similarities and identi- 
 ties ; division making negative truth, and 
 presenting them to us under their dissimi- 
 larities and diversities. 
 
 And here, by the way, there occurs a 
 question. If all wisdom be science, and it 
 be the business of science as well to com- 
 pound as to separate, may we not say that 
 those philosophers took half of wisdom for 
 the whole, who distinguished it from wit, 
 as if wisdom only separated, and wit only 
 brought together ? Yet so held the philo- 
 sopher of Malmsbury, and the author of the 
 Essay on the Human Understanding. 
 
 Philoponus, from the philosophy of Plato 
 and Pythagoras, seems to have far excelled 
 these moderns in his account of wisdom or 
 philosophy, and its attributes, or essential 
 characters. "iSiov yap <pi\offo<pias rb ei/ 
 TO?S 7roAAo?y e%ov(Ti Siatyopav 8el|ai rfyv 
 Koivtoviav, Kal rb *v rots TTO\\OIS exovffi 
 Koivtuviav 5e?cu rivi SicKpepovffiv ov yap 
 Svffxepts rb Se?|ai <pdrvr}s (lege (j>drr-r]s) 
 /cal irepiffrepas Koivwiav (navrl yap trpov- 
 TTTOJ'), aAA' ov (lege oVou) rb 5id(popov 
 rovruv flirfiv' ot5e Kvvbs Kal 'ITTTTOV 8ia<po- 
 pav, a\\a rl Koivbv e%ou(Ttj/ : " It is the 
 proper business of philosophy to shew in 
 many things, which have difference, what 
 is their common character ; and in many 
 things, which have a common character, 
 through what it is they differ. It is indeed 
 no difficult matter to shew the common 
 character of a wood-pigeon and a dove, (for 
 this is evident to every one,) but rather to 
 tell where lies the difference ; nor to tell 
 the difference between a dog and a horse, 
 but rather to shew what they possess in 
 common." Philop. Com. MS. in Nicomach. 
 Arithm. 
 
HERMES. 
 
 223 
 
 And thus we see the process by which we arrive at general 
 ideas ; for the perceptions here mentioned are, in fact, no other. 
 In these, too, we perceive the objects of science and real know- 
 ledge, which can by no means be, but of that which is general, 
 and definite, and fixed. 6 Here, too, even individuals, however 
 
 e The very etymologies of the words 
 tiriffT-fifj.?), scientia, and "understanding," 
 may serve in some degree to shew the na- 
 ture of these faculties, as well as of those 
 beings, their true and proper objects. 'Eiri- 
 ffrrifj.^ u)v6fj.a(TTai, 8ta rb eVi araaw Kal 
 '6pov Tcav Trpay/j-aTow ayeiv ^/*s, rrjs ao- 
 purrias Kal /xera/BoA??? rS>v eirl p.4povs 
 aTrdyovffa' rj yap eincrTTj/iiTj irepl ra Ka06\ov 
 Kal ctyieTctTTTcoTa Kwrayiverai : " Science 
 (^Tri(TT-f)iJ.rj) has its name from bringing us 
 (eVl (TTaaiv) to some stop and boundary of 
 things, taking us away from the unbounded 
 nature and mutability of particulars ; for it 
 is conversant about subjects that are general 
 and invariable." Niceph. Blem. Epit. Logic. 
 p. 21. 
 
 This etymology, given by Blemmides, 
 and long before him adopted by the Peri- 
 patetics, came originally from Plato, as may 
 be seen in the following account of it from 
 his Cratylus. In this dialogue, Socrates, 
 having first (according to the Heraclitean 
 philosophy, which Cratylus favoured) ety- 
 mologized a multitude of words with a view 
 to that flow and unceasing mutation, sup- 
 posed by Heraclitus to run through all 
 things, at length changes his system, and 
 begins to etymologize from another, which 
 supposed something in nature to be perma- 
 nent and fixed. On this principle he thus 
 proceeds: 2/co7ro)^ei/ 877, e| ainuv ava\a&6v- 
 
 TS TTpWTOV JJ.SV TOVTO T& OVO^-O. r}]V 67TI- 
 
 ffrt]p.f)V, us a.fji.<pil36\oi' eVrt, Kal /utAAo?' 
 foiKf ffrjfj.a'ivov n '6ri '[(rrrjo'iv f)/j.<av eVt ro?s 
 Trpdy/j.a<n rr)v tyvxrjv, fy '6ri (rvfj-Trfpitpeperai : 
 "Let us consider, then, (says he,) some of 
 the very words already examined ; and, in 
 the first place, the word science ; how dis- 
 putable is this, (as to its former etymology,) 
 how much more naturally does it appear to 
 signify, that it stops the soul at things, than 
 that it is carried about with them." Plat. 
 Cratyl. p. 437. edit. Serr. 
 
 The disputable etymology, to which he 
 here alludes, was a strange one of his own 
 making in the former part of the dialogue, 
 adapted to the flowing system of Heraclitus 
 there mentioned. According to this notion, 
 he had derived eVto-T^/irj from ire<r0cu and 
 jueVeii', as if it kept along with things by 
 perpetually following them in their motions. 
 See Plato as before, p. 412. 
 
 As to scientia, we are indebted to Scaliger 
 for the following ingenious etymology : 
 Ratiocinatio, motus quidam est: scientia, 
 
 quies : unde et nomen, turn apud Grsecos, 
 turn etiam nostrum. Hapa rl> err! 'IffTacrOai, 
 tTri<rT'f)/j.ri. Sistitur enim mentis agitatio, 
 et fit species in animo. Sic Latinum sci- 
 entia, '6n yiverai ax* " 15 r v OVTOS. Nam 
 Latini, quod nomen entis simplex ab usu 
 abjecerunt atque repudiarunt, omnibus ac- 
 tivis participiis idem adjunxerunt. Au- 
 diens, aKovwv &v. Sciens, ffx v & v - 
 Seal, in Theophr. de Causis Plant, lib. i. 
 p. 17. 
 
 The English word "understanding," means 
 not so properly knowledge, as that faculty 
 of the soul where knowledge resides. Why 
 may we not, then, imagine, that the framers 
 of this word intended to represent it as a 
 kind of firm basis, on which the fair struc- 
 ture of sciences was to rest, and which was 
 supposed to stand under them, as their im- 
 moveable support? 
 
 Whatever may be said of these etymolo- 
 gies, whether they are true or false, they at 
 least prove their authors to have considered 
 science and understanding, not as fleeting 
 powers of perception, like sense, but rather 
 as steady, permanent, and durable compre- 
 hensions. But if so, we must somewhere 
 or other find for them certain steady, per- 
 manent, and durable objects ; since, if per- 
 ception of any kind be different from the 
 thing perceived, (whether it perceive straight 
 as crooked, or crooked as straight ; the 
 moving as fixed, or the fixed as moving,) 
 such perception must of necessity be er- 
 roneous and false. The following passage 
 from a Greek Platonic, (whom we shall 
 quote again hereafter,) seems on the present 
 occasion not without its weight : Et earl 
 yvooffis aKpipeffTepa TTJS cuVfl^o'e&jy, eft/ 
 Uv Kal yvctxTTa aX^dea'Tfpa TUV alarQt\rS}V : 
 " If there be a knowledge more accurate 
 than sensation, there must be certain objects 
 of such knowledge more true than objects 
 of sense. 
 
 The following, then, are questions worth 
 considering: what these objects are? where 
 they reside ? and how they are to be dis- 
 covered ? Not by experimental philosophy, 
 it is plain ; for that meddles with nothing 
 but what is tangible, corporeal, and mutable : 
 nor even by the more refined and rational 
 speculation of mathematics ; for this, at its 
 very commencement, tikes such objects for 
 granted. We can only add, that if they 
 reside in our own minds, (and who, that 
 has never looked there, can affirm they do 
 
224 HERMES. 
 
 of themselves unknowable, become objects of knowledge, as far 
 as their nature will permit : for then, only, may any particular 
 be said to be known, when by asserting it to be a man, or an 
 animal, or the like, we refer it to some such comprehensive or 
 general idea. 
 
 Now it is of these comprehensive and permanent ideas, the 
 genuine perceptions of pure mind, that words of all languages, 
 however different, are the symbols. And hence it is, that as 
 the perceptions include, so do these their symbols express, not 
 this or that set of particulars only, but all indifferently, as they 
 happen to occur. Were, therefore, the inhabitants of Salisbury 
 to be transferred to York, though new particular objects would 
 appear on every side, they would still no more want a new lan- 
 guage to explain themselves, than they would want new minds 
 to comprehend what they beheld. All, indeed, that they would 
 want, would be the local proper names ; which names, as we 
 have said already/ are hardly a part of language, but must 
 equally be learnt, both by learned and unlearned, as often as 
 they change the place of their abode. 
 
 It is upon the same principles we may perceive the reason why 
 the dead languages (as we call them) are now intelligible ; and 
 why the language of modern England is able to describe ancient 
 Rome ; and that of ancient Rome to describe modern England. g 
 But of these matters we have spoken before. 
 
 II. And now, having viewed the process by which we acquire 
 general ideas, let us begin anew from other principles, and try 
 to discover (if we can prove so fortunate) whence it is that these 
 ideas originally come. If we can succeed here, we may discern, 
 perhaps, what kind of beings they are, for this at present appears 
 somewhat obscure. 
 
 Let us suppose any man to look for the first time upon some 
 work of art, as, for example, upon a clock, and having sufficiently 
 viewed it, at length to depart. Would he not retain, when ab- 
 sent, an idea of what he had seen ? And what is it to retain 
 such idea ? It is to have a form internal correspondent to the ex- 
 ternal ; only with this difference, that the internal form is devoid 
 of the matter ; the external is united with it, being seen in the 
 metal, the wood, and the like. 
 
 Now if we suppose this spectator to view many such ma- 
 chines, and not simply to view, but to consider every part of 
 
 not ?) then will the advice of the satirist be culiar species of substance occur in different 
 
 no ways improper, regions ; and much more, as far as the posi- 
 
 .... Nee te qucesiveris extra. Pers. tive institutions of religious and civil polities 
 
 f Sup. p. 216. are everywhere different; so far each lan- 
 
 s As far as human nature, and the pri- guage has its peculiar diversity. To the 
 
 mary genera both of substance and acci- causes of diversity here mentioned, may be 
 
 dent are the same in all places, and have added the distinguishing character and 
 
 been so through all ages, so far all languages genius of every nation, concerning which 
 
 share one common identity. As far as pe- we shall speak hereafter. 
 
HERMES. 225 
 
 them, so as to comprehend how these parts all operate to one 
 end, he might be then said to possess a kind of intelligible form, 
 by which he would not only understand and know the clocks 
 which he had seen already, but every work also, of like sort, 
 which he might see hereafter. Should it be asked, " which of 
 these forms is prior, the external and sensible, or the internal 
 and intelligible f the answer is obvious, that the prior is the 
 sensible. 
 
 Thus, then, we see, there are intelligible forms, which to the 
 sensible are subsequent. 
 
 But further still : if these machines be allowed the work, not 
 of chance, but of an artist, they must be the work of one who 
 knew what he was about. And what is it to work, and know 
 what one is about ? It is to have an idea of what one is doing ; 
 to possess a form internal, corresponding to the external, to 
 which external it serves for an exemplar, or archetype. 
 
 Here then we have an intelligible form, which is prior to the 
 sensible form ; which, being truly prior, as well in dignity as in 
 time, can no more become subsequent, than cause can to effect. 
 
 Thus, then, with respect to works of art, we may perceive, if 
 we attend, a triple order of forms : one order, intelligible and 
 previous to these works ; a second order, sensible and concomi- 
 tant ; and a third, again, intelligible and subsequent. After the 
 first of these orders, the maker may be said to work ; through 
 the second, the works themselves exist, and are what they are ; 
 and in the third they become recognised as mere objects of con- 
 templation. To make these forms by different names more easy 
 to be understood, the first may be called the maker's form ; the 
 second, that of the subject ; and the third, that of the contem- 
 plator. 
 
 Let us pass from hence to works of nature. Let us imagine 
 ourselves viewing some diversified prospect, "a plain, for ex- 
 ample, spacious and fertile ; a river winding through it ; by the 
 banks of that river, men walking, and cattle grazing ; the view 
 terminated with distant hills, some craggy, and some covered 
 with wood." Here, it is plain, we have plenty of forms natural. 
 And could any one quit so fair a sight, and retain no traces of 
 what he had beheld 2 And what is it to retain traces of what 
 one has beheld ! It is to have certain forms internal correspondent 
 to the external, and resembling them in every thing, except the 
 being merged in matter : and thus, through the same retentive 
 and collective powers, the mind becomes fraught with forms 
 natural, as before with forms artificial. Should it be asked, 
 " which of these natural forms are prior, the external ones viewed 
 by the senses, or the internal existing in the mind T the answer 
 is obvious, that the prior are the external. 
 
 Thus, therefore, in nature, as well as in art, there are intel- 
 ligible forms, which to the sensible are subsequent. Hence 
 
HERMES. 
 
 then we see the meaning of that noted school axiom, Nil est in 
 intellects quod non prius fuit in setisu ; an axiom which we must 
 own to be so far allowable, as it respects the ideas of a mere 
 contemplator. 
 
 But to proceed somewhat further. Are natural productions 
 made by chance or by design \ Let us admit by design, not to 
 lengthen our inquiry. They are certainly more exquisite than 
 any works of art, h and yet these we cannot bring ourselves to 
 suppose made by chance. Admit it, and what follows \ We 
 must of necessity admit a mind also, because design implies 
 wherever it is to be found. 1 Allowing therefore this, 
 
 to refer to chance the most divine of visible 
 objects, [the heavens themselves.] 
 
 The philosopher, having thus proved a 
 definite cause of the world in opposition to 
 chance, proceeds to shew, that from the 
 unity and concurrent order of things this 
 cause must be one. After which he goes 
 on as follows : 
 
 El jiiej/ ovv aXoyov roGro, aroirov. ecrrcu 
 'yap n ird\iv ruv vtrrepuv TTJS rovrcav cu- 
 rias Kpfirrov, rb Kara \6yov Kal yv&ffiv 
 iroiovv, ftffb) rov iravrbs &J>, Kal rov 8\ov 
 /ntpos, '6 tanv air' air las a\6yov roiovro. 
 El Se \6yov e^oy, Kal avrb yivaxrKov, olSep 
 eavrb STJTTOU rStv irdvrcav ainov *ov^ f) rovro 
 ayvoovv, ayvo^ff^i TT> kavrov fyvaiv. El Se 
 dlSev, '6ri Kar' ovffiav fffrl rov -jravrbs ai- 
 TIOI/, rb 8e &pio~fj.tva>s elSbs Qdrepov, teal 
 Bdrepov oiSev e'| avdyKTjs, oldev apa Kal ov 
 eariv atnov & p iff /j.ev CDS' oldfv ovv Kal rb Traj/, 
 Kal irdvra e S)v rb irciv, 3>v can Kal ainov* 
 Kal et TOUTO, tfroi els cavrb apa fi\eirov, 
 eavrb yiv&ffKov, o!5e ra /^er' avro. A6yois 
 apa Kal etSecriv av\ois olSe robs KOCT/JLIKOVS 
 \6yovs, Kal ra fffi-rj, e| wv rb irai/, Kal iffnv 
 lv avrcp rb Trav, &s ev alrty, %wpls T^S 
 v\r]s: "Now if this cause be void of reason, 
 that indeed would be absurd ; for then again 
 there would be something among those 
 things which came last in order, more excel- 
 lent than their principle or cause. I mean, 
 by more excellent, something operating ac- 
 cording to reason and knowledge, and yet 
 within that universe, and a part of that 
 whole, which is what it is from a cause 
 devoid of reason. 
 
 " But if, on the contrary, the cause of the 
 universe be a cause, having reason and 
 knowing itself, it of course knows itself to 
 be the cause of all things ; else, being igno- 
 rant of this, it would be ignorant of its own 
 nature. But if it know, that from its very 
 essence it is the cause of the universe, and 
 if that, which knows one part of a relation 
 definitely, knows also of necessity the other, 
 it knows for this reason definitely the thing 
 of which it is the cause. It knows there- 
 fore tho universe, and all things out of 
 
 h MaAAoj/ 5' fffn rb ov eVe/ca Kal rb Ka- 
 \bv v TO?? TTJS (pvfffus fpyots, fy ev rots 
 rys TCX^S : " The principles of design 
 and beauty are more in the works of nature, 
 than they are in those of art." Arist. de 
 Part. Animal. 1. i. c. 1. 
 
 1 The following quotation, taken from the 
 third book of a manuscript comment of 
 Proclus, on the Parmenides of Plato, is 
 here given for the sake of those who have 
 curiosity with regard to the doctrine of 
 ideas, as held by ancient philosophers. 
 
 Et 8e Sel ffvvr6p.d3S etTretv r^v alriav TTJS 
 ruv I8euv viroOefftcos, 81' fyv e/ce/p ots 7jpe<re, 
 prireov on ravra iravra '6o~a dpara, ovpdvia 
 leal inrb V9\4fHpH ^ <*Trb ravrofj.drov ^ffriv^ 
 3) Kar" 1 alriav' a\\' aTrb ravrondrov a8v- 
 varov' effn yap eV TO?S vo~rfpois ra Kpeir- 
 rova, vovs, Kal \6yos, Kal alrla, Kal ra at- 
 T^as, Kal ovTd) ra airort\4o~p.ara Kpeirrw 
 ') Tpbs rep Kal '6 <^T\<nv 6 'Api- 
 s' Se? irpb ruiv Kara (ru^/Se^Tj/c^s 
 alricav flvai ra Ka&" aura, rovrwv yap e/c- 
 /Saats T^ Kara avpfiefiri^s' &O~T rov airb 
 ravrofjidrov irpefffivrcpoi' ay 3)V rb Kar' al- 
 rlav, el Kal airb ravro/udrov ra Qeidrara 
 %v rcav (pavep&v : *' If, therefore, we are to 
 relate concisely the cause, why the hypo- 
 thesis of ideas pleased them, (namely Par- 
 menides, Zeno, Socrates, &c.) we must 
 begin by observing, that all the various 
 visible objects around us, the heavenly as 
 well as the sublunary, are either from 
 chance, or according to a cause. From 
 chance is impossible ; for then the more 
 excellent things (such as mind, and reason, 
 and cause, and the effects of cause) will be 
 among those things that come last, and so 
 the endings of things will be moi'e excel- 
 lent than their beginnings. To which too 
 may be added what Aristotle says ; that 
 essential causes ought to be prior to acci- 
 dental, inasmuch as every accidental cause 
 is a deviation from them ; so that whatever 
 is the effect of such essential cause [as is 
 indeed every work of art and human inge- 
 nuity] must needs be prior to that which is 
 tho eft'ect of chance, even though we were 
 
HERMES. 
 
 227 
 
 what do we mean by the term mind? We mean something, 
 which, when it acts, knows what it is going to do ; something 
 stored with ideas of its intended works, agreeably to which 
 ideas those works are fashioned.* 
 
 which the universe is composed, of all which 
 also it is the cause. But if this be true, it 
 is evident that by looking into itself, and 
 by knowing itself, it knows what comes 
 after itself, and is subsequent. It is, there- 
 fore, through certain reasons and forms 
 devoid of matter that it knows those mun- 
 dane reasons and forms out of which the 
 universe is composed, and that the universe 
 is in it, as in a cause, distinct from and 
 without the matter." 
 
 k It is upon these principles that Nico- 
 machus, in his Arithmetic, p. 7, calls the 
 Supreme Being an artist : eV rrj rov rrxyirov 
 &eou Siavoia, in Dei artificis mente. Where 
 Philoponus, in his manuscript Comment, 
 observes as follows : r^virriv Q-rjal rbv 
 &ebv, us iravrav ras irpwras alrlas teal 
 rovs \6yovs avrtav exovra: " He calls God 
 an artist, as possessing within himself the 
 first causes of all things, and their reasons 
 or proportions." Soon after, speaking of 
 those sketches, after which painters work 
 and finish their pictures, he subjoins : woTrep 
 ovv fj/j.e'is, els TCI roiavra ffKiaypafy'hfj.ara 
 &\rrovTf:S, iroiOvfJLfV r6Se n, ovrco teal 6 
 8r)/j.Lovpybs, irpbs e'/cetva airo/3\fTr<av, ra 
 rr)8e iravra /ce/c^cr//rj/ce>/' aAA' Iffrtov, on 
 ra iJ.lv rr}8e (TKiaypa^/j-ara ctreATj fl 
 fKtlvoi Se of GV rip ea> \6yoi 
 Kal Trai/TeAeioi tlffiv : "' As therefore we, 
 looking upon such sketches as these, make 
 such and such particular things ; so also the 
 Creator, looking at those sketches of his, 
 hath formed and adorned with beauty all 
 things here below. We must remember, 
 however, that the sketches here are imper- 
 fect ; but that the others, those reasons or 
 proportions which exist in God, are arche- 
 typal and all-perfect." 
 
 It is according to this philosophy that 
 Milton represents God, after he had created 
 this visible world, contemplating 
 
 How it showed 
 In prospect from his throne, how good, how 
 
 fair, 
 A HSH^-ring his great idea. 
 
 Par. Lost, vii. 556. 
 
 Proclus proves the existence of these 
 general ideas, or universal forms, by the 
 following arguments : el rolvvv eirrlv atria 
 rov Travrbs avrip rip tlvai iroiovcra, TO 5e 
 aurcp rep slvai troiovv cnrb rr)s eavrov irote? 
 ovcrias rovr6 tarn -rrpcarcas, oirep rb TTOLOV- 
 /jifvov SeuTepcos /cat '6 o~ri TrpcoTcos, SiSuxn 
 rip iroiov/j.evci) Sfvrfpws' otov rb irvp Kal 
 SiScaart Qepfj-orrira &\\<f, Kal fffri 6epfj.bi>, 
 T] tyvxy SiSucri CV' Kal Hx fl C^V* Kal tirl 
 
 Ttavrtav "[Sots ay aA.7j07j rbv Koyov, ova 
 avr<p rip slvai Trote?. Kal TO a'inov o?iv rov 
 travrbs avrcj) r$ clvai iroiovv rovr6 <rri 
 Trpdrus, c^Trep o K6<r/j.os Sevrepus. fl 51) 6 
 K^fffjios Tr\r]pci}fj.a eitiwv earl "navroiuv, f'irj 
 ai/ Kal eV rip alricp rov /coV^uoy TaOra irpd)~ 
 rots' ?b yap avrb airtov Kal f /i\iov, Kal 
 ff\'f)vr]v, Kal avOpwTTov y7reo"T7j(re, Kal 'iTnrov, 
 al oAa>s Ta e?5?7, TO eV r$ itavrl. ravra 
 apa irpturus effrlv *v rf) alria rov Travrbs, 
 a\\os i?i\ios irapa rbv f^avrj, Kal &\\os 
 av6p<airos, Kal ra>v clSwv dfjLolws cKaarov. 
 tffriv apa ra efSr) irpb riav atV07jTaif, Kal 
 atria abriav ra orifj-iovpyiKa Kara rbv efy>rj- 
 (J.GVOV \6yov, V rrj fjna rov K.oa^.ov iravrbs 
 alria Trpo'virdpxovra : " If, therefore, the 
 cause of the universe be a cause which 
 operates merely by existing, and if that 
 which operates merely by existing, operate 
 from its own proper essence, such cause is 
 primarily what its effect is secondarily, and 
 that which it is primarily, it giveth to its 
 effect secondarily. It is thus that fire both 
 giveth warmth to something else, and is it- 
 self warm ; that the soul giveth life and 
 possesseth life ; and this reasoning you may 
 perceive to be true in all things whatever, 
 which operate merely by existing. It fol- 
 lows, therefore, that the cause of the uni- 
 verse, operating after this manner, is that 
 primarily which the world is secondarily. 
 If therefore the world be the plenitude of 
 forms of all sorts, these forms must also be 
 primarily in the cause of the world, for it 
 was the same cause which constituted the 
 sun, and the moon, and man, and horse, 
 and in general all the forms existing in the 
 universe. These, therefore, exist primarily 
 in the cause of the universe ; another sun 
 besides the apparent, another man, and so 
 with respect to every form else. The forms, 
 therefore, previous to the sensible and ex- 
 ternal forms, and which according to this 
 reasoning are their active and efficient 
 causes, are to be found pre-existing in that 
 one and common cause of all the universe." 
 Procli Com. MS. in Plat. Parmenid. 1. iii. 
 
 We have quoted the above passages for 
 the same reason as the former ; for the sake 
 of those who may have a curiosity to see a 
 sample of this ancient philosophy, which 
 (as some have held) may be traced up from 
 Plato and Socrates to Parrnenides, Pytha- 
 goras, and Orpheus himself. 
 
 If the phrase, " to operate merely by 
 existing," should appear questionable, it 
 must be explained upon a supposition, that 
 in the Supreme Being no attributes are 
 
228 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 That such exemplars, patterns, forms, ideas, (call them as 
 you please,) must of necessity be, requires no proving, but 
 follows of course, if we admit the cause of nature to be a mind, 
 as above mentioned. For take away these, and what a mind 
 do we leave without them 2 Chance, surely, is as knowing as 
 mind without ideas ; or rather mind without ideas is no less 
 blind than chance. 
 
 The nature of these ideas is not difficult to explain, if we once 
 come to allow a possibility of their existence. That they are 
 exquisitely beautiful, various, and orderly, is evident from the 
 exquisite beauty, variety, and order seen in natural substances, 
 which are but their copies or pictures. That they are mental is 
 plain, as they are of the essence of mind, and consequently no 
 objects to any of the senses, nor therefore circumscribed either 
 by time or place. 
 
 Here, then, on this system, we have plenty of forms intelli- 
 gible, which are truly previous to all forms sensible. Here, too, 
 we see that nature is not defective in her triple order, having 
 (like art) her forms previous, her concomitant, and her sub- 
 sequent. 1 
 
 secondary, intermittent, or adventitious, but 
 all original, ever perfect and essential. See 
 p. 164, note ,r, and p. 220. 
 
 That we should not therefore think of a 
 blind unconscious operation, like that of 
 fire here alluded to, the author had long 
 before prepared us, by uniting knowledge 
 with natural efficacy, where he forms the 
 character of these divine and creative ideas. 
 
 But let us hear him in his own language: 
 ciAA' ffaep e9e\ot/j.fv rfy ISiorrira avr<av 
 (sc. ISetav) atyopicracrdai 5ia rcav yvwpifuo- 
 repajj', atrb fj.lv ru>v (f>u(TiKcav \6ywv Aa/3w- 
 litv rb avrif rtf> elvai -KOi^riKbv^ >v 877 Kal 
 iroioixn' airb 8e ruv TtjfVUtSnf^ rb yvcacrri- 
 Kbv, a>> iroiovfftv, ei Kal /i^7 avrtp ru> tlvai 
 TroioDtn, Kal ravra evJcfravrts <pS)/j.v curias 
 fivai ras (Se'as 87)fj.iovpyiKas ap.a ical vocpas 
 ndvrwv ruv Kara tyvffiv airoreAovfj.fva>v : 
 " But if we should choose to define the 
 peculiar character of ideas by things more 
 known to its than themselves, let us assume 
 from natural principles the power of effect- 
 ing, merely by existing, all the things that 
 thev effect ; and from artificial principles 
 the power of comprehending all that they 
 effect, although they did not effect them 
 merely by existing ; and then uniting those 
 two, let us say that ideas are at once the 
 efficient and intelligent causes of all things 
 produced according to nature." From book 
 the second of the same Comment. 
 
 The schoolman, Thomas Aquinas, a subtle 
 and acute writer, has the following sentence, 
 perfectly corresponding with this philo- 
 sophy : Res omnes comparantur ad Divinum 
 Intellectum, sicut artificiata ad artcra. 
 
 The verses of Orpheus on this subject 
 may be found in the tract De Mundo, 
 ascribed to Aristotle, p. 23. edit. Sylburg. 
 Zfvs apffi]v yeVero, ZeCs, K. r. A. 
 
 ' Simplicius, in his commentary upon the 
 Predicaments, calls the first order of these 
 intelligible forms, TO. Trpb rrjs /xe0e|eo>s, 
 " those previous to participation ;" and at 
 other times, r) e'l^pTj^eVij KOII/^TTJS, " the 
 transcendent universality," or "sameness." 
 the second order he calls TO eV ^e0e'*i, 
 " those which exist in participation," that 
 is, those merged in matter ; and at other 
 times he calls them fj KaTaTfTay/j.fvr} KOI- 
 v6Ti)s, " the subordinate universality" or 
 " sameness :" lastly, of the third order he 
 says, that they have no independent exist- 
 ence of their own, but that fuel's d^eAcWes 
 aura its rais ty/ierlpats evvoiais, Kaff eavra 
 vTTfffT-fjO'a/ji.fi', " we ourselves abstracting 
 them in our own imaginations, have given 
 them by such abstraction an existence as of 
 themselves." Simp, in Praedic. p. 17. In 
 another place he says, in a language some- 
 what mysterious, yet still conformable to 
 the same doctrine, Mysore ovv rptrrbv ATJTT- 
 re'oj/ rb Kotvbv, rb JJ.GV QifpijfUvev rccv /ca0' 
 eKacrra, Kal cXnovr^s tV avro'is KoivdrijTos, 
 Kara rr]v /j.iav cavrov ^>vcriv, &<rirep Kal 
 r?ts ia<pop6rr)ros Kara rfyv Tro\vfid?) irp6- 
 \f]\\/LV Szvrepov Se effri TO Koivbv, rb airb 
 KOLVOV alriov TO?S 8ia<p6pois dSeaiv cvSi^6- 
 fj-evov, Kal fWTrdpxov avrois rpirov 8f, rb 
 eV ra?s r,p.trtpais Siavoiais e| atpaipeffecas 
 v<pHTrd/j,fi>ov, vffrepoyeves ov : "Perhaps, 
 therefore, we must admit a triple order of 
 what is universal and the same ; that of the 
 
HERMES. 
 
 229 
 
 That the previous may be justly so called is piaiii, because 
 they are essentially prior to all things else. The whole visible 
 
 first order, transcendent and superior to 
 particulars, which through its uniform 
 nature is the cause of that sameness exist- 
 ing in them, as through its multiform pre- 
 conception it is the cause of their diversity: 
 that of the second order, what is infused 
 from the first universal cause into the 
 various species of beings, and which has its 
 existence in those several species : that of 
 the third order, what subsists by abstrac- 
 
 avOpdairov e%ouo'ti', (us irl rov 
 {\ddvros, /cat 6eao-afj.fi/ov ra KTjpia) ave- 
 fj.a^dfj.cQa avrb tv rij Siavoia' Kal \4yerai 
 rovro eVl TO?S 7roAAo?s, 7^70 vv fj,fra ra 
 TroAAa, /cat vo-repoyeves : "' Intelligatur an- 
 nulus, qui alicujus, utpote Achillis, ima- 
 ginem insculptam habeat: multae insuper 
 cerje sint, et ab annulo imprimantur : ve- 
 niat deinde quispiam, vidcatque ceras 0111- 
 nes unius annuli imprcssione formatas, an- 
 
 tion in our own understandings, being of nulique impressionem in mente contineat 
 
 subsequent origin to the other two." Ibid. 
 p. 21. 
 
 To Simplicius we shall add the two fol- 
 
 sigillum annulo insculptum, ante multa 
 dicetur : in cerulis impressum, in multis : 
 quod vero in illius, qui illo venerat, intelli- 
 
 lowing quotations from Ammonius and Ni- gentia remanserit, post multa, et posterius 
 
 cephorus Blemmides, which we have ven- 
 tured to transcribe, without regard to their 
 uncommon length, as they so fully establish 
 the doctrine here advanced, and the works 
 of these authors are not easy to be pro- 
 cured. 
 
 'Erxoeto~0a> roivvv Sa/CTuAto'y Tts e/cTu- 
 trw/wa exwz/, et Tu^ot, 'AxtAAe'cos, Kal Kypia 
 TroAAa irapaKeifj,fva' 6 Se Sa/cTuAtos ff<ppayt- 
 fru rovs Kypous trdvras' vo~rfpov Se Tts 
 cio~f\9uv Kal Oeao'dfj.fvos ra Krjpia, 
 o~as on iravra < 
 
 ^XeVw Trap' avrcp TO eKrvirufj,a rfj Siavoia. 
 *H roivvv o~(f>payls ri eV T< Sa/CTuAt^j \tye- 
 rai Trpb ruv TroAAcoz/ elvat' 77 8e eV TO?S 
 Kypiois, eV TO?S TroAAo?s' 77 Se eV rfj Siavoia 
 rov aTro/ui.aa/j,Vov, eVt TO?S TroAAo?s, Kal 
 vo~repoyfvf}s. TOUTO ovv ivi/oeio~9u Kal firl 
 ruv yevuv Kal elduv' 6 yap Ay/Aiovpybs, 
 TTOtwt' TTaWa, exet Trap' eauT&S Ta irdvruv 
 irapao'eiy/j.ara' dlov, iroiuv av9puirov, e%et 
 TO e?8os Trap' eavry rov avdpuirov, irpbs o 
 a<popuv, irdvras Trote?. Et Se Tts evcrratTj 
 OVK flo~l irapd ru Af\p.iovpyu ra 
 u-Kovtru ravra, us 6 Arj/miovpybs 877- 
 ?, t) etSct)s Ta UTT' auTou STj/ttoupyou- 
 
 ou/c eiSus. 'AAA' et p.*v / 
 
 OVK &v Srtfj.iovpyf]ffi. Tts yap, 
 iroi"f)ffiv rl, ayvof't o /ie'AAet iroitiv 
 us 77 (f>vffis, a\6yu Swd^ei Trote?. I 
 Trote? 77 (pvffis, OVK e<t>io-rdvovcra 
 ru yiyvofj.cv(f) Et Se TI Ka9' e 
 Trote?, o?5e7rou Trdvrus rb yiyv6fj,tvov VTT" 
 avrov. Et roivvv /j,^ %6?poi/, ff Kara dvdpu- 
 irov, 6 Qebs Trote?, ofSe TO UTT' avrov yiyv6- 
 /j.fvov. ft Se olSe^ ft Trote?, avro9i ST}- 
 \ov, us fffriv eV ru A^/j-iovpyu ra efSTj. 
 "Eo~ri 5e rb efSos eV TW Ar/^toup-yw, a>s o eV 
 T(3 Sa/CTuAtf> TUTTOS* /cal Ae'^eTat TOUTO TO 
 eTSos Trpo TW^ TroAAojz/, /cal x w P I<rTOZ/ T ^? s 
 I^ATJS. "Eo-Tt Se TO eTSos TOU dvOpuTrov Kal 
 4v TO?S /ca0 s Kao~Tov dv9puiro'ts, els Ta eV 
 TO?S /C77po?s tKTVTTufj.ara' Kal \eyerai ra 
 roiavra eV TO?S TroAAo?s e/j/at, /cai axupicrra 
 8e TOUS /caTa /nepos 
 
 genitum dicetur. Idem in generibus et 
 formis intelligendum censeo: etenim ille 
 optimus procreator mundi Deus, omnium 
 rerum formas, atque exempla habet apud se : 
 ut si hominem efficere velit, in hominis 
 formam, quam habet, intueatur, et ad illius 
 cxemplum caeteros faciat omnes. At si quis 
 rcstiterit, dicatque rerum formas apud Crea- 
 torem non esse : quaeso ut diligenter at- 
 tendat : opifex, quae facit, vel cognoscit, vel 
 ignorat : sed is, qui nesciet, nunquam quic- 
 quam faciet : quis enim id facere aggreditur, 
 quod facere ignorat? Neque enim facul- 
 tate quadam rationis experte aliquid aget, 
 prout agit natura (ex quo conficitnr, ut 
 natura etiam agat, etsi quae faciat, non 
 advertat :) si vero ratione quadam aliquid 
 facit, quodcunque ab eo factum est omnino 
 cognovit. Si igitur Deus non pejore ratione, 
 quam homo, facit quid, quae fecit cognovit : 
 si cognovit quae fecit, in ipso rerum formaa 
 esse perspicuum est Formae autem in opifice 
 sunt perinde ac in annulo sigillum, haecque 
 forma ante multa, et avulsa a materia dicitur. 
 Atqui hominis species in unoquoque homine 
 est, quemadmodum etiam sigilla in ceris ; et 
 in multis, nee avulsa a materia dicitur. At 
 cum singulos homines animo conspicimus, et 
 ou 7ap, eandem in unoquoque formam atque effigiem 
 
 ~* videmus, ilia effigies in mente nostra insi- 
 
 dens post multa, et posterius genita dicetur: 
 veluti in illo quoque dicebamus, qui multa 
 sigilla in cera uno et eodem annulo im- 
 pressa conspexerat." Ammon. in Porphyr. 
 Introduct. p. 29. B. 
 
 Afyovrai Se Ta 76^77 /cat TO 6^877 Trpo 
 ruv TTO\\UV, eV TO?S TroAAo?s, eVi TO?S 
 7roAAo?s' olov evvoeiQ-du ri o"<f>payi(frTjpiov, 
 fX ov Ka ^ c'/CTUTTWyiia TO rvxbv, e' oy KTjpia. 
 TroAAa /j.ra\a/3eru rov (Krviru/j.aros, /cat 
 Tts UTT' fyiv dyayeru ravra, /u.}) TrpoKanduv 
 fj.fjS' 6\us rb (r<ppayicrT'f)piov' eupaKus Se 
 Ta eV ofs TO KTV7ru}j.a, Kal fTTio-r7)(Tas ort 
 irdvra rov avrov fj,^r4x.ov(Ti,v ^KTUTru/uaros, 
 Kal rd SoKovvra Tro\\d 
 
 Kal 
 
 , oVt Trctfrey TO a?/To elSos TOW eras ets cf, *x* T(!) TOVTO Kara Sidvntav. 
 
230 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 world exhibits nothing more, than so many passing pictures of 
 these immutable archetypes. Nay, through these it attains even 
 a semblance of immortality, and continues throughout ages to 
 be specifically one, amid those infinite particular changes that 
 befall it every moment. m 
 
 To /uev ovv o-typayLffT-fipiov Tvira/jLa Ae'yerat et simpliciter prse-existunt ; secundum quas 
 irpb TUV TroAAoJV TO 6" eV TO?S Kypiois, eV rationes ille supra-substantialis omnes res et 
 Tols 7roAAo?s' TO Se e aiTwy KaTakrityBfV, prsedestinavit et produxit. Existere autem 
 al Kara Sidvoiav duAcos viroo'Tav, evrl TO?S dicuntur genera et species in multis, quo- 
 iroAAots. OUTOJS ovv Kal TO jyeVr? Kal TO niam in singulis hominibus hominis species, 
 eifir) irpb T>V tro\\S>v /uev elcriv fv TM et in singulis equis equi species est. In 
 : , KOTO TOVS irotrjTiKovs \6yovs' hominibus seque ac in equis et aliis animali- 
 bus genus invenitur harum specierum, quod 
 est animal. In animalibus etiam una cum 
 Zoophytis magis universale genus, nempe 
 sensitivum exquiritur. Additis vero plantis, 
 spectatur genus animatum. Si vero una 
 
 T& @e< yap ot ovffioiroiol Xoyoi TU>V 
 evtaius Trpov<pfo~T-fiKaa~i, Ka6* o'vs 
 \6yovs 6 uTrepovcrios TO, OVTCL TrdvTa Kal 
 irpou>pio~e KOL Trapyy ay ei>' v<pe<TTT)Kvai 5e 
 \fyovTai TO. yevri Kal TO. et'Sr? eV TOIS 
 
 7roAAo?s, 
 
 Kara 
 
 T yevos 
 
 '6wep 
 
 TO?S 
 
 ToTs KOTO /j.epos av9pwirots cum animatis quisquam velit perscrutari 
 etiam inanimate, totum corpus perspiciet. 
 Cum autem entia incorporea conjuncta 
 fuerint iis modo tractatis, apparebit primum 
 et generalissimum genus. Atque ita quidem 
 in multis subsistunt genera et species. 
 
 Tb TOV avdpcairov fl86s eVri, 
 
 fJLfpOS 'lITTTOlS Tb TOV 'iTTTTOV elSoS' eV O 
 
 irois Se, Kal 'i-mrots, ical TO?S &\\ots (*>ots 
 TO?I/ TOIOVTWV el5a)j/, 
 V TO"IS {wots 6/Jt.ov Kal 
 
 Kal TUV (pvrwv 
 Se (rvv TO"IS 
 
 ecopf'iTai T 
 
 b 
 
 TIS 
 
 TO (rw/ua <r\)u.ira.v /carov^eTai' 
 Se TO?S elpr)/jLfvois TCOV ao~ca- 
 (j.Tuv oxnav, Tb irp&Tov yeVov <^ave?Tcii 
 Kal yeviKMTarov' Kal ovTca u.ev ev rot's 
 7ToAAo?s u^eVryy/ce TO, etSr) Kal TO. 
 KaraAa/Scl'i/ 5e rts e TJV Kara /xe'p 
 
 Ka6o\iKUTepov ytvos, TO Comprehendens vero quisquam ex singulis 
 hominibus naturam ipsam humanam, et ex 
 singulis equis ipsam equinam, atque ita 
 universalem hominem et universalem equum 
 considerans, et universale animal ex singulis 
 ratione colligens, et universale sensitivum, 
 et universale animatum, et universale cor- 
 pus, et maxime universale ens ex omnibus 
 colligens, hie, inquam, in sua mente genera 
 /uepos dv- et species immaterialiter constituit eVl TO?S 
 av6pa)ir6- 7roAAo?s, hoc est, post multa, et posterius 
 genita." Niceph. Blem. Log. Epit. p. 62. 
 Vid. etiam Alcin. in Platonic. Philosoph. 
 Introduct. c. 9, 1 0. 
 
 m The following elegant lines of Virgil 
 are worth attending to, though applied to 
 110 higher a subject than bees : 
 Ergo ipsas quamvis angusti terminus aevi 
 Excipiat : (neque enim plus septima ducitur 
 
 cetas) 
 
 At genus immortals manet. Georg. iv. 
 The same immortality, that is, the immor- 
 tality of the kind, may be seen in all perish- 
 able substances, whether animal or inani- 
 mate ; for though individuals perish, the 
 
 Tf]Ta, 6/c Se TCOV Kara fj.epos 
 Tr]v itnr6Ti]Ta, Kal OVTOO TOV KaQoXov av- 
 dpcairov, Kal TOV Kad6\ov 'ITTTTOV eVt^oTjcras' 
 /cat TO Kado\ov faov e'/c TWV KaOtKao~Ta TW 
 avvayaycav' Kal TO KaQoXov alffQf]- 
 Kal Tb Ka66\ov t/j.\l/vxov, Kal Tb 
 Ka66\ov (rw/xa, al T^V KadoXiKWTaTrjv 
 ovo~iav e'^ airavTivv o"v\\oyio~d/j.vos, 6 
 TOIOVTOS fv T?7 eavTou Siavoia Ta yevrj Kal 
 TO. e^Srj di)Acos vTro~T-r)o~ev e?rt TOIS 7roAAo?s, 
 TovTeo~Ti, /uifTa TO TroAAa /ceil vo-Tepoyevws. 
 " Genera vero et species dicuntur esse ante 
 multa, in multis, post multa. Ut puta, in- 
 telligatur sigillum, quamlibet figuram ha- 
 
 bens, ex _ quo multae cerse ejusdem figurae several kinds still remain. And hence, if 
 
 sint participes, et in medium aliquis has 
 proferat, nequaquam prseviso sigillo. Cum 
 autem vidisset eas ceras in quibus figura ex- 
 primitur, et animadvertisset omnes eandem 
 figuram participare, et quse videbantur 
 multae, ratione in unum coegisset, hoc in 
 mente teneat. Nempe sigillum dicitur esse 
 species ante multa; ilia vero in ceris, in 
 multis; quas vero ab iis desumitur, et in 
 mente immaterialiter subsistit, post multa. 
 Sic igitur et genera et species ante multa in 
 
 we take time, as denoting the system of 
 things temporary, we may collect the mean- 
 ing of that passage in the Timaeus, where 
 the philosopher describes time to be, /*e'- 
 VOVTOS aloovos eV evl KOT* apiO/jLbv lovrrav 
 altiiviov etKdVa. " ^Eternitatis in uno per- 
 manentis imaginem quandam, certis nu- 
 merorum articulis progredientem." Plat. v. 
 iii. p. 37. edit. Serran. 
 
 We have subjoined the following extract 
 from Boethius, to serve as a commentary on 
 
 r 
 
 Creatore sunt, secundum ration es efficientes. this description of time: ^Eternitas igitu: 
 In Deo enim rerum eflectrices rationes una est, interminabilis vitae tota simul et per 
 
HERMES. 
 
 2.31 
 
 May we be allowed then to credit those speculative men, who 
 tell us, " it is in these permanent and comprehensive forms that 
 the Deity views at once, without looking abroad, all possible 
 productions both present, past, and future ; that this great and 
 stupendous view is but a view of himself, where all things lie 
 enveloped in their principles and exemplars, as being essential to 
 the fulness of his universal intellection ?" n If so, it will be proper 
 that we invert the axiom before mentioned. We must now say, 
 Nil est in sensu, quod non prim fuit in intellectu. For though 
 the contrary may be true with respect to knowledge merely 
 human, yet never can it be true with respect to knowledge 
 universally, unless we give precedence to atoms and lifeless lody, 
 making mind, among other things, to be struck out by a lucky 
 concourse. 
 
 III. It is far from the design of this treatise, to insinuate that 
 Atheism is the hypothesis of our latter metaphysicians. But 
 yet it is somewhat remarkable, in their several systems, how 
 readily they admit of the above precedence. 
 
 For mark the order of things, according to their account of 
 them. First comes that huge body, the sensible world. Then 
 this and its attributes beget sensible ideas. Then out of sensible 
 
 fecta possessio. Quod ex collatione tempora- 
 lium clarius liquet. Nam quidquid vivit in 
 tempore, id praesens a praeteritis in futura 
 procedit: nihilque est in tempore ita con- 
 stitutum, quod totum vitae suae spatium pa- 
 riter possit amplecti ; sed crastinum quid em 
 nondum apprehendit, hesternum vero jam 
 perdidit. In hodierna quoque vita non 
 amplius vivitis, quam in illo mobili transi- 
 torioque momento. Quod igitur temporis 
 patitur conditionem, licet illud, sicut de 
 mundo censuit Aristoteles, nee coeperit un- 
 quam esse, nee desinat, vitaque ejus cum 
 temporis infinitate tendatur, nondum tamen 
 tale est, ut seternum esse jure credatur. 
 Non enim totum simul infinitae licet vitas 
 spatium compreliendit, atque eomplectitur, 
 sed futura nondum transacta jam non habet. 
 Quod igitur interminabilis vitae plenitudinem 
 totam pariter compreliendit, ac possidet, cui 
 neque futuri quidquam absit, nee praeteriti 
 fluxerit, id aeternum esse jure perhibetur : 
 idque necesse est, et sui compos praesens 
 sibi semper assistere, et infinitatem mobilis 
 temporis habere praesentem. Unde quidam 
 non recte, qui cum audiunt visum Platoni, 
 mundum liunc nee habuisse initium, nee 
 habiturum esse defectum, hoc modo conditori 
 conditum mundum fieri coaeternum putant. 
 Aliud est enim per interminabilem duci 
 vitam, (quod mundo Plato tribuit,) aliud 
 interminabilis vitse totam pariter complexam 
 esse praesentiam, quod Divinse Mentis pro- 
 prium esse manifestum est. Neque enim 
 Deus conditis rebus antiquior videri debet 
 
 temporis quantitate, sed simplicis potius 
 proprietate naturae. Hunc enim vitae im- 
 mobilis praesentarium statum, infinitus ille 
 temporalium rerum motus imitatur ; cumque 
 eum effingere, atque sequare non possit, ex 
 immobilitate deficit in motum ; ex simpli- 
 citate praesentiae decrescit in infmitam futuri 
 ac praeteriti quantitatem ; et, turn totam 
 pariter vitae suae plenitudinem nequeat pos- 
 sidere, hoc ipso, quod aliquo modo nunquam 
 esse desinit, illud, quod implere atque ex- 
 primere non potest, aliquatenus videtur 
 aemulari, alligans se ad qualemcunque prae- 
 sentiam hujus exigui volucrisque momenti : 
 quae, quoniam manentis illius praesentiae 
 quandam gestat imaginem, quibuscumque 
 contigerit, id praestat, ut esse videantur. 
 Quoniam vero manere non potuit, infinitum 
 temporis iter arripuit : eoque modo factum 
 est, ut continuaret vitam eundo, cujus pleni- 
 tudinem complecti non valuit permanendo. 
 Itaque, &c. De Consolat. Philosoph. 1. v. 
 n "Offa TTfp e<rrt TO. iro\\a KO.TO. 6^7 nva 
 , roffavra Kal rb ev e/mpo irpb rov 
 v Kara rb iro.vrt] a/j.fpfs' ov ")ap 
 V, ws e\dxia"rov, KaOdirfp 6 ^Treixninros 
 e5oe AeyetP, oAA' V, us iravra. " As 
 numerous as is the multitude of individuals 
 by partition, so numerous also is that prin- 
 ciple of unity by universal impartiality. 
 For it is not one, as a minimum is one, 
 (according to what Speucippus seemed to 
 say,) but it is one, as being all things." 
 Damascius Trepl 'A.pxuv, MS. 
 
232 
 
 HEEMES. 
 
 ideas, by a kind of lopping and pruning, are made ideas intelli- 
 gible, whether specific or general. Thus should they admit that 
 mind was coeval with body, yet till body gave it ideas, and 
 awakened its dormant powers, it could at best have been 
 nothing more than a sort of dead capacity ; for innate ideas it 
 could not possibly have any. 
 
 At another time we hear of bodies so exceedingly fine, that 
 their very exility makes them susceptible of sensation and 
 knowledge ; as if they shrunk into intellect by their exquisite 
 subtlety, which rendered them too delicate to be bodies any 
 longer. It is to this notion we owe many curious inventions, 
 such as subtle a3ther, animal spirits, nervous ducts, vibrations, 
 and the like ; terms which modern philosophy, upon parting 
 with occult qualities, has found expedient to provide itself, to 
 supply their place. 
 
 But the intellectual scheme, which never forgets Deity, post- 
 pones every thing corporeal to the primary mental cause. It is 
 here it looks for the origin of intelligible ideas, even of those 
 which exist in human capacities. For though sensible objects 
 may be the destined medium to awaken the dormant energies of 
 man^s understanding, yet are those energies themselves no more 
 contained in sense, than the explosion of a cannon in the spark 
 which gave it fire. 
 
 The following note is taken from a 
 manuscript commentary of the Platonic 
 Olympiodorus, (quoted before, p. 224,) upon 
 the Phaedo of Plato ; which though perhaps 
 some may object to from inclining to the 
 doctrine of Platonic reminiscence, yet it cer- 
 tainly gives a better account, how far the 
 senses assist in the acquisition of science, 
 than we can find given by vulgar philo- 
 sophers. 
 
 OySeVoTe yap ra X^P 60 
 apxal 3) CUT tat et<rt r&v KpeirrSvow' 
 Se Se? Kal rats 4yKVK\iois er77^cre<rt -j 
 0e<r0at, Kal apx^v etTmi/ rfyv 
 
 TTJS t7Tt(TT^yU7JS, \f^O/J.V aVT 
 
 &s TroLfjriK^v, aAA' &s epe 
 -r)fj,erepav ipux^i/ eis avdfj.vr)<nv ruv KaQd- 
 Aou Kara ravri^v Se r}\v evvoiav efprjrai 
 Kal rb eV Tt/iatw, 'dri Si otyeas Kal aKoijs 
 rb TTJS (pLhocrofyias firopi<rd/j.e6a yevos, 
 Sidri K r&v alcrd-ijrcov ets a.vdp.vf)<nv 
 a((>iKvov/j.eOa. " Those things which are in- 
 ferior and secondary, are by no means the 
 principles or causes of the more excellent ; 
 and though we admit the common interpre- 
 tations, and allow sense to be a principle of 
 science, we must, however, call it a prin- 
 ciple, not as if it was the efficient cause, 
 but as it rouses our soul to the recollection 
 of general ideas. According to the same 
 way of thinking is it said in the Timaeus, 
 that through the sight and hearing we 
 
 acquire to ourselves philosophy, because we 
 pass from objects of sense to reminiscence, 
 or recollection." 
 
 And in another passage he observes : 
 yap Trd/j.fj.opcf)ov &ya\/u.d fffriv -fj 
 7, TravTwv r&v ovrwv e^outra \6yovs, 
 inrb TWV ai(rOr}TU>i' avap.^- 
 %x ei Atfywp, /cat TOVTOVS 
 : " For inasmuch as the soul, 
 by containing the principles of all beings, 
 is a sort of omniform representation or ex- 
 emplar ; when it is roused by objects of 
 sense, it recollects those principles, which it 
 contains within, and brings them forth." 
 
 Georgius Gemistius, otherwise called 
 Pletho, writes upon the same subject in the 
 following manner : T^r/ ^v\riv Qavlv ol 
 ra et8r) riQ4p.tvoi ava\afj.&dvov(rav Haye 
 iri(rr'fi/j.if)v robs iv rails aicrOrjro'is \dyovs, 
 aKpifieffrepov avrovs %oPTas Kal reAect>- 
 repov ev iavrrj 1<T)(\.v, 3) ev rots alffQTjrdis 
 Tb ovv rfhetiorepov rovro Kal 
 OVK kv airb rwv al<r6i]r)V 
 ty, #7* ^ ecrrlv eV avrois. 
 Ou S' a5 fj.rfSafJ.ov a\\6()i 'bv avr^v e| 
 avrrjs 5iavof7a6ai' ov Se yap Tre^u/ceWt 
 r}]v tyvxty /j.r)Sa/j.rj ov, ri Siavoe'to'Oai' ras 
 yap il/euSe?? rcav So^ciav ovxl ^ OVTWV aAA' 
 ovrwv yuez/, a\h(av Se Kar' aXXtav zlvai 
 ffvv6(Tfis rivas, ov Kara rb 6p6bv ywo[j.tvas. 
 Se cup' erfpas nvbs ^>yreeos 
 qp ert Kpt'nrovos re Kal rf\f(i>Tfpas 
 
HERMES. 233 
 
 In short, all minds that are, are similar and congenial ; and 
 so too are their ideas, or intelligible forms. Were it otherwise, 
 there could be no intercourse between man and man, or (what is 
 more important) between man and God. 
 
 For what is conversation between man and man ? It is a 
 mutual intercourse of speaking and hearing. To the speaker, it 
 is to teach ; to the hearer, it is to learn. To the speaker, it is 
 to descend from ideas to words ; to the hearer, it is to ascend 
 from words to ideas. If the hearer, in this ascent, can arrive at 
 no ideas, then is he said not to understand ; if he ascend to 
 ideas dissimilar and heterogeneous, then is he said to misunder- 
 stand. What then is requisite, that he may be said to under- 
 stand I That he should ascend to certain ideas, treasured up 
 within himself, correspondent and similar to those within the 
 speaker. The same may be said of a writer and a reader ; as 
 when any one reads to-day or to-morrow, or here or in Italy, 
 what Euclid wrote in Greece two thousand years ago. 
 
 Now, is it not marvellous, there should be so exact an identity 
 of our ideas, if they were only generated from sensible objects, 
 infinite in number, ever changing, distant in time, distant in 
 place, and no one particular the same with any other ? 
 
 Again : do we allow it possible for God to signify his will to 
 men, or for men to signify their wants to God ? In both these 
 cases there must be an identity of ideas, or else nothing is done, 
 either one way or the other. Whence, then, do these common 
 
 a.(f)'fiKiv rfj tyvxfj rb reXfiarfpov rovro ra>v double, sesquialter, &c.)but,in a larger sense, 
 
 4v rois cu<r6r}Tois \6yo)v. "Those who they may be extended to mathematical lines, 
 
 suppose ideal forms, say that the soul, when angles, figures, &c. ; of all which \6yoi, or 
 
 she assumes, for the purposes of science, " proportions," though we possess in the 
 
 those proportions which exist in sensible mind the most clear and precise ideas, yet 
 
 objects, possesses them with a superior it may be justly questioned, whether any 
 
 accuracy and perfection, than that to which one of them ever existed in the sensible 
 
 they attain in those sensible objects. Now world. 
 
 this superior perfection or accuracy, the To these two authors we may add 
 
 soul cannot have from sensible objects, as it Boethius, who, after having enumerated 
 
 is, in fact, not in them ; nor yet can she many acts of the mind, or intellect, wholly 
 
 conceive it herself as from herself, without distinct from sensation, and independent of 
 
 its having existence anywhere else. For it, at length concludes, 
 
 the soul is not formed so as to conceive HOEC est effitiens magis 
 
 that which has existence nowhere, since Longe causa potentior* 
 
 even such opinions as are false, are all of Quam qua materice modo 
 
 them compositions irregularly formed, not Impressas patitur notas. 
 
 of mere non-beings, but of various real Praecedit tamen excitans, 
 
 beings, one with another. It remains, there- Ac vires animi movens, 
 
 fore, that this perfection, which is superior Vivo in corpore passio. 
 
 to the proportions existing in sensible ob- Cum vel lux oculosferit, 
 
 jects, must descend to the soul from some Vel vox auribus instrepit ; 
 
 other nature, which is by many degrees Turn mentis vigor excitus, 
 
 more excellent and perfect." Pleth. de Quas intus species tenet, 
 
 Aristotel. et Platonic. Philosoph. Diff. edit. Ad motus simileis vocans, 
 
 Paris. 1541. Notis applicat exteris, 
 
 The \6yoi, or " proportions," of which Introrsumque reconditis 
 
 Gemistius here speaks, mean not only those Formis miscet imagines. 
 
 relative proportions of equality and in- De Consolat. Philosoph. 1. v. 
 equality which exist in quantity, (such as 
 
HERMES. 
 
 identic ideas come I Those of men, it seems, come all from sensa- 
 tion. And whence come God's ideas? Not, surely, from sensation 
 too : for this we can hardly venture to affirm, without giving to 
 body that notable precedence of being prior to the intellection 
 of even God himself. Let them, then, be original ; let them be 
 connate and essential to the Divine Mind : if this be true, is it 
 not a fortunate event, that ideas of corporeal rise, and others of 
 mental, (things derived from subjects so totally distinct,) should 
 so happily coincide in the same wonderful identity? 
 
 Had we not better reason thus upon so abstruse a subject? 
 Either all minds have their ideas derived, or all have them origi- 
 nal ; or some them have them original, and some derived. If all 
 minds have them derived, they must be derived from something, 
 which is itself not mind, and thus we fall insensibly into a kind 
 of atheism. If all have them original, then are all minds divine ; 
 an hypothesis by far more plausible than the former. But if this 
 be not admitted, then must one mind (at least) have original 
 ideas, and the rest have them derived. Now, supposing this 
 last, whence are those minds, whose ideas are derived, most 
 likely to derive them ? From mind or from body ? From mind, a 
 thing homogeneous ; or from body, a thing heterogeneous ? From 
 mind, such as (from the hypothesis) has original ideas ; or from 
 body, which we cannot discover to have any ideas at all? p An 
 examination of this kind, pursued with accuracy and temper, is 
 the most probable method of solving these doubts. It is thus we 
 shall be enabled with more assurance to decide, whether we are 
 to admit the doctrine of the Epicurean poet, 
 
 Corporea natura animum constare, animamque ; 
 
 or trust the Mantuan bard, when he sings, in divine numbers, 
 
 Igneus est ollis vigor, et coelestis origo 
 Seminibus. 
 
 But it is now time to quit these speculations. Those who 
 would trace them further, and have leisure for such studies, may 
 perhaps find themselves led into regions of contemplation, afford- 
 ing them prospects both interesting and pleasant. We have at 
 present said as much as was requisite to our subject, and shall 
 therefore pass from hence to our concluding chapter. 
 
 P Now 5e ovSfv ff<t>/j.a yevva' irus yap void of mind produce mind ? Sallust. de 
 av ret aptfojTo vovv yvv}](roi ; " Nobody Diis et Murido, c. 8. 
 produces mind : for how should things de- 
 
HERMES. 235 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SUBORDINATION OF INTELLIGENCE. DIFFERENCE OF IDEAS, BOTH IN 
 PARTICULAR MEN AND IN WHOLE NATIONS. DIFFERENT GENIUS OF 
 DIFFERENT LANGUAGES. CHARACTER OF THE ENGLISH, THE ORIENTAL, 
 THE LATIN, AND THE GREEK LANGUAGES. SUPERLATIVE EXCELLENCE 
 OF THE LAST. CONCLUSION. 
 
 ORIGINAL truth having the most intimate connexion with the 
 Supreme Intelligence/ 1 may be said (as it were) to shine with 
 unchangeable splendor, enlightening throughout the universe 
 every possible subject, by nature susceptible of its benign in- 
 fluence. Passions and other obstacles may prevent, indeed, its 
 efficacy, as clouds and vapours may obscure the sun ; but itself 
 neither admits diminution nor change, because the darkness 
 respects only particular percipients. Among these, therefore, we 
 must look for ignorance and error, and for that subordination of 
 intelligence which is their natural consequence. 
 
 We have daily experience in the works of art, that a partial 
 knowledge will suffice for contemplation, though we know not 
 enough to profess ourselves artists. Much more is this true 
 with respect to nature; and well for mankind is it found to be 
 true, else never could we attain any natural knowledge at all. 
 For if the constitutive proportions of a clock are so subtle, that 
 few conceive them truly but the artist himself; what shall we 
 say to those seminal proportions, which make the essence and 
 
 1 Those philosophers, whose ideas of count of truth itself ; as if to describe the 
 being and knowledge are derived from body road to London could be called a descrip- 
 and sensation, have a short method to ex- tion of that metropolis, 
 plain the nature of truth. It is a factitious For my own part, when I read the detail 
 thing, made by every man for himself; which about sensation and reflection, and am 
 comes and goes, just as it is remembered taught the process at large how my ideas 
 and forgot ; which in the order of things are all generated, I seem to view the human 
 makes its appearance the last of any, being soul in the light of a crucible, where truths 
 not only subsequent to sensible objects, but are produced by a kind of logical chemistry, 
 even to our sensations of them. According They may consist (for aught we know) of 
 to this hypothesis, there are many truths natural materials, but are as much creatures 
 which have been, and are no longer ; others of our own as a bolus or elixir, 
 that will be, and have not been yet ; and If Milton by his Urania intended to re- 
 multitudes that possibly may never exist present truth, he certainly referred her to a 
 at all. much more ancient, as well as a far more 
 
 But there are other reasoners, who must noble origin. 
 
 surely have had very different notions ; Heavenly born ! 
 
 those, I mean, who represent truth, not as Before tlie hills appear 'd, or fountains flowed ', 
 
 the last, but the first of beings ; who call Thou u-ith Eternal Wisdom didst converse, 
 
 it immutable, eternal, omnipresent ; at- Wisdom thy sister ; and with her didst play 
 
 tributes that all indicate something more In presence of th" 1 almighty Father, pleased 
 
 than human. To these it must appear With tint celestial song. 
 somewhat strange, how men should imagine Paradise Lost, vii. 
 
 that a crude account of the method how See Prov. viii. 22, &c. Jer. x. 10. Marc, 
 
 they perceive truth was to pass for an ac- Antonin. ix. 1. 
 
236 HERMES. 
 
 character of every natural subject ? Partial views, the imperfec- 
 tions of sense ; inattention, idleness, the turbulence of passions ; 
 education, local sentiments, opinions, and belief, conspire in many 
 instances to furnish us with ideas ; some too general, some too 
 partial, and (what is worse than all this) with many that are 
 erroneous, and contrary to truth. These it behoves us to correct 
 as far as possible, by cool suspense and candid examination. 
 
 , &pOpa ravra TU 
 
 And thus, by a connexion perhaps little expected, the cause 
 of letters and that of virtue appear to coincide ; it being the busi- 
 ness of both to examine our ideas, and to amend them by the 
 standard of nature and of truth/ 
 
 In this important work we shall be led to observe, how nations, 
 like single men, have their peculiar ideas ; how these peculiar 
 ideas become the genius of their language, since the symbol must 
 of course correspond to its archetype ; s how the wisest nations, 
 having the most and best ideas, will consequently have the best 
 and most copious languages ; * how others, whose languages are 
 motley and compounded, and who have borrowed from different 
 countries different arts and practices, discover by words to whom 
 they are indebted for things. 
 
 To illustrate what has been said, by a few examples. We 
 Britons in our time have been remarkable borrowers, as our multi- 
 form language may sufficiently shew. Our terms in polite litera- 
 ture prove, that this came from Greece ; our terms in music and 
 painting, that these came from Italy ; our phrases in cookery 
 and war, tha.t we learnt these from the French ; and our phrases 
 in navigation, that we were taught by the Flemings and Low 
 Dutch. These many and very different sources of our language 
 may be the cause why it is so deficient in regularity and analogy. 
 Yet we have this advantage to compensate the defect, that what 
 we want in elegance we gain in copiousness ; in which last respect 
 few languages will be found superior to our own. 
 
 Let us pass from ourselves to the nations of the East. The 
 eastern world," from the earliest days, has been at all times the 
 
 r How useful to ethic science, and, in- 1. i. p. 58. et Men. Cora. Tusc. Disp. v. 16. 
 deed, to knowledge in general, a gramma- e It is well observed by Muretus, Nulli 
 
 tical disquisition into the etymology and unquam, qui res ignorarent, nomina, quibus 
 
 meaning of words was esteemed by the chief eas exprimerent, quasierunt. Var. Lect. 
 
 and ablest philosophers, may be seen by vi. 1. 
 
 consulting Plato in his Cratylus ; Xenoph. " Ata yap TO Sov\LKcoTepoi etvai ra tfOrj 
 
 Mem. iv. 5, 6. Arrian. Epict. i. 17. ii. 10. ol p.ev Bapfiapoi TU>V 'EAA^wz/, of 5e irepl 
 
 Marc. Anton, iii. 11. v. 8. x. 8. T}\V 'A.aiav run/ irepl T^V Evpdair-rjv, viro/j.- 
 
 8 'HOovs x a P& K1 "np o"n r ' o-udpcairov \6- t/ovcri T^JV ^ea-irortK^v a.pxb v > ovSev Sv&x*- 
 
 yos. Stob. Capiuntur signa haud levia, sed paivovrss. " For the Barbarians, by being 
 
 observatu digna (quod fortasse quispiam more slavish in their manners than the 
 
 non putarit) de ingeniis et moribus popu- Greeks, and those of Asia than those of 
 
 lorum et nationum ex linguis ipsorum. Europe, submit to despotic government 
 
 Bacon, de Augm. Scient. vi. 1 . Vid. etiam. Avithout murmuring or discontent." Arist. 
 
 Quinctil. 1. xi. p. 675. edit. Capperon. Diog. Polit. iii. 4. 
 
HERMES. 237 
 
 seat of enormous monarchy : on its natives fair liberty never 
 shed its genial influence. If at any time civil discords arose 
 among them, (and arise there did innumerable,) the contest was 
 never about the form of their government, (for this was an object 
 of which the combatants had no conception ;) it was all from the 
 poor motive of who should be their master, whether a Cyrus or 
 an Artaxerxes, a Mahomet or a Mustapha. 
 
 Such was their condition : and what was the consequence ? 
 Their ideas became consonant to their servile state, and their 
 words became consonant to their servile" ideas. The great dis- 
 tinction, for ever in their sight, was that of tyrant and slave ; 
 the most unnatural one conceivable, and the most susceptible of 
 pomp and empty exaggeration. Hence they talked of kings as 
 gods, and of themselves as the meanest and most abject reptiles. 
 Nothing was either great or little in moderation, but every senti- 
 ment was heightened by incredible hyperbole. Thus, though 
 they sometimes ascended into the great and magnificent, x they 
 as frequently degenerated into the tumid and bombast. The 
 Greeks too of Asia became infected by their neighbours, who were 
 often, at times, not only their neighbours but their masters ; and 
 hence that luxuriance of the Asiatic style, unknown to the chaste 
 eloquence and purity of Athens. But of the Greeks we forbear 
 to speak now, as we shall speak of them more fully when we 
 have first considered the nature or genius of the Romans. 
 
 And what sort of people may we pronounce the Romans ? A 
 nation engaged in wars and commotions, some foreign, some do- 
 mestic, which for seven hundred years wholly engrossed their 
 thoughts. Hence, therefore, their language became, like their 
 ideas, copious in all terms expressive of things political, and well 
 adapted to the purposes both of history and popular eloquence. 
 But what was their philosophy 2 y As a nation it was none, if we 
 may credit their ablest writers. And hence the unfitness of their 
 language to this subject ; a defect which even Cicero is compelled 
 to confess, and more fully makes appear, when he writes phi- 
 losophy himself, from the number of terms which he is obliged 
 to invent. 2 Virgil seems to have judged the most truly of his 
 
 x The truest sublime of the East may be ritia, quod ab ambitione,quod a voltiptatibus 
 found in the scriptures, of which, perhaps, reliquum erat temporis, ejus si partem ali- 
 the principal cause is the intrinsic greatness quam aut ad audiendum Graecum quempiam 
 of the subjects there treated ; the creation philosophum, aut ad aliquem de philosophia 
 of the universe, the dispensations of Divine libelhim vel legendum vel scribendum con- 
 Providence, &c. tulissent, jam se ad eruditionis culmen per- 
 
 y Muretus has the following passage venisse, jam victam a se et profligatam 
 
 upon the Roman taste for philosophy : jacere Graeciam somniabant. Var. Lect. 
 
 Beati aut em illi, et opulenti, et omnium vi. 1. 
 
 gentium victorcs Romani, in petendis ho- 2 See Cic. de Fin. i. c. 1, 2, 3 ; iii. c. 1, 
 
 noribus, et in prensandis civibus, et in 2. 4, &c. ; but in particular Tusc. Disp. i. 3. 
 
 exteris nationibus verbo componendis, re Avhere he says, Philosophia jacuit usque ad 
 
 compilandis occupati, philosophandi curam hanc setatem, nee ullum habuit lumen lite- 
 
 servis aut liber tis suis, et Graeculis esuri- rarum Latinarum ; quae illustranda et exci- 
 
 entibus relinquebant. Ipsi, quod ab ava- tanda nobis est ; ut si, &c. See also Tusc. 
 
238 
 
 HERMES. 
 
 countrymen, when, admitting their inferiority in the more ele- 
 gant arts, he concludes at last with his usual majesty, 
 
 Disp. iv. 3. and Acad. i. 2. where it appears, 
 that until Cicero applied himself to the 
 writing of philosophy, the Romans had no- 
 thing of the kind in their language, except 
 some mean performances of Amafanius the 
 Epicurean, and others of the same sect. How 
 far the Romans were indebted to Cicero for 
 philosophy, and with what industry, as well 
 as eloquence, he cultivated the subject, may 
 be seen, not only from the titles of those 
 works that are now lost, but much more 
 from the many noble ones still fortunately 
 preserved. 
 
 The Epicurean poet Lucretius, who flou- 
 rished nearly at the same time, seems by 
 his silence to have overlooked the Latin 
 writers of his own sect ; deriving all his 
 philosophy, as well as Cicero, from Grecian 
 sources ; and, like him, acknowledging the 
 difficulty of writing in philosophy in Latin, 
 both from the poverty of the tongue, and 
 from the novelty of the subject. 
 Nee me animi fallit^ Graiorum obscura re- 
 
 perta 
 
 Difficile inlustrare Latinis versions esse, 
 ( Multa novis rebus prcesertim quam sit a- 
 
 gendum,) 
 Propter egestatem linguae et rerum iiovita- 
 
 tem: 
 
 Sed iua me virtus tamen, et sperata voluptas 
 Suavis amiciticB quemvis perferre laborem 
 Suadet. Lucr. i. 137. 
 
 In the same age, Varro, among his nu- 
 merous works, wrote some in the way of 
 philosophy ; as did the patriot Brutus a 
 treatise Concerning Virtue, much applauded 
 by Cicero ; but these works are now lost. 
 
 Soon after the writers above mentioned 
 came Horace, some of whose satires and 
 epistles may be justly ranked amongst the 
 most valuable pieces of Latin philosophy, 
 whether we consider the purity of their 
 style, or the great address with which they 
 treat the subject. 
 
 After Horace, though with as long an 
 interval as from the days of Augustus to 
 those of Nero, came the satirist Persius, 
 the friend and disciple of the Stoic Cornu- 
 tus ; to whose precepts as he did honour by 
 his virtuous life, so his works, though small, 
 shew an early proficiency in the science of 
 morals. Of him it may be said, that he is 
 almost the single difficult writer among the 
 Latin classics, whose meaning has sufficient 
 merit to make it worth while to labour 
 through his obscurities. 
 
 In the same degenerate and tyrannic 
 period, lived also Seneca ; whose character, 
 both as a man and a writer, is discussed 
 with great accuracy by the noble .author of 
 
 the Characteristics, to whom we refer. 
 
 Under a milder dominion, that of Adrian 
 and the Antonines, lived Aulus Gellius, or 
 (as some call him) Agellius, an entertaining 
 writer in the miscellaneous way, well skilled 
 in criticism and antiquity ; who, though he 
 can hardly be entitled to the name of a 
 philosopher, yet deserves not to pass un- 
 mentioned here, from the curious fragments 
 of philosophy interspersed in his works. 
 
 With Aulus Gellius we range Macrobius, 
 not because a contemporary, (for he is sup- 
 posed to have lived under Honorius and 
 Theodosius,) but from his near resemblance 
 in the character of a writer. His works, 
 like the other's, are miscellaneous ; filled 
 with mythology and ancient literature, 
 some philosophy being intermixed. His 
 Commentary upon the Somnium Scipionis 
 of Cicero may be considered as wholly of 
 the philosophical kind. 
 
 In the same age with Aulus Gellius 
 flourished Apuleius of Madaura in Africa, 
 a Platonic writer, whose matter in general 
 far exceeds his perplexed and aifected style, 
 too conformable to the false rhetoric of the 
 age when he lived. 
 
 Of the same country, but of a later age 
 and a harsher style, was Martianus Capella, 
 if indeed he deserve not the name rather 
 of a philologist, than of a philosopher. 
 
 After Capella, we may rank Chalcidius 
 the Platonic, though both his age, and 
 country, and religion are doubtful. His 
 manner of writing is rather more agreeable 
 than that of the two preceding, nor does he 
 appear to be their inferior in the knowledge 
 of philosophy, his work being a laudable 
 commentary upon the Timaeus of Plato. 
 
 The last Latin philosopher was Boethius, 
 who was descended from some of the noblest 
 of the Roman families, and was consul in 
 the beginning of the sixth century. He 
 wrote many philosophical works, the greater 
 part in the logical way : but his ethic 
 piece, On the Consolation of Philosophy, 
 and which is partly prose and partly verse, 
 deserves great encomiums, both for the 
 matter and for the style ; in which last he 
 approaches the purity of a far better age 
 than his own, and is in all respects pre- 
 ferable to those crabbed Africans already 
 mentioned. By command of Theodoric 
 king of the Goths, it was the hard fate of 
 this worthy man to suffer death : with whom 
 the Latin tongue, and the last remains of 
 Roman dignity, may be said to have sunk 
 in the western world. 
 
 There were other Romans who left philo- 
 sophical writings, such as Musonius Hufus, 
 
HERMES. 
 
 Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento, 
 (Hae tibi erunt artes) pacisque imponere morem, 
 Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos. 
 
 239 
 
 From considering the Romans, let us pass to the Greeks. The 
 Grecian commonwealths, while they maintained their liberty, 
 were the most heroic confederacy that ever existed. They were 
 the politest, the bravest, and the wisest of men. In the short 
 space of little more than a century, they became such statesmen, 
 warriors, orators, historians, physicians, poets, critics, painters, 
 sculptors, architects, and (last of all) philosophers, that one can 
 hardly help considering that golden period as a providential 
 event in honour of human nature, to shew to what perfection 
 the species might ascend. a 
 
 and the two emperors Marcus Antoninus 
 and Julian ; but as these preferred the use 
 of the Greek tongue to their own, they can 
 hardly be considered among the number of 
 Latin writers. 
 
 And so much (by way of sketch) for the 
 Latin authors of philosophy ; a small num- 
 ber for so vast an empire, if we consider 
 them as all the product of near six suc- 
 cessive centuries. 
 
 a If we except Homer, Hesiod, and the 
 lyric poets, we hear of few Grecian writers 
 before the expedition of Xerxes. After that 
 monarch had been defeated, and the dread 
 of the Persian power was at an end, the 
 effulgence of Grecian genius (if I may use 
 the expression) broke forth, and shone till 
 the time of Alexander the Macedonian, 
 after whom it disappeared, and never rose 
 again. This is that golden period spoken 
 of above. I do not mean that Greece had 
 not many writers of great merit subsequent 
 to that period, and especially of the philo- 
 sophic kind ; but the great, the striking, 
 the sublime, (call it as you please,) attained 
 at that time to a height to which it never 
 could ascend in any after age. 
 
 The same kind of fortune befell the people 
 of Rome. When the Punic wars were 
 ended, and Carthage, their dreaded rival, was 
 no more, then (as Horace informs us) they 
 began to cultivate the politer arts. It was 
 soon after this, their great orators and 
 historians and poets arose, and Rome, like 
 Greece, had her golden period, which lasted 
 to the death of Octavius Csesar. 
 
 I call these two periods, from the two 
 greatest geniuses that flourished in each, 
 one the Socratic period, the other the Ci- 
 ceronian. 
 
 There are still further analogies subsist- 
 ing between them. Neither period com- 
 menced, as long as solicitude for the common 
 welfare engaged men's attentions, and such 
 wars impended as threatened their destruc- 
 tion by foreigners and barbarians. But 
 
 when once these fears were over, a general 
 security soon ensued, and instead of attend- 
 ing to the arts of defence and self-pre- 
 servation, they began to cultivate those of 
 elegance and pleasure. Now as these na- 
 turally produced a kind of wanton insolence, 
 (not unlike the vicious temper of high-fed 
 animals,) so by this the bands of union 
 were insensibly dissolved. Hence, then, 
 among the Greeks, that fatal Peloponnesian 
 war, which, together with other wars, its 
 immediate consequence, broke the confe- 
 deracy of their commonwealths, wasted 
 their strength, made them jealous of each 
 other, and thus paved a way for the con- 
 temptible kingdom of Macedon to enslave 
 them all, and ascend in a few years to uni- 
 versal monarchy. 
 
 A like luxuriance of prosperity sowed 
 discord among the Romans, raised those 
 unhappy contests between the senate and 
 the Gracchi, between Sylla and Marius, 
 between Pompey and Caesar ; till at length, 
 after the last struggle for liberty by those 
 brave patriots Brutus and Cassius at Phi- 
 lippi, and the subsequent defeat of Anthony 
 at Actium, the Romans became subject to 
 the dominion of a fellow-citizen. 
 
 It must indeed be confessed, that after 
 Alexander and Octavius had established 
 their monarchies, there were many bright 
 geniuses, who were eminent under their 
 government. Aristotle maintained a friend- 
 ship and epistolary correspondence with 
 Alexander. In the time of the same 
 monarch lived Theophrastus, and the cynic, 
 Diogenes. Then also Demosthenes and 
 TEschines spoke their two celebrated ora- 
 tions. So likewise in the time of Octavius, 
 Virgil wrote his jEneid ; and with Horace, 
 Varius, and many other fine writers, par- 
 took of the protection and royal munificence. 
 But then it must be remembered, that these 
 men were bred and educated in the prin- 
 ciples of a free government. It was hence 
 they derived that high mid manly spirit. 
 
240 HERMES. 
 
 Now the language of these Greeks was truly like themselves, 
 it was conformable to their transcendent and universal genius. 
 Where matter so abounded, words followed of course, and those 
 exquisite in every kind, as the ideas for which they stood. And 
 hence it followed, there was not a subject to be found, which 
 could not with propriety be expressed in Greek. 
 
 Here were words and numbers for the humour of an Aristo- 
 phanes ; for the native elegance of a Philemon or Menander ; 
 for the amorous strains of a Mimnermus or Sappho ; for the 
 rural lays of a Theocritus or Bion ; and for the sublime concep- 
 tions of a Sophocles or Homer. The same in prose. Here 
 Isocrates was enabled to display his art, in all the accuracy of 
 periods, and the nice counterpoise of diction. Here Demosthenes 
 found materials for that nervous composition, that manly force of 
 unaffected eloquence, which rushed, like a torrent, too impetuous 
 to be withstood. 
 
 Who were more different in exhibiting their philosophy than 
 Xenophon, Plato, and his disciple Aristotle ? Different, I say, 
 in their character of composition ; for as to their philosophy 
 itself, it was in reality the same. Aristotle, strict, methodic, 
 and orderly ; subtle in thought ; sparing in ornament ; with 
 little address to the passions or imagination ; but exhibiting the 
 whole with such a pregnant brevity, that in every sentence we 
 seem to read a page. How exquisitely is this all performed in 
 Greek 2 Let those who may imagine it may be done as well in 
 another language, satisfy themselves either by attempting to 
 translate him, or by perusing his translations already made by 
 men of learning. On the contrary, when we read either Xeno- 
 phon or Plato, nothing of this method or strict order appears. 
 The formal and didactic is wholly dropped. Whatever they 
 may teach, it is without professing to be teachers; a train of 
 dialogue and truly polite address, in which, as in a mirror, we 
 behold human life, adorned in all its colours of sentiment and 
 manners. 
 
 And yet, though these differ in this manner from the Stagirite, 
 how different are they likewise in character from each other? 
 Plato, copious, figurative, and majestic ; intermixing at times 
 the facetious and satiric; enriching his works with tales and 
 fables, and the mystic theology of ancient times. Xenophon, 
 the pattern of perfect simplicity ; everywhere smooth, har- 
 monious, and pure ; declining the figurative, the marvellous, and 
 
 which made them the admiration of after- rrjs irpbs aAA^Aous epiSos, Kal TTJS irepl TO, 
 
 ages. The successors and forms of govern- Trpwrem <pi\oTtfj.ias : " It is liberty that is 
 
 ment left by Alexander and Octavius, soon formed to nurse the sentiments of great 
 
 stopped the growth of any thing further in geniuses ; to inspire them with hope ; to 
 
 the kind. So true is that noble saying of push forward the propensity of contest one 
 
 Longinus : pe\^at re yap wavr] TO, fypovi]- with another, and the generous emulation 
 
 &v peyaXofypAvtov rj ttevOepia, Kal of being the first in rank." De Subl. 
 
 al a/wa 5ta>0etV rb Trp66v/j.ov sect. 44. 
 
HERMES. 241 
 
 the mystic ; ascending but rarely into the sublime ; nor then so 
 much trusting to the colours of style, as to the intrinsic dignity 
 of the sentiment itself. 
 
 The language, in the meantime, in which he and Plato wrote, 
 appears to suit so accurately with the style of both, that when 
 we read either of the two, we cannot help thinking, that it is 
 he alone who has hit its character, and that it could not have 
 appeared so elegant in any other manner. 
 
 And thus is the Greek tongue, from its propriety and uni- 
 versality, made for all that is great, and all that is beautiful, in 
 every subject, and under every form of writing. 
 
 Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo 
 Musa loqui. 
 
 It were to be wished, that those amongst us who either write 
 or read, with a view to employ their liberal leisure, (for as to 
 such as do either from views more sordid, we leave them, like 
 slaves, to their destined drudgery,) it were to be wished, I say, 
 that the liberal (if they have a relish for letters) would inspect 
 the finished models of Grecian literature ; that they would not 
 waste those hours, which they cannot recall, upon the meaner 
 productions of the French and English press ; upon that fungous 
 growth of novels and of pamphlets, where, it is to be feared, 
 they rarely find any rational pleasure, and more rarely still, any 
 solid improvement. 
 
 To be competently skilled in ancient learning, is by no 
 means a work of such insuperable pains. The very progress 
 itself is attended with delight, and resembles a journey through 
 some pleasant country, where every mile we advance new charms 
 arise. It is certainly as easy to be a scholar, as a gamester, or 
 many other characters equally illiberal and low. The same 
 application, the same quantity of habit, will fit us for one, as 
 completely as for the other. And as to those who tell us, with 
 an air of seeming wisdom, that it is men, and not books, we must 
 study to become knowing ; this I have always remarked, from 
 repeated experience, to be the common consolation and language 
 of dunces. They shelter their ignorance under a few bright 
 examples, whose transcendent abilities, without the common 
 helps, have been sufficient of themselves to great and important 
 ends. But, alas ! 
 
 Dccipit exemplar vitiis imitabile. 
 
 In truth, each man's understanding, when ripened and mature, 
 is a composite of natural capacity, and of super-induced habit. 
 Hence the greatest men will be necessarily those who possess 
 the best capacities, cultivated with the best habits. Hence also 
 
 f derate capacities, when adorned with valuable science, will 
 transcend others the most acute by nature, when either 
 * 
 
242 HERMES. 
 
 neglected, or applied to low and base purposes. And thus for 
 the honour of culture and good learning, they are able to render 
 a man, if he will take the pains, intrinsically more excellent than 
 his natural superiors. 
 
 And so much at present as to general ideas ; how we acquire 
 them ; whence they are derived ; what is their nature ; and what 
 their connection with language. So much, likewise, as to the 
 subject of this treatise, Universal Grammar, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 MOST of the speculations contained in the following work, are 
 not the author's own, but the speculations of ancient and re- 
 spectable philosophers. His employ has been no more than to 
 exhibit what they taught, which he has endeavoured to do after 
 the best manner he was able. The perusal of old doctrines may 
 afford, perhaps, amusement, if it be true (as he has observed 
 in another place 3 ) that what, from its antiquity, is but little 
 known, has from that very circumstance the recommendation of 
 novelty. 
 
 If he might ask a favour from his readers, the favour should 
 be this : that they would not reject his work upon a cursory 
 inspection, should it appear in some parts too abstruse, and 
 perhaps in others too obvious. He could not well avoid either 
 the one or the other, without impairing an arrangement which 
 had been established for ages. 
 
 a See the Preface to Hermes. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL AREANGEMENTS, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE EIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS LORD HYDE, 
 CHANCELLOR OF THE DUCHY OF LANCASTER, ETC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION SCOPE OR END OF THE INQUIRY BEGINS FROM THE 
 
 ARRANGEMENT OF SIMPLE, OR SINGLE TERMS CHARACTER OF THESE 
 
 TERMS NATURE AND MULTITUDE OF THE OBJECTS WHICH THEY 
 
 REPRESENT. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, taking its name from the love of wisdom, and having 
 for its end the investigation of truth, has an equal regard both 
 to practice and speculation, inasmuch as truth of every kind is 
 similar and congenial. Hence we find that some of the most 
 illustrious actors upon the great theatre of the world have been 
 engaged at times in philosophical speculation. Pericles, who 
 governed Athens, was the disciple of Anaxagoras ; Epaminondas 
 spent his youth in the Pythagorean school ; Alexander the 
 Great had Aristotle for his preceptor ; and Scipio made Polybius 
 his companion and friend. Why need I mention Cicero, or 
 Cato, or Brutus? The orations, the epistles, and the philoso- 
 phical works of the first, shew him sufficiently conversant both 
 in action and contemplation. So eager was Cato for knowledge, 8 
 even when surrounded with business, that he used to read 
 philosophy in the senate-house, while the senate was assembling : 
 and as for the patriot Brutus, though his life was a continual 
 scene of the most important action, he found time not only to 
 study, but to compose a treatise upon Virtue. b 
 
 a Thus Cicero describes him : Quippe qui, ex multis sermonibus tuis, virtutem ad beate 
 
 ne reprehensionem quidem volgi inanem vivendum se ipsa esse contentara. Tuscul. 
 
 reformidans, in ipsa curia soleret legere Disput. v. 1. And again : Provocatus gratis- 
 
 saepe, dum senatus cogeretur, nihil operae simo mihi libro, quern de Virtute scripsisti. 
 
 reipublicse detrahens. De Fin. iii. "2. Where De Fin. 1. iii. 
 
 it is worth remarking, that Cato considered One or two short fragments of this 
 
 his application to literature as no way ob- treatise of Brutus are preserved in Seneca, 
 
 structing his duty to the commonwealth. De Consolat. ad Helv. c. 9. 
 The studious character and the political in As to Pericles, Epaminondas, and the 
 
 him were united. other great names mentioned in the same 
 
 b Thus the same Cicero : Placere enim page with Cato and Brutus, see note e in 
 
 tibi (Bruto soil.) admodum sen si, et ex eo tho following pnge. 
 libro quoin ad me arciiratissimo soripsisti, ft 
 
248 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 When these were gone, and the worst of times succeeded, 
 Thrasea Psetus and Helvidius Priscus were at the same period 
 both senators and philosophers, and appear to have supported 
 the severest trials of tyrannic oppression by the manly system 
 of the Stoic moral. The best emperor whom the Romans, or 
 perhaps any nation, ever knew, Marcus Antoninus, was involved 
 during his whole life in business of the last consequence ; some- 
 times conspiracies forming, which he was obliged to dissipate ; 
 formidable wars arising at other times, when he was obliged to 
 take the field. Yet during none of these periods did he forsake 
 philosophy, but still persisted in meditation/ 1 and in committing 
 his thoughts to writing, during moments gained by stealth from 
 the hurry of courts and campaigns. 
 
 If we descend to later ages, and search our own country, we 
 shall find sir Thomas More, sir Philip Sidney, sir Walter 
 Raleigh, lord Herbert of Cherbury, Milton, Algernon Sidney, 
 sir William Temple, and many others, to have been all of them 
 eminent in public life, and yet at the same time conspicuous for 
 their speculations and literature. If we look abroad, examples 
 of like character will occur in other countries. Grotius, the poet, 
 the critic^ the philosopher, and the divine, was employed by the 
 court of Sweden as ambassador to France : and De Witt, that 
 acute but unfortunate statesman, that pattern of parsimony and 
 political accomplishments, was an able mathematician, wrote 
 upon the elements of curves, and applied his algebra with 
 accuracy to the trade and commerce of his country. 
 
 And so much in defence of philosophy, against those who may 
 possibly undervalue her, because they have succeeded without 
 her ; those I mean (and it must be confessed they are many) 
 who, having spent their whole lives in what Milton calls " the 
 busy hum of men," have acquired to themselves habits of amazing 
 efficacy, unassisted by the helps of science and erudition. To 
 such the retired student may appear an awkward being, because 
 they want a just standard to measure his merit. But let them 
 recur to the bright examples before alleged ; let them remember 
 that these were eminent in their own way ; were men of action 
 and business ; men of the world ; and yet they did not disdain 
 to cultivate philosophy, nay, were many of them perhaps indebted 
 to her for the splendor of their active character. 6 
 
 c See Arr. Epictet. lib. i. c. 1,2. and the yuej/oy, Kal /nd\iara irepiOsls uyitov ainw 
 
 notes of my late worthy friend, the learned Kal <$>p6vr}jjt.a 8r)/u.ayh)yias eju/SpifleVrepof , 
 
 editor, Upton. See also Mrs. Carter's ex- oAcos re juereajpuras not (rvvedpas rb 
 
 cellent translation. a^iw/Lia TOV ijOovs, 'Avaay6pas tfi/ 6 KAab- 
 
 d See the original, particularly in Ga- /ufVios, \>v ot rJr 1 frvOpwiroi vovv Trpcxrr)- 
 taker's edition. See also the learned and y6ptvov : " But he who was most con- 
 accurate translation of Meric Casaubon. versant with Pericles, and most contributed 
 
 e The following authorities may serve to to give him a grandeur of mind, and to 
 
 confirm the truth of this assertion. make his high spirit for governing the po- 
 
 In Plutarch's Life of Pericles we read as pular assemblies more weighty and authori- 
 
 follows : 'O Se TrKiiffra TlfpiK\*i crvyyevd- tative ; in a word, who exalted his ideas, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 249 
 
 This reasoning has a further end. It justifies me in the 
 address of these philosophical arrangements, as your lordship 
 
 and raised at the same time the dignity 
 of his behaviour: the person who did this 
 was Anaxagoras, the Clazomenian, whom 
 the people of that age used to call vovs, or 
 "mind." Plut. in Vit. Periclis, p. 154. B. 
 edit. Xyland. 
 
 Plutarch soon after gives good reasons 
 for this appellation of Anaxagoras, viz. his 
 great abilities, and his being the first who 
 made mind or intellect (in opposition to 
 chance) a principle in the formation and 
 government of the universe. 
 
 The words of Anaxagoras on this sub- 
 ject, though well known, are well worth 
 citing : Tlavra %p^yuara i]V 6/j.ov' tlra vovs 
 e'A0<i>i/ aura SieK^ff/jL^a-e : "All things were 
 blended together: then came mind (or an 
 intelligent principle) and gave them arrange- 
 ment." Diog. Laert. ii. 6. 
 
 Epaminondas, in his political capacity, 
 was so great a man, that he raised his 
 country, the commonwealth of Thebes, 
 from a contemptible state to take the lead 
 in Greece ; a dignity which the Thebans 
 had never known before, and which fell, 
 upon his loss, never to rise again. The 
 same man was a pattern in private life of 
 every thing virtuous and amiable ; so that 
 Justin well remarks, Fuit autem incertum, 
 vir melior, an dux, esset. 
 
 Cornelius Nepos, having recorded the 
 other parts of his education, adds, At philo- 
 sophise praeceptorem habuit Lysim, Taren- 
 tinum, Pythagoreum ; cui quidem sic fuit 
 deditus, ut adolescens tristem et severum 
 senem omnibus aequalibus suis in familiari- 
 tate anteposuerit, neque prius eum a se 
 dimiserit, quam doctrinis tanto antecessit 
 condiscipulos, ut facile intelligi posset pari 
 modo superaturum omnes in caeteris artibus. 
 Corn. Nep. in Vit. Epaminon. c. 2. Justin. 
 Hist. vi. 8. Cicer. de Orat. iii. 34. 
 
 As for Alexander the Great, we may 
 form a judgment, what sort of education 
 his father Philip wished him to have, from 
 that curious epistle which he wrote to 
 Aristotle, upon Alexander's birth. It is in 
 its character so simple and elegant, that we 
 have given it entire, as preserved by Aulus 
 Gellius : 
 
 <friAi7T7ros 'ApicrroTeAet xaipeii'. 
 
 "l<rdi IULOL yeyovora vi6v iroX^v ovv ro?s 
 Ofois "xji-pw e^co, ovx OUTWS firl rp yevecrei 
 rov iraifibs us eirl T< Kara TT)J/ ayv yXiKiav 
 avrbv yeyovevat' eATri^co yap avrbv, virb crow 
 Tpa<eWa /cat 7rai5eu0eVra, &toj/ ea"e0ai /cal 
 ^iui/, Kal rijs r&v Trpayfj.a.Taii' StaSo^s. 
 " Philip to Aristotle greeting. 
 
 " Know that I have a son born. On 
 this account I am greatly thankful to the 
 
 gods, not so much for the birth of the child, 
 as for his being born during your times: 
 for I hope that by his being bred, and 
 educated under you, he will become worthy 
 of us, and worthy to succeed in the manage- 
 ment of affairs." A. Gell. ix. 3. 
 
 What in fact this education was, we may 
 learn not only from Alexander's history, but 
 from an observation of Plutarch, in answer 
 to an objection, "how Alexander could ven- 
 ture to attack such an immense power as 
 the Persian with such contemptible forces 
 of his own." Plutarch says, that no forces 
 could be greater or fairer than the several 
 accomplishments of Alexander's mind ; and 
 concludes, " that he marched against the 
 Persians with better supplies from his 
 preceptor Aristotle, than from his father 
 Philip :" irXfiovas iraph 'ApttrroTeAot/s rov 
 KaOrjyrjrov, ^ irapa <Pi\iinrov rov Trarpbs 
 a(()0pfj.as e%o>f, Siefiaivev CTT! Hcparas. Plut. 
 de Alex. Fort. p. 327. edit. Xyland. 
 
 As for Scipio, the illustrious conqueror of 
 Carthage, we have this account of him and 
 his companion Polybius (to whom we may 
 add also Panaetius) from Velleius Pater- 
 culus : Scipio tarn elegans liberalium studio- 
 rum, omnisque doctrinse et auctor et ad- 
 mirator fuit, ut Polybium Panaetiumque, 
 praecellentes ingenio viros, domi militiaeque 
 secum habuerit. Neque enim quisquam 
 hoc Scipione elegantius intervalla ncgotio- 
 rum otio dispunxit, semperque aut belli, aut 
 pacis serviit artibus ; semperque inter arma 
 et studia versatus, aut corpus periculis, aut 
 animum disciplinis exercuit. Veil. Paterc. 
 Histor. 1. i. p. 19. edit. Lipsii. 
 
 During the campaigns of Scipio, Polybius 
 attended him even in the time of action or 
 engagement ; as, for example, in that bold 
 attempt, when Scipio, with Polybius and 
 thirty soldiers only, undermined one of the 
 gates of Carthage. See Ammian. Marcel. 
 1. xxiv. 2. 
 
 During more quiet intervals, Polybius did 
 not forget the duties of a friend, or the 
 dignity of a philosopher, but gave advice, 
 and that suitable to the character which 
 Scipio wished to support in the common- 
 wealth. Among other things, he advised 
 him (as Plutarch informs us) " never to quit 
 the forum, or place of public resort, before 
 he had made himself some friend, who was 
 intimately conversant in the conduct of his 
 fellow-citizens:" p.% Trp6rfpov e'| ayopas 
 aTreAflelj/, 3) <pi\ov TWO. iroff)ffacrdai, (rvvey- 
 yvs OVTO. ru>v Trpdj-ewv T>V iroXiruv. Plut. 
 Symposiac. 1. iii. p. 659. edit. Xyl. 
 
 To these instances we may add the pe- 
 culiar regard which Ccesar had for the phi- 
 
250 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 has been distinguished in either character, I mean in your 
 public one, as well as in your private. Those who know the 
 history of our foreign transactions, know the reputation that you 
 acquired both in Poland and in Germany : f and those who are 
 honoured with your nearer friendship, know that you can 
 speculate as well as act, and can employ your pen both with 
 elegance and instruction. 
 
 It may not, perhaps, be unentertaining to your lordship to see, 
 in what manner the preceptor of Alexander the Great arranged 
 his pupil's ideas, so that they might not cause confusion for want 
 of accurate disposition. It may be thought, also, a fact worthy 
 of your notice, that he became acquainted with this method 
 from the venerable Pythagoras, who, unless he drew it from re- 
 moter sources, to us unknown, was, perhaps, himself its inventor 
 and original teacher. 5 
 
 Poets relate, that Venus was wedded to Vulcan, the goddess of 
 beauty to the god of deformity. The tale, as some explain it, gives 
 a double representation of art ; Vulcan shewing us the progres- 
 sions of art, and Venus the completions. The progressions, such as 
 the hewing of stone, the grinding of colours, the fusion of metals, 
 these, all of them, are laborious, and many times disgustful : the 
 completions, such as the temple, the palace, the picture, the statue, 
 these, all of them, are beauties, and justly call for admiration. 
 
 losopher Aristo, and Pompey for the philo- 
 sopher Cratippus. Julian well remarks, on 
 these two great Romans, that " they did not, 
 because their power was great, despise those 
 who had the power of doing them the 
 greatest services :" ov 7&p, firel fj.eya t8v- 
 vavro, virepffyp6vovv ruv TO, p-eyicrra av- 
 TOVS ovTJffai 8wj/a/xeVa>j/. ./Elian. Var. Hist, 
 vii. 21. 
 
 In the same author, 1. iii. c. 17. there is 
 an express dissertation on this subject, 
 worthy of perusal, as being filled with ex- 
 amples both from the Grecian and Roman 
 hi story. 
 
 To these citations I shall add only one 
 or two more : Et certe non tulit ullos haec 
 civitas aut gloria clariores, aut auctoritatc 
 graviores, aut humanitate politiores, P. Afri- 
 cano, C. Laelio, L. Furio, qui secum erudi- 
 tissimos homines ex Graecia palam semper 
 habuerunt. Cic. de Orat. ii. 37. 
 
 In the same work, to prove the union of 
 the philosophical character and the political, 
 we have the following testimony, taken 
 from the history of those sages, so much 
 celebrated in antiquity, Pittacus, Bias, 
 Solon, &c. Pli omnes, prseter Milesium 
 Thalem, civitatibus suis prsefuerunt. De 
 Orator, iii. 34. 
 
 See also Cicero's tract styled Orator, 
 sect. 15. p. 137. edit. Oxon. and the 
 Phaednis of Plato, p. 1237, edit. Ficini : in 
 both which places, the intimacy above men- 
 
 tioned between Pericles and Anaxagoras 
 is recorded, and the importance also of this 
 intimacy, as to the weight it gave Pericles 
 in the commonwealth of Athens. 
 
 f The treaty of Warsaw, negotiated and 
 signed by lord Hyde, was made in Janu- 
 ary, 1745 ; that of Dresden, made under 
 lord Hyde's mediation, was signed the 
 December following. By this last treaty, 
 not only the peace of Germany was re- 
 stored, but the Austrian Netherlands, and 
 the king of Sardinia's territories, were in 
 consequence of it preserved. 
 
 8 From Pythagoras it passed to his dis- 
 ciples, and among others to Archytas, who 
 wrote upon the subject in the Doric dialect, 
 the dialect generally used by Pythagoras and 
 his followers. This treatise of Archytas is 
 in part still extant, though but little known, 
 large quotations out of it being inserted by 
 Simplicius into that valuable but rare book, 
 his Commentaries on the Predicaments, 
 from which many of them are transferred 
 into the notes upon the different chapters 
 of this work. 
 
 Fabricius, in his Bibliotheca Graeca, vol. i. 
 p. 394, mentions a tract upon this subject, 
 published at Venice, anno 1571, under the 
 name of Archytas ; but he informs us withal, 
 that its authenticity is doubted, because the 
 above-mentioned quotations from Archytas, 
 made by Simplicius, are not to be found 
 there. This tract I have nover soon. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 251 
 
 Now if logic be one of those arts which help to improve 
 human reason, it must necessarily be an art of the progressive 
 character ; an art which, not ending with itself, has a view to 
 something further. If, then, in the following speculations, it 
 should appear dry rather than elegant, severe rather than 
 pleasing, let it plead, by way of defence, that, though its im- 
 portance may be great, it partakes, from its very nature, (which 
 cannot be changed,) more of the deformed god, than of the 
 beautiful goddess. 
 
 The subject commences in the manner following. 
 
 The vulgar can give reasons to a certain degree, 1 ' and can 
 examine, after a manner, the reasons given them by others. And 
 what is this, but natural logic? If, therefore, these efforts of 
 theirs have an effect, and nothing happen without a cause, this 
 effect must, of necessity, be derived from certain principles. 
 
 The question, then, is, What these principles are ; for if these 
 can be once investigated, and then knowingly applied, we shall 
 be enabled to do by rule, what others do by hazard ; and in 
 what we do, as much to excel the uninstructed reasoner, as a 
 disciplined boxer surpasses an untaught rustic. 
 
 Now, in the investigation of these principles, we are first 
 taught to observe, that every science (as arithmetic, geometry, 
 music, astronomy) may be resolved into its theorems ; every 
 theorem into its syllogisms; every syllogism into its propositions; 
 and every proposition into certain simple or single terms. 
 
 If this be admitted, it is not difficult to see, that, in order to 
 know science, a man must know first what makes a theorem ; 
 in order to know theorems, he must know first what makes a 
 syllogism ; in order to know syllogisms, he must know first 
 what makes propositions ; and to acquire a general knowledge 
 of these, he must first know simple or single terms, since it is 
 out of these that propositions are all of them compounded. 
 
 And thus we may perceive, that where these several resolu- 
 tions end, it is hence precisely the disquisition is to begin.' It 
 
 h Udvres yap ^XP 1 Tivbs Kal Qerdfciv \6fJ.isos yap 7rotf}<rat ct7T($5et|ti/, (pTfjal Trpbs 
 
 Kal inrexfiv \6yov, /cat a/iroKoyflffQai Kal eaur^J/, f$ov\ofj.ai irepl aTroSe/ea>s elvfTv* 
 
 Kartiyopttv syxeipovviv. TcD/ /iej/ olv 'AAA' eVetSr; ^ air$>its ffv\\oyiff/j.6s fffriv 
 
 iro\\S)V ol iJ.f:V iKij.. K. T. A. "Omnes enim eTno'TTj/uoi'i/c&s, aSwarov tlirsiv ircpl rovrov 
 
 quadam tenus et exquirere et sustinere ra- rbv /J.T) trporepov eforwro, rt ftrrt ffv\\o- 
 
 tionem, et defendere, et accusarc aggre- yi<r^.6s' rbv Se tnrXws ffvXXoyicrfj.bu OVK kv 
 
 diuntur. At ex impcrita quidem multi- fj.aOo't/j.ev^ ov /zofloj/res, ri eVrt Trporacris' 
 
 tudine alii temere," &c, Arist. Rhetor. 1. i. \6yoi /j.tv yap rivis elaiv a! Trporafffts' ruv 
 
 c. 1. See also, p. 46, note //. Se roiovrwv Xoywv (rv\\oyT) effriv 6 <rv\- 
 
 1 There is an elegant simile, taken from \oyt<rp.6s' w<rre avev TOV yvwvai ras irpo- 
 
 architecture, to illustrate this speculation. rdVets, aSvvarov paGf-iv rbv ffv\\oyiffp.6v 
 
 The quotation from the original author e/c yap rovrcuv ffvyicfirai' a\\' ou5e rfyv 
 
 (Ammonius) may be found in the Dialogue irpAraffiv, avev rwv bvof*.a.TU)v Kal TUV pr)- 
 
 concerning Art, p. 14, note //, to which a fj-aTCDV, e| 5)v (TwecTr-nite irus \6yos' ra 
 
 translation is there subjoined. Se oj/o^aro, /cat pri/j-ara avev T&V air\cav 
 
 Ammonius, after he has produced his tpuvuv' eicaffTov yap TOVTWV <pwf) eVrt 
 
 similitude, applies it as follows. fTTj/xavrt/cTj. Ae? o$v irpArepov irepl TWV 
 
 Ou'rwy ovv Kal 6 (j>i\6(ro<}ios TTO/F?' fiov- a-rr\S>v (pwv&v tnr&r. 'EvTavOa o5r 7; 
 
252 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 must begin where they end, that is to say, from simple terms ; 
 because, if it were to begin sooner, it would begin in the middle ; 
 and because, if the resolutions did not stop somewhere, there 
 could be no beginning at all. 
 
 Now as to the subject, whence the disquisition is to begin, (I 
 mean the contemplation of simple terms,) it is obvious it must 
 be widely different from the several subjects that precede it. 
 The preceding subjects, such as theorems, syllogisms, proposi- 
 tions, may all of them be resolved, because they are all of them 
 compound : but terms cannot be resolved, because they are 
 simple or single. The most we can do, as their multitude is 
 large, is to seek after some method, by which they may be 
 classed or arranged ; and if different methods of arrangement 
 occur, then to adopt, out of the several, that which appears to 
 be the best. 
 
 It being therefore adjusted, from what subject we are to 
 begin, (namely, from simple or single terms.) and after what 
 manner we are to begin, (namely, by classing or arranging 
 them,) a further question occurs before we proceed, and that is, 
 What is it that these terms represent ? 
 
 There seem but three classes possible, and these three are 
 either words, or ideas, or things, that is to say, individuals. 
 
 Now they cannot represent merely words, for then the trea- 
 tise would be grammatical ; nor yet merely ideas, for then the 
 treatise would be metaphysical ; nor yet merely things or in- 
 dividuals, for then the treatise would be physical. 
 
 6e<apla KareATjIe, Kal yiyverai TOV-TO rrjs knowing sounds articulate, or simple words, 
 Trpdecas apx"h. Up6repov yap StaAe^erot inasmuch as each of these is a sound ar- 
 Trfpl r&v air\S)v <p(avS>v sv rais KaTijyo- ticulate, having a meaning. It is necessary, 
 piais. Elff ofrrw Trept ovofj-drcav, Kal pt}- therefore, in the first place, to say some- 
 fidTuv, Kal irpordcrecas, ef rca Trepl 'Ep/j.7)- thing concerning simple words." 
 veias' elra irepl TOV airXus av\\oyi(r)j.ov^ Here, then, ends the theory, and it is 
 fVTo?sTrpoTepoisava\VTiKo?s- flO' ovTwirepl this which becomes the beginning of the 
 cbroSei'^ecos, fv TO?S vcrrepois ava\vTiK(Hs. practice, (that is, from this last part the 
 'EvravQa olv rb reAos TJ?S 7rpae&>s, oVep %v theory is to be carried into execution.) 
 o-PX^l TV* Qeupt&s :" And thus also the phi- First, therefore, (with a view to the 
 losopher does: being willing to form a de- practical part,) he disserts concerning 
 monstration, he says to himself, I am willing simple articulate sounds in his Predica- 
 te speak concerning demonstration. But, mcnts : after that, concerning nouns, and 
 inasmuch as demonstration is a scientific verbs, and propositions, in his treatise con- 
 syllogism, it is impossible to say any thing cerning Interpretation : then, concerning syl- 
 concerning it, without first saying what is logism, simply so called, in his first Analy- 
 a syllogism ; nor can we learn what is tics : and finally, concerning demonstration, 
 simply a syllogism, without having first in his latter Analytics. And here is the 
 learned what is a proposition : for proposi- end of the practice, which end (as we have 
 tions are certain sentences ; and it is a shewn above) was the beginning of the 
 collection of such sentences that forms a theory. Ammon. in Prsedic. p. 16. ed. 8vo. 
 syllogism : so that without knowing pro- We have made this large extract from 
 positions, it is impossible to learn what is a Ammonius, not only as it fully explains 
 syllogism, because it is out of these that a the subject of this treatise, but as it gives a 
 syllogism is compounded. Further than concise, and yet an elegant view of that 
 this, it is impossible to know a proposition, celebrated work of Aristotle, his Organon, 
 without knowing nouns and verbs, out of and of that just and accurate order in 
 which is composed every species of sen- which its several parts stand arranged, 
 tence ; or to know nouns or verbs without 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 253 
 
 How, then, shall we decide ? Shall we deny that simple 
 terms represent any one of these 2 Or shall we rather assume 
 the contrary, and say they represent them all \ If so, and this 
 be, as it will appear, the more plausible hypothesis, we may 
 affirm of simple terms, (the subject of this inquiry,) that they 
 are words representing things, through the medium of our 
 
 ideas. k 
 
 That this, in fact, is their character, may appear from the 
 many logical, metaphysical, and physical theorems, and to these 
 (as man is a part of nature) we may add also ethical specula- 
 tions, which are occasionally interspersed in the course of this 
 inquiry. 1 
 
 But to return to our subject, the contemplation of simple 
 terms. 
 
 As they appear to be words, and not only words, but words 
 which represent things through the medium of our ideas, it may 
 not be improper to observe something upon the several objects 
 thus represented, and that with respect both to their nature and 
 to their multitude. 
 
 As to their nature, (without being too philosophically minute,) 
 it is enough to observe, that some of them are sensible objects, 
 and some of them are intelligible ; that the sensible are perceived 
 by our several senses, and make up the tribe of external indi- 
 viduals : that the intelligible are more immediately our own, and 
 arise within us, when the mind, by marking what is common to 
 many individuals, forms to itself a species ; or, when by marking 
 what is common to many species, it forms to itself a genus. 
 
 k Ammonius, in his excellent Commentary ing things, through the medium of our 
 
 upon these Predicaments of Aristotle, in- thoughts or ideas." Ammon. in Praedicam. 
 
 forms us, there were different sentiments of p. 14. 6. ed. 8vo. 
 
 different philosophers as to the subject, con- l Thus Boethius : Haec quoque nobis de 
 
 cerning which these predicaments were con- decem praedicamentis inspectio, et in phy- 
 
 versant. Some, as Alexander of Aphrodi- sica Aristotelis doctrina, et in moralis phi- 
 
 seum, confined them wholly to words : losophiae cognitione perutilis est ; quod per 
 
 others, as Eustathius, wholly to things : a singula currentibus magis liquebit. Boeth. 
 
 third set, of which was Porphyry, wholly in Cat. p. 113. edit. fol. Basil, 
 to our thoughts or ideas. Ammonius ap- Ammonius speaks to the same purpose 
 
 pears to have supposed that they all erred, in fuller and more general terms : "Ori 5e 
 
 and that, not so much in the respective sub- xp^ffi^v eVrt rb Btp\lov efr re rb dewpijTi- 
 
 jects they adopted, as in the restriction or icbv tyiXoaofyias p.4pos, Kal rb TrpaKTucbv, e'/c 
 
 limitation to one subject only. For this TCOJ/ jrpoetprf/j.ei/ui' STJAOP, tfrrep Kal T^V 
 
 reason he immediately subjoins: cwr^Setiij/, fyv eSe/la/iey, avev ruv a.ir\G)v 
 
 Oi 8e a.KpipfO'Tepoi' \tyovTfs, 3>v efs effn <p(avuv OVK ear* yvavtu, Kal '6n irepl ruv 
 
 Kal 'ictjUjSAr^os, Qafflv us otfre irepl j/OTj/ia- K.OIVOT^TWV SiaAa//.j8ave<, els a ra tivra 
 
 rcav nfouv effrlv aincp 6 \6yos, otfre irepl travra Sicupfirai : " That the book is useful 
 
 <j>cavuv fj.6f(av, O&TC irepl TTpay^druv fj.6i>(i)V, both to the speculative part of philosophy 
 
 ciAA* e<rTtj> 6 (Titoirbs roav Karrjyopiwv irepl and the practical, is evident from what has 
 
 (pcavuv a-rifjLaivova-uv irpd.yfj.aTa~, Sia /j.4<r<av been said, if it be true both that demon- 
 
 VOTHJ.O.TUV : " But those who speak more stration, as we have shewn, cannot bo 
 
 accurately, of which number lamblichus is known without simple words, and that the 
 
 one, say that Aristotle discourses not upon book also treats concerning those common 
 
 ideas alone, nor upon words alone, nor upon characters or attributes, into which all 
 
 things alone ; but that the scope or end of beings are divided." Ammon. in Praed, 
 
 his categories is, concerning words, signify- p. 16. edit. Venet. 8vo. 
 
254 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Nor are these mental productions the mere efforts of art, the 
 ingenious inventions of human sagacity ; but, under the original 
 guidance of pure nature, even children in their early days spon- 
 taneously fashion them, and spontaneously refer them to indi- 
 viduals as they occur, saying of this individual, it is a horse ; of 
 another, it is a dog ; of a third, it is a sparrow." 1 
 
 If from the nature of these objects (which we have now sup- 
 posed to be either sensible or intelligible) we pass to their multi- 
 tude, we shall find the genera to be fewer than the species, and 
 that from this plain reason, because many species are included 
 within one genus; we shall find also the species to be fewer 
 than the individuals, and that by parity of reason, because many 
 individuals are included within one species. But as for indi- 
 viduals themselves, these we shall find to be truly infinite ; and 
 not only infinite, but changing every moment, as the old are in- 
 cessantly perishing, the new incessantly arising. 
 
 Yet it is these that compose that universe in which we exist ; 
 and without knowing something of these we may be considered 
 as living like the Cimmerians in Homer, 
 
 'Hepi Kal Vf<p\rj KefcaAUyUfteVot." 
 " Covered with mist and cloud." 
 
 If, therefore, all science be something definite and steady, (for 
 without this character it would not merit the name,) how can it 
 possibly bear relation to such a multitude as this ; a multitude 
 in character so truly contrary to its own, a multitude everywhere 
 fleeting, everywhere infinite and vague 2 How indeed should the 
 fleeting be known steadily, or how should the vague and infinite 
 be known definitely? 
 
 As this can hardly be supposed, it is for this reason that logic, 
 which is justly called the organ or instrument of the sciences, p 
 
 ni See Hermes, b. iii. c. 4. where the pov, ayvuffrov iroa6v n" rb 8e /COT' flSos 
 
 doctrine of general or universal ideas is dis- aireipov^ ayvuffrov iroi6v ri' rwv 8' ap-^iav 
 
 cussed more largely. aireipuv ovawv Kal Kara irAfjflos Kal Kar' 
 
 See also the Elffayoay^ or Introduction e?8os, aSvvarov elSfvat ret K rovruv. ovrca 
 
 of Porphyry, where the subject of genus yap eiSevai rb ffvvQerov viroXafJLfiavofjLfv, 
 
 and species is treated in a perspicuous and ftrav elSco/Aw e/c rivuv Kal ir6<r<av tffriv. 
 
 easy method. This tract is usually prefixed Arist. Phys. 1. i. p. 12. edit. Sylb. "If 
 
 to Aristotle's Logic. therefore infinite, considered as infinite, be 
 
 " 'OSu(ttr. A. 15. unknowable, then that which is infinite in 
 
 Infinitorum nulla cognitio est ; infinita multitude or magnitude is unknowable as to 
 
 namque animo comprehendi nequeunt ; quod quantity, and that which is infinite in form 
 
 autem ratione mentis circumdari non potest, is unknowable as to quality. But the prin- 
 
 nullius scientise fine concluditur: quare in- ciples being infinite both in multitude and 
 
 finitorum scientia nulla est. Boeth. in Prsed. in quality, it is impossible to know the 
 
 p. 113. edit. Bas. beings derived out of them. For then it is 
 
 Such was the doctrine of Boethius, who, we conceive that we know any being corn- 
 according to the practice of the age in which posite, when we know out of what things 
 he lived, united the Platonic and the Peri- and how many things it is compounded." 
 patetic philosophies. But Aristotle himself P The Stoics held logic to be a part of 
 taught the same doctrine many centuries philosophy, the Peripatetics held it no more 
 before. than an organ or instrument ; Plato held it 
 
 Et 877 TO fj,fv airfipov, p aireipov, ayvuff- to be both, as well a part as an organ. His 
 
 Kara rb 7rA7?0os $ /.ifyeBos air ft- reasoning, according to Ammonius, was as 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 255 
 
 has for its first employment to reduce infinitude ; and this it does 
 by establishing certain definitive arrangements, or classes, to 
 some of which all particulars may be referred, however numerous, 
 however diversified the past, the present, the future, all alike. 
 
 And thus we return to classing and arranging, the process 
 already suggested to be the proper one. 
 
 It remains to inquire, whether there are more methods of ar- 
 rangement than one ; and if more, then, from among them, which 
 method we ought to prefer. 
 
 But this will be the subject of the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A METHOD OF ARRANGEMENT PROPOSED REJECTED, AND WHY. AN- 
 OTHER METHOD PROPOSED ADOPTED, AND WHY. GENERAL REMARKS. 
 
 PLAN OF THE WHOLE. 
 
 ONE method of arrangement is as follows : 
 
 The multitude of ideas treasured up in the human mind, and 
 which, bearing reference to things, are expressed by words, may 
 be arranged and circumscribed under the following characters. 
 They all denote either substance or attribute ; and substance 
 and attribute may be each of them modified under the different 
 characters of universal and particular, as best befits the purposes 
 of reasoning and science. Thus man is an universal substance ; 
 Alexander, a particular one ; valour, an universal attribute ; the 
 valour of Alexander, a particular one. 
 
 And hence there arises a quadruple arrangement of terms ; an 
 arrangement of them into substance universal, and substance 
 particular ; into attribute universal, and attribute particular ; to 
 some one of which four, not only our words and our ideas, but the 
 innumerable tribe of individuals may all of them be reduced. q 
 
 follows : Kaddirep yap (ptiffiv 6 %4avr}s Sir- of the Stoics and the Peripatetics. 
 r5s, 6 fj.fv /*Tp>v, 6 8e lu.fTpov/j.evos, /col 6 1 This method may be found in the be- 
 
 ju/ nerpwv opyavov eVrt rf/s Aierp^o-ews, 6 ginning of Aristotle's Predicaments, before 
 
 8e fitrpovfjifj/os /Jiepos TOV '6\ov vypov. uxrav- he comes to the actual enumeration of the 
 
 TWS KOI T] XoyiK^] oVeu p.ev TUV irpayfj-druv predicaments themselves. 
 ovffa, <jpyav6v eVrt TTJS (piXoaofyias, ffv/j-fti- See Aristot. Prsedic. p. 23. edit. Sylb. 
 
 &aofj.ein) Se ruis 7rpdy(j.a<ri, /j.epos eVrt TTJS Itav ovrwv ra p.fv Kaff viroKeip.4vov K.r.\. 
 (/uAo<ro$/as. "As the quart, says he, is The Stagirite, in giving this quadruple 
 
 twofold, one that which measures, the other arrangement, explains himself not by names, 
 
 that which is measured ; and as that which but by descriptions. Substance universal 
 
 measures is the organ of mensuration, that he describes as follows : Kaff uTro/ceiyueVou 
 
 which is measured the part of some whole rivbs Ae'-yercu, *v inroKfi/j-eucf} S 1 ovSevi eVrt .- 
 
 or entire fluid : in like manner also, logic, attribute particular, eV viroKtin.ev(? p.cv cVrj, 
 
 when taken apart from things, is an organ o0' viroKfi/j.Vov Se ovSevbs Aeyerot : at- 
 
 of philosophy ; when connected with them, tribute general, Kaff VTTOK^I^VOV re \eye- 
 
 is a part of philosophy." TOI, Kal tV inroKfi/j-evw t<r-riv : substances 
 
 Thus Ammonius on the Categories, p. 8. particular, oure tv viroKtifAtvcp eVrlj/. otfre 
 
 where we may find also the reasonings both #' \nroKf iptvov nvbs \cyerai. 
 
256 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 A large reduction this, yet a reduction which may possibly 
 lead us into another extreme, by rendering that multitude, which 
 we would confine, too limited, too abridged. Suppose, therefore, 
 we were to inquire whether this reduction might not be enlarged, 
 and a second and more perfect method than the last be esta- 
 blished. 
 
 The world, as we see, is filled with various substances. Each of 
 these possesses its proper attributes, and is at the same time encom- 
 passed with certain circumstantials. Not to speak of intelligible 
 substances, (which belong rather to metaphysics,) natural sub- 
 stances appear all to be extended ; nor that simply, but under a 
 certain external figure, and internal organization. A lion and an 
 oak agree, as they are both extended ; yet have they each a 
 figure and organization peculiar. A living lion and a brazen 
 lion may have the same external figure, but within there is a 
 wide difference, from the possession of organization on one side, 
 and the want of it on the other. If then we call the attribute 
 of extension quantity, that of figure and organization quality, we 
 may set down these two (I mean quantity and quality) as the 
 two great essential attributes belonging to every substance, 
 whether natural or artificial. 
 
 Again : every substance, whether natural or artificial, either 
 from will or from appetite, or, where these are wanting, from 
 such lower causes as its figure or mere quantity has (in an en- 
 larged use of the words) a power to act. Thus it is through 
 will that men study, through appetite that brutes eat, through 
 its figure that the clock goes, and through its quantity that the 
 stone descends. Nor are they only thus capable of acting, but 
 also of being acted upon ; and that, too, each of them, according 
 to its respective character. The mind is acted upon by truth, 
 the appetite by pleasure, the clock by a spring, and the stone by 
 gravitation. Thus, then, besides quantity and quality, we have 
 found two other attributes, common to all substances, and these 
 are action and passion. 
 
 Again : it often happens when substances are not present to 
 us, that we are desirous to know when and where they existed : 
 When, we ask, lived Homer? Where, we ask, stood the ancient 
 Memphis ? In the answer to these questions we learn the time 
 and place which circumscribed the existence of these beings. 
 Now as all sensible substances are circumscribed after these man- 
 ners, hence we may consider the when and the where as two circum- 
 stantials that inseparably attend them. And thus have we added 
 two more attributes to the number already established. 
 
 Further still : in contemplating where things exist, we are 
 
 Those who would sec an explanation of and his Latin one, Boethius, who are Loth 
 those several descriptions, and why Aristotle of them copious and accurate upon the sub- 
 prefers them to their peculiar names, may ject. 
 consult his Greek commentator, Ammonias, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 257 
 
 often led to consider their position, and that more especially in 
 living substances possessing the power of self-motion. There 
 is a manifest difference between reclining and sitting, between 
 sitting and standing; and there are other circumstances of po- 
 sition which extend to all substances whatever. And thus must 
 position or situation be subjoined as another different attribute. 
 
 Add to this, when substances are superinduced upon sub- 
 stances, we consider them under the character of clothing, or 
 habit. Thus, in the strict sense of the word, the glove covering 
 our hand, the shoe our foot, the coat our body, are so many 
 species of habit. By a more distant analogy, the corn may be 
 said to clothe the fields, the woods to clothe the mountains ; and 
 by an analogy still more remote than that, the sciences and 
 virtues to be habits that clothe the mind. 
 
 Last of all, in the variety of co-existing substances and at- 
 tributes, there are many whose very existence infers the ex- 
 istence of some other. Thus, in substances, the existence of son 
 infers that of father, of servant that of master ; in quantity, the 
 existence of greater infers that of less ; in position, above infers 
 below ; and in the time when, subsequent has a necessary respect to 
 prior. It is when we view things in these mutual dependencies, 
 in these reciprocal inferences, that we discover another attribute, 
 the attribute of relation. 
 
 And thus, instead of confining ourselves to the simple division 
 of substance and attribute, we have divided attribute itself into 
 nine distinct sorts; some of which we have considered as es- 
 sential, others as circumstantial, and thus made, upon the whole, 
 (by setting substance at their head) ten comprehensive and uni- 
 versal genera, called, with reference to their Greek name, cate- 
 gories ; with reference to their Latin name, predicaments ; and 
 styled in the title of this work, "Philosophical Arrangements.'^ 
 
 r The ancients gave to these arrange- were five, ou<rto, TavrcfrTjs, 
 
 ments different names, and made also the viiffis, Kal ffrdffis, " substance, identity, di- 
 
 number of them different. Some, as Ar- versity, motion, rest ;" others made seven ; 
 
 chyteis, called them Kad6\ov \6yot, "uni- lastly, the Pythagoreans and Peripatetics 
 
 versal denominations ; " others, as Quin- maintained the number usually adopted, 
 
 tilian, elementa, " elements ; " others, as that is to say, those ten which make the 
 
 Aristotle, (TX^CITO Karriyopias, " figures, or subject of this treatise. 
 
 forms of predication;" Kar>j7opiai,"predica- See Aristot. Praedic. p. 24, et Metaphys. 
 
 ments;" 7eVrj76j/tKcoTaTo,"the most general p. 79. 100. 104, &c. edit. Sylburg. Quin- 
 
 or comprehensive genera ;" ra irp&ra 761/77, til. 1. iii. c. 6. Ammon. in Praedicam. p. 16, 
 
 "the primary genera." They differed also 17, &c. edit. Venet. 8vo. 1545. Simplic. 
 
 as to their number. Some made them two, in Praedicam. p. 1 6. V. edit. Basil, fol. 
 
 I subject and accident, or (which is the same) 1551. 
 
 substance and attribute ; others made them As words, by signifying things, through 
 
 i three, dividing accidents into the inherent the medium of our ideas, are essential to 
 
 and circumstantial ; the Stoics held them logic, and arc the materials of every pro- 
 
 to be four, viroKeineva, irota., irtas IXCI/TO, position, the present work may be called 
 
 Kal irpds TI irus fx ot/ra i " subjects, things logical. But as the speculations extend to 
 
 distinguished by qualities, distinguished by physics, to ethics, and even to the first phi- 
 
 being peculiarly circumstanced within them- losophy, they become for that reason some- 
 
 selves, distinguished by being so with refer- tiling more than logical, and have been 
 
 ' enee to something else ;" Plato said they called, with a view to this their compre- 
 
258 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 When enumerated, 8 their several names are in order, as they 
 follow : substance, quality, quantity, relation, action, passion, when, 
 where, position, and habit. 
 
 As each of these ten predicaments has its subordinate dis- 
 tinctions, the basis of our knowledge will be now so amply 
 widened, that we shall find space sufficient on which to build, 
 be our plan diversified and extensive as it may. 
 
 We cannot conclude this chapter without observing, that the 
 doctrine of these categories, these predicaments, these primary 
 genera, or Philosophical Arrangements, is a valuable, a copious, 
 and a sublime theory ; a theory which, when well understood, 
 leads by analogy from things sensible to things intelligible ; from 
 effect to cause ; from that which is passive, unintelligent, and 
 subordinate, to that which is active, intelligent, and supreme : 
 a theory which prepares us not only to study every thing else 
 with advantage, but makes us knowing withal, in one respect, 
 where particular studies are sure to fail ; knowing in the relative 
 value of things when compared one to another ; and modest, of 
 course, in the estimate of our own accomplishments.* 
 
 This is, in fact, the necessary consequence of being shewn to 
 what portion of being every art or science belongs; and how 
 limited that portion, when compared to what remains. The want 
 of this general knowledge leads to an effect the very reverse ; so 
 that men who possess it not, though profoundly knowing in a 
 single art or a single science, are too often carried by such partial 
 knowledge to a blameable arrogance, as if the rest of mankind 
 were busied in pursuits of no value, and themselves the mono- 
 polizers of wisdom and of truth. But this by the way. 
 
 The distinct discussion of each one of these categories, pre- 
 dicaments, arrangements, or genera, will become the business of 
 the following chapters; which discussion, joined to what has 
 been already premised, as well as to such future inquiries as shall 
 naturally arise in consequence, will include all we have to offer 
 upon this interesting subject. 11 
 
 As for propositions, which have for their materials the simple 
 
 hensive character, not logical, but Philo- The Latins, adhering to the same divi- 
 
 Bophical Arrangements. sion, coined new names: arde-prcedicamenta, 
 
 9 T&v Kara /rjjSeyUjcw ffv^irXoK^v \eyo- or pra-pregdicamenta, prcedicamenta, and 
 
 pfvcav, eKaffTov tfroi ovcriav cTTjyucuVei, ^ post-pradicamenta. Sanderson, p. 22. 51. 
 
 iroo'bj', ^ iroibv, 2) irp6s TJ, tf TTou, ^ TTOTe, ^ 55. edit. Oxon. 1672. 
 
 Kffffdai, fy fX lv -> % irotGtv, fy ird<rx iv - Ari- In the present work, the first section 
 
 stot. Prsed. p. 24. edit. Sylb. The passage begins from chapter the first, the second 
 
 needs no other translation than what ap- section from chapter the third, the third 
 
 pears in the text. section from chapter the fifteenth. Of 
 
 1 See the last chapter of this treatise. these sections, the second (which discusses 
 
 u The Greek logicians divided their the predicaments, or philosophical arrange- 
 
 speculations on this subject into three r/j.^- ments) makes the real and essential part of 
 
 ra, or sections, calling the first section the speculation : the first and third sections 
 
 irpb Ttav Karrryopiuv ; the second, rb are only subservient to it ; the first to pre- 
 
 l avrSiv Kari]yopiS>v ; the third, rb /iera pare, the third to explain. 
 Kwnyopias. Ammon. in Prsedic. p. 1 46. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 259 
 
 terms here enumerated, and for syllogisms, which have for their 
 materials the several species of propositions, both these naturally 
 make subsequent and distinct parts of logic, and must therefore 
 be consigned to some future speculation. 
 
 If we go back further, and recur to theorems of science, or to 
 sciences themselves, these will be found not properly parts of 
 logic, but works of a different and higher character; works 
 where logic serves the philosopher for an instrument or organ, 
 as the chisel serves the statuary, the pencil serves the painter. 
 
 At present we are to proceed to the speculation concerning 
 substance. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONCERNING SUBSTANCE NATURAL HOW CONTINUED, OR CARRIED ON. 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF THIS CONTINUATION, TWO INCREASED TO THREE 
 
 REDUCED AGAIN TO TWO. THESE LAST TWO, FORM AND A SUBJECT, 
 OR RATHER FORM AND MATTER. 
 
 To explain how natural substances originally began, is a task 
 too arduous for unassisted philosophy. But to inquire after 
 what manner, when once begun, they have been continued, is a 
 work better suited to human abilities : because to a portion of 
 this continuity we are personally present ; nay, within it we our- 
 selves are all included, as so many parts. 
 
 Now as to the manner, in which subsists the continuity of 
 natural substances, and as to the causes x by which that con- 
 tinuity is maintained, there is no one, it is probable, who ima- 
 gines every birth, every recent production that daily happens in 
 the universe, to be an absolutely fresh creation ; a realizing of 
 nonentity ; an evocation (if it may be so described) of something 
 out of nothing. What then is it ? It is a change or mutation 
 out of something which was before. It appears, therefore, that 
 to inquire how natural substances are continued, is to inquire 
 what are the principles of mutation or change. 
 
 First, then, let us observe, what is in fact most obvious, that 
 there can be no mutation or change, were every thing to remain 
 
 x The doctrine of causes, and their dif- explored, and of course had separate and 
 
 ferent species, is treated at large through distinct treatises for logic, physics, and the 
 
 the whole Treatise upon Art, and in the many other branches of science, as well the 
 
 notes subjoined to the same, particularly practical as the speculative. Not so the 
 
 page 59. author of this treatise : he by no means 
 
 The author desires to inform his readers, pretends to emulate the comprehensive va- 
 
 that in the subsequent disquisitions he hath riety of that sublime and acute genius, 
 
 not confined himself merely to logic, but whose writings made him for more than 
 
 has interspersed many speculations of dif- two thousand years the admiration of Gre- 
 
 ferent kinds ; acting in this view differently cians, Romans, Arabians, Jews, and Chris- 
 
 from the model set him by the Stagirite. tians. Such esteem could not have been. 
 
 The Stagirite left no part of philosophy un- the effect either of fashion or of chance. 
 
260 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 precisely one and the same ; hot and cold, precisely as they are, 
 one hot, the other cold ; so likewise crooked and straight, black 
 and white, &c. On the contrary, mutation or change is from 
 one thing into another : y from hot into cold, or from cold into 
 hot ; from straight into crooked, or from crooked into straight ; 
 and so in other instances. It follows hence, that the prin- 
 ciples of mutation or change are necessarily two ; one, a prin- 
 ciple out of which; the other, a principle into which. 
 
 Again, these two principles are not merely casual and teme- 
 rarious. 2 Hot changes not into crooked, but into cold ; crooked 
 not into cold, but into straight ; white not into moist, but into 
 black ; moist not into black, but into dry. The same holds in 
 other instances more complicated. 3 The becoming a statue is a 
 change from indefinite configuration into definite ; the becoming 
 a palace, a change from dispersion into combination, from dis- 
 order into order. Already the principles which we investigate 
 have appeared to be two ; and now it further appears that they 
 must be contraries or opposites. 5 
 
 Authority is not wanting to countenance this last position. 
 The Scripture tells us, c that the earth in the beginning was 
 " without form and void ; and darkness was upon the face of the 
 deep." After thus it became enlightened as well as replenished : 
 replenished with various forms, both vegetable and animal ; 
 enlightened by the sublime command of, " Let there be light, 
 and there was light." In the whole of this progress we may 
 remark contrariety ; formless opposed to form ; void to re- 
 plenished; and darkness to light. 
 
 y Thus Aristotle : Huffa /uera/JoA^ <rriv production of what is musical," &c. Arist. 
 
 e/c Tii/os fts n. He then subjoins the ety- Phys. 1. i. c. 5. p. 14. edit. Sylb. 
 mology of the word /xeraySoA^, to confirm a Kal TO. /j.rj air\a roov UVTWV, aAAa 
 
 his doctrine : SrjAoT yap Kal Toftvo/j.a. Mer' arvvQtra, Kara rbv avrbv c%ei \6yov ^re 
 
 &\\o yap ri, KOI rb n\v irp6repov SrjAo?, rb yap oiKia yiverai CK TOV /j.^ avyKfTiffQa^ 
 
 8' vffrcpov : " even the name," says he, dAA& Siyprjffdai raSt 5i" Kal 6 avSplas Kal 
 
 " shews it : for it is something after some- TU>V eer^Tj/LumayteVcoj' ri e ao'x^/ioo'wj/T/s, 
 
 thing else ; and one of these things denotes Kal eKaffrov rovruv TO fj.lv rdis, ra Se 
 
 prior, the other denotes subsequent" Physic. crvvQecris rts fffriv: " Beings, too, which are 
 
 lib. v. c. 1. p. 95. edit. Sylb. not simple, but composite, admit the same 
 
 z Thus the same author : 'Airavruv ruiv reasoning for the house is formed from 
 
 OVTWV ou&ei/ ofrre Troteli/ iretyvKev, otfre irdff- certain materials, which are not previously 
 
 X^iv rb rvxbv inrb rov rvxtrros, ovSe so compounded [as to make a house], but 
 
 yiyverai onovv Q Srovovv dAAa XevKov which lie separate ; and the statue, and 
 
 IJikv yiyvtrai ^ ov Aey/cov, Kal TOVTOV OVK every one of those things which have 
 
 c/c Traj/T^s, aAA 1 6/c fj.e\avos 1) TJV /iero^u, figure given them, are formed out of some- 
 
 Kal fj.ovcriKbv, K. r. A. " Universally with thing which wants that figure ; and each 
 
 regard to all beings whatever, no one being production has a different name ; sometimes 
 
 is formed by nature either to act upon any it is order, sometimes it is composition." 
 
 other indifferently, or to be acted upon in- Arist. Phys. 1. i. c. 5. p. 14, 15. 
 differently ; nor is any thing produced or b See the same author in the same trea- 
 
 generated [indiscriminately] out of any tise, p. 11, 12, &c. Sec also the quotation 
 
 thing ; but white is generated or produced in the text from Scripture, which imme- 
 
 out of something not wliite ; and this, not diately follows, as well as the subsequent 
 
 every thing that may be so called, but notes. 
 either out of black, or some of the inter- c Genesis, chap. i. 
 mediate colours. The same holds as to the 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 261 
 
 Among the ancient philosophers, some held the principles of 
 things to he hot and cold ; others, to be moist and dry ; others, 
 to be dense and rare ; others, in a more abstracted way, to be 
 excess and defect ; even and odd ; friendship and strife. Among 
 the moderns, we know the stress laid on action and reaction ; 
 attraction and repulsion; expansion and condensation; cen- 
 tripetal and centrifugal : to which may be added those two 
 principles, held by many ancients as well as moderns, the prin- 
 ciples of atoms and a void,' 1 which two stand opposed nearly as 
 "being and non-being. 
 
 We shall subjoin the following passage from a treatise of 
 ancient date, because in it the force of contraries is exemplified 
 with elegance. 
 
 "Some (says an ancient author) 6 have wondered how the 
 world, if it be composed, as it appears, out of contrary prin- 
 ciples, (the dry, the moist, the cold, and the hot,) has not for 
 ages ago been ruined and destroyed. As if indeed men should 
 wonder how a city could subsist, composed (as it is) out of con- 
 trary tribes, (I mean, the poor and the opulent, the young and 
 the aged, the weak and the strong, the good and the bad,) and 
 be ignorant that this of all things is most admirable in political 
 concord ; I mean, that by admitting every nature and every 
 fortune, it forms out of many dispositions one disposition ; and 
 out of dissimilar ones, a similar. Perhaps also nature herself 
 has an affection for contraries, and chooses out of these to form 
 the consonant, and not out of things similar ; so that in the 
 same manner as she associated the male to the female, and not 
 each to its own sex, did she establish through contraries, and 
 not similars, the first and original concord. Art, too, in imita- 
 tion of nature, appears to do the same. Thus painting, by 
 blending the natures of things white and black, pale and red, 
 produces representations consonant to their originals. Thus 
 music, by mixing together sounds that are sharp and flat, that 
 are long and short, out of different voices produces one har- 
 mony. Thus grammar, by forming a mixture out of vowels and 
 
 d " Democritus," says Aristotle, " holds tions more modern. The tract itself stands 
 
 the solid and the void," TO areptbv KO! the fifth in the volume of Aristotle's phy- 
 
 Kfvbv, " to be principles," u>v rb ^ei/ ws &z/, sical pieces, according to Sylburgius's edi- 
 
 rb 5' us OVK OP GIVO.I </)r/(tt, u of which he tion, and the passage here translated may 
 
 says the one is the same as beiny, the other be found, cap. 5. page 12, of that edition, 
 
 the same as non-bcinf/.' 1 ' 1 See Arist. Phys. beginning at the words, Kai roi ye rts 
 
 1. i. c. 5. p. 13. See also c. 4. p. 11, where e'0au/ia<re TTWS irore el IK ru>v eVai/TtW, 
 
 the other contraries are explained at large. K.T. \. In Apuleius the words are, Et qui- 
 
 e See the treatise, ITepl /cJ(r/x.ou. It is busdam mirum videri solet, quod, cum ex 
 
 given to Aristotle, and always makes a part diversis, &c. p. 731. edit, in Usum Delphini. 
 
 of his works ; but although it be of genuine quarto. 
 
 antiquity, and truly sublime, both in Ian- See Fabricius's Biblioth. Graec. vol. ii. p. 
 
 guage and sentiment, yet some have thought 127; where the learned author, with his 
 
 it of a later period, and not written in the usual labour and accuracy, has collected all 
 
 close manner and style of Aristotle. A the sentiments both of ancients and moderns 
 
 translation of it is extant, as old as by the on this valuable work, 
 philosopher Apuleius, besides other transla- 
 
262 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 mutes, through these hath established the whole of its art. And 
 this is what appears to have been the meaning of that obscure 
 philosopher Heraclitus. You are, says he, to connect the 
 perfect and the imperfect, the agreeing and the disagreeing, the 
 consonant and the dissonant ; and out of all things, one ; mid out 
 of one, all things" 
 
 Thus far this ingenious author, with regard to whose doctrine, 
 as well as that of the many others already mentioned, we 
 cannot but remark, that whatever may have caused such an 
 unanimity of opinion, whether it were that men adopted it from 
 one another by a sort of tradition, or were insensibly led to it 
 by the latent force of truth ; all philosophers, of all ages, appear 
 to have favoured contrariety, and given their sanction to the 
 hypothesis, that principles are contraries/ 
 
 But further still : " It is impossible for contrarieties to co- 
 exist, in the same place, at the same instant." It is impossible, 
 for example, that in the same place and instant should co-exist 
 cold and hot, crooked and straight, dispersion and combina- 
 tion, disorder and order. As therefore the principles of change 
 are contraries, and contraries cannot co-exist, it follows that 
 one principle must necessarily depart, as the other accedes. 
 Thus in the mutation out of disorder into order, when the prin- 
 ciple into which, that is, order accedes, the principle out of which, 
 that is, disorder departs. The same happens in all other in- 
 stances. 
 
 A question then arises. If one of them necessarily depart 
 as soon as the other accedes, how can nature possibly maintain 
 the continuity of her productions? To depart, is to be no more, 
 a sort of annihilation, or death ; to accede, is to pass into being, 
 a sort of production, or birth. They cannot co-exist, because 
 they are absolutely incompatible ; g so that upon this hypothesis 
 there can be no continuity at all, but every new production 
 must be a realizing of nonentity, a fresh and genuine evocation 
 of something out of nothing, 
 
 If this in the continuity of beings appear a difficulty, let us 
 try whether we can remove it by any aid not yet suggested. 
 Orooked, we are told, is changed into straight, a contrary into a 
 
 * TldvTfs yap ra (froi^cTa ai ras VTT* Tidrys : " That we should not make two 
 
 avrcav Ka\ov/J.evas apxas, Kaiirep &vev \6yov principles only, has some appearance of 
 
 Ti0e/T6s, ftfius TavavTia \eyovffip, Sxrirep reason: for a man may well doubt, how 
 
 UTT' avrrjs TT)S aXyOeias avayKcurQevTes : density should be formed by nature to make 
 
 " For all philosophers hold the elements and rarity, or this last, density ; and so in like 
 
 those other causes, which they call prin- manner with respect to any other contrariety 
 
 eiples, (though they suppose them, without whatever." Arist, Phys. 1. i. c. 6. p. 16. 
 giving a reason,) to be contraries, compelled, Simplicius well observes rb /j.ev yap 
 
 as it were, to do so by truth itself." Aristot. iroiovv ets virofifvov ri irote*' rb Se fvavriov 
 
 Phys. 1. L c. 5. p. 15. ov% uTro/xeVet rb tvavriov : "That which 
 
 K Tb ^ iroifiv Svo it,6vov, %x fi rtva ^yov acts, acts upon something which remains ; 
 
 airop-htrcie yap av ris, ira>s f) TrvKv6rT]s r^v but contrary does not remain and wait for 
 
 fj-avorrira Troieiv 7re<J>vi/, ^ avr)) rrjt/ TTVK- contrary." Simpl. in Praed. p. 43. B. edit. 
 
 fytotcos 5c Kal &\\ii biroiavovv evav- Basil. 155L 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARKANGEMENTS. 
 
 263 
 
 contrary ; one of which necessarily departs, and the other 
 accedes. We admit it. But is there not something which, 
 during the change, neither departs nor accedes? Something 
 which remains, and is all along still one and the same. h 
 
 The stick, for example, changes from crooked into straight ; 
 and if there was not a stick, or something analogous, no such 
 change could be effected. Yet is it less a stick for becoming 
 straight ; or was it more so when crooked I Does it not remain, 1 
 considered as a stick, precisely, in either case, one and the 
 same 2 As therefore the stick is to crooked and straight, so is 
 the bar of iron to hot and cold ; the brass of the statue to figure 
 and deformity ; the stones of the palace to order and confusion ; 
 and something, analogous in other changes, to other contraries, 
 not enumerated. 
 
 If, therefore, we were right in what we asserted before, and 
 are so in what we assert now, it should seem that the princi- 
 ples of change or mutation were three : k one, that which de- 
 
 Kal T a.fjLovffcp elvaC Kal Tb p.ev 
 Tb 8' ovx virofievfi' Tb p,ev 
 virop-eveC (6 yap avBpairos foro/xeVei) Tb 8e 
 a/jLovffov ovx faofui'ti: "It is necessary 
 that in every production there should be a 
 subject, [or a substratum,] and this, though 
 one numerically, yet not one in form, (I 
 mean, by one in form, the same as one in 
 reason, in detail, or definition.) Thus it is 
 not the same thing to be a man, and to be 
 a being immusical, or void of musical art. 
 [In the formation of a musician,] the one 
 remains, the other remains not ; the subject 
 or substratum remains, (for man remains ;) 
 the being immusical, or void of musical art, 
 remains not," [for that is lost as soon as he 
 becomes an artist] Arist. Phys. 1. i. c. 7. 
 p. 18. edit. Sylb. 
 
 The production, or formation here spoken 
 of, means the becoming a musician by the 
 acquisition of the musical art. The same 
 reasoning may be applied to any other art 
 or science, which man, as man, is capable 
 of acquiring. 
 
 Again, the same philosopher: "En rb 
 fj.ev inro/jLevei, Tb 8' evavTiov ovx v^OfJ.fVfi' 
 effTiv apa Tl TplTov irapa TO. evavTia: 
 " Add to this (says he) there is something 
 [in productions of all kinds] which remains ; 
 but the contrary does not remain ; there is 
 therefore some third thing over and above 
 the contraries." Metaph. A. p. 196. edit 
 Sylb. 
 
 If there appear a difficulty in the first 
 quotation of this note, concerning a subject 
 being one numerically, but not so in form, 
 or character, see note on the word privation^ 
 in the first part of the following chapter. 
 
 k Aforep, et TIS TOV TC irpfaepov a\i)9r) 
 vop.ivei.ev elvat \6yov , Kal TQVTOV' b-vayKouav, 
 (I /ue\\(i Hiaffufftiv a/j.<poTepovs avTovs. 
 
 h Kal TOVTO op6js \eyei Aioyev-rjs, STI el 
 JJ.T) e i/bs airavTa, OUK aV ^v Tb iroieiv Kal 
 Trao~x f w vir y aAATjAtof' olov Tb 6epf4.bv 
 tyvxeo-Qai, KOI TOVTO Qepp.aiveo~Qai irdXii'' 
 ov yap T] 6epfj.6Tr)s yuera/JaAAei Kal 77 fyv- 
 els aAA^Aa, aAAo Srj\o^ OTI Tb 
 &o~Te ev ois Tb iroielv earl /cat 
 /, avdyKr) TOVTWV jj.lav elvai T^V 
 'jcriv : " And this is rightly 
 said by Diogenes, that if all things were 
 not out of one thing, it would not be pos- 
 sible for them to act, or be acted upon by 
 one another : for example, that what is hot 
 should become cold ; or reciprocally, that 
 this should become hot ; for it is not the 
 heat or the coldness which change into one 
 another, but it is that evidently changes 
 which is the subject of these affections: 
 whence it follows, that in those things 
 where there is acting, and being acted upon, 
 it is necessary there should belong to them 
 some one nature, their common subject." 
 Arist. de Gener. et Cor. lib. i. c. 6. p. 20. 
 edit Sylb. 
 
 Aristotle, who gives this quotation, well 
 remarks, that it was too much to affirm this 
 of all things, but that it should be confined 
 to such things only as reciprocally act, and 
 are acted upon ; and so in his comment we 
 may perceive he restrains them. 
 
 See more of this one being, the common 
 subject, or substratum, in the following 
 chapter. 
 
 The Diogenes here mentioned was a con- 
 temporary of Anaxagoras, and lived many 
 years before the cynic of the same name. 
 See Diog. Laert. ix. 57. 
 
 ' "On 8e? aei TI fnroKe'to'dai Tb yiyvd- 
 Hevov^ Kal TOVTO el Kal apiB/j.^ eo~T\v !/, 
 aAA' efSei ye ovx * v ' ( T ^ yty eiSei Ae'yy, 
 Kal \6ycp Ta.vr6v.) ov yap Tavrbv avOpwiry 
 
264 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 parts ; another, that which accedes ; and a third, that which re- 
 mains. Take an example or two from man. The healthful de- 
 parts ; the morbid accedes ; the body remains. The morbid de- 
 parts ; the healthful accedes ; the body remains. It is thus we 
 change reciprocally as well to better as to worse. 
 
 It may be observed of these three principles, that two of 
 them, being contraries, maintain a perpetual warfare ; 
 
 Haud bene conveniunt, nee in una sede morantur : 
 
 the third, like a neutral power, preserves an intercourse with 
 both, and sometimes associates with one, and sometimes with 
 the other. It may be observed also of the two hostile or con- 
 trary principles, that one of them appertains, for the most part, 
 to the better co-arrangement ' of things, and one to the baser : 
 
 guage of Ecclesiasticus, chap, xxxiii. 14, 15. 
 and xlii. 24. 
 
 See (besides the quotations mentioned 
 already) Ethic. Nicom. 1. i. c. G. p. 15. edit. 
 Oxon. 1716 ; and Eustratii Com. in Ethic. 
 Nic. p. 1 3. B. 
 
 To the quotations given above may be 
 added the following one from Varro. 
 
 Pythagoras Samius ait omnium rerum 
 initia esse Bina : ut finitum et infinitum, 
 bonum et malum, vitam et mortem, diem et 
 noctem ; quare item duo, status et motus. 
 Quod stat aut agitur, corpus : ubi agitatur 
 locus : dum agitatur, tempus : quod est in 
 agitatu, actio. Quadripartitio magis sic elu- 
 cebit: corpus est, ut cursor: locus, stadium 
 qua currit : tempus, hora qua currit : actio, 
 cursio. Quare fit, ut omnia fere sint qua- 
 dripartita, et ea aeterna ; quod neque un- 
 quam tempus, quin fuerit motus (ejus enim 
 intervallum tempus ;) neque motus, ubi non 
 locus et corpus ; (quod alterum est, quod 
 movetur ; alterum, ubi ;) neque, ubi sit 
 agitatus, non actio ibi. Igitur initiorum 
 quadrigae, locus et corpus, tempus et actio. 
 
 Pythagoras, the Samian, says, that the 
 principles of all things are two and two, 
 or double : as, for example, finite and in- 
 finite, good and evil, life and death, day 
 and night ; and by the same rule, rest and 
 motion. [In these last] that which rests 
 or is agitated is body ; the where it is agi- 
 tated, is place ; the whilst it is agitated, is 
 time; and in the agitation itself we view 
 the action. 
 
 This fourfold division will better appear 
 as follows : Call body, the person who runs ; 
 call place, the course over which he runs ; 
 call time, the hour during which he runs ; 
 and let the race, or running, be called the 
 action. 
 
 Now it happens, that almost all things 
 are in this manner fourfold, and this four- 
 fold division is as it were eternal. The 
 reason is, there never was time, but there 
 
 rt rpirov : " If any one, there- 
 fore, think the former reasoning, and the 
 present reasoning, to be each of them true ; 
 it is necessary, in order to preserve both of 
 them entire and unimpeached, to lay down 
 and establish some third principle." 
 
 He soon after adds: Tb fj.fi/ ofiv rpta 
 <f>dvai ra <rroixf?a ?vai> e/c re TOVTWV Kal 
 CK roioinwv aXXtav firuTKOTrovcri 56eifjs &/ 
 *X* tv TWO. \6yov : ** To say, therefore, that 
 the elements [or principles of things] are 
 three, may appear to have some foundation 
 to those who speculate from these and other 
 reasonings of like sort." Arist. Phys. 1. i. 
 c. 6. p. 16,17. edit. Sylb. 
 
 And again more explicitly in his Meta- 
 physics : Tpia S^/ ra atria, Kal rpe7s at 
 apxai' Swo ptv ?] evavr'uaffis (i)S rb ij.lv 
 \6yos Kal e?5os, rb 5e (rrepr)(Tis') rb 5e 
 rpirov ?) v\fi : " Wherefore the causes of 
 things are three, and the principles are 
 three ; two, the contrariety, (of which con- 
 trariety one part is the definition and form ; 
 the other part, the privation ;) and the 
 third principle, the matter." Metaph. A. 
 p. 197. edit. Sylb. 
 
 1 "Co-arrangement." So I here ventured 
 to translate the word (ru<rrotxta, or awrot- 
 Xeia, for it is written both ways in Ari- 
 stotle. See Metaph. 1. i. c. 5. p. 13 ; 1. iii. 
 c. 2. p. 52. edit. Sylb. 
 
 The Pythagoreans, observing through 
 the world a difference in things as to better 
 and worse, and that this difference often led 
 to a sort of contrariety or opposition, ar- 
 ranged them into two classes, a better class 
 and a worse ; and, placing the two classes 
 by the side of each other, called them 
 ffva-Toixiai, or " co-arrangements." In the 
 better class they put unity, bound, friend- 
 ship, good, &c. ; in the other they put mul- 
 titude, boundless, strife, evil, &c. Some of 
 this school limited the number, others left 
 it indefinite, considering all things as double, 
 one against another, according to the lan- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 265 
 
 to the better appertains figure ; to the baser, deformity : to the 
 better, order ; to the baser, confusion : to the better, health ; to 
 the baser, disease. Now if we call those of the better tribe by 
 the common name of form, and those of the other tribe by the 
 common name of privation, distinguishing the neutral principle 
 withal by the name of subject, we shall then find the three 
 principles of mutation, or change, to be form, privation, and a 
 
 Of these three, if we compare form to privation, we shall find 
 form to be definite and simple; privation to be infinite and 
 vague. Thus there are infinite ways of being diseased, though 
 but one of being healthy ; infinite ways of being vicious, though 
 but one of being virtuous." 
 
 Should it be asked, how privation is one, having this infinite 
 and vague character ; we may answer, because as privation, it 
 is nothing more than the simple absence of that form to which 
 it is opposed. Thus to be diseased, (though the ways are in- 
 finite,) is nothing more than the absence of health ; to be vi- 
 cious, (though the ways are infinite,) nothing more than the 
 absence of virtue. 
 
 And hence, perhaps, it may be possible to reject privation for 
 a principle, and supply its place, when wanted, by its opposite, 
 that is to say, form ; not however by the specific form then ac- 
 tually tending to existence, but by every other congenial form, 
 of which this specific form is the privation. Thus in the pro- 
 ducing of the sphere, its privation may be found in the presence 
 of the pyramid, or of any figure, besides the sphere, whether 
 regular or irregular. Thus in the producing of that harmony 
 called the diapason, its privation may be found in the presence 
 of the diapente, or of any other tensions, besides those of the 
 octave, be they consonant or dissonant. It is certain that by 
 such a reciprocal acceding and receding of all possible forms, by 
 such an absence and presence, by such a continued revolution 
 
 must have been motion, (of which time, in- contraries is privation." Aristot. Metaph. 
 
 deed, is but the interval ;) nor motion, but 1. iii. c. 2. p. 52. edit. Sylb. 
 where there must have been place and By the word oilier, he means the baser 
 
 body ; (one of which is the thing moved ; and subordinate class, to which class he 
 
 the other, that where it is moved ;) nor gives the common name of privation, as in- 
 
 agitation, but where there must have been eluding all the genera therein enumerated, 
 
 action. strife, evil, &c. Arid hence it is, that pri- 
 
 And hence it follows, that place and vation is in this treatise soon after called 
 
 body, time and action, form, as it were, a infinite and vague ; for rb airetpov, " infi- 
 
 joint quaternion of principles. Varr. de nite," made one in this baser arrangement. 
 
 Ling. Lat. 1. iv. p. 7. edit. Amstel. See Blemmidae Epitom. Physic, p. 60. 
 
 We have given this passage at length, Philop. in Arist. Phys. 1. i. sub. fin. 
 not only as it explains co-arrangement, but " 'E(t0Aol /aei/ yap air\ws, iravroSairws 
 
 as it exhibits to us four of those predica- 5e KO.KOI. Theognis. 
 
 ments, or arrangements, which make parts 'luavbv yap etrrat rb frepov TWV tvav- 
 
 of this treatise, viz. substance, when, where, T'KDV Trotelj/ rfj airovaia Kal Trapovqia T??J/ 
 
 action. ^fra^o\-i\v : "One of the two contraries 
 
 m TS>v eVavrtW TJ erf pa <ru<TToixia, (that is to say, form) will be sufficiently 
 
 "The other co-arrangement of able, by its absence and its presence, to 
 
266 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 and periodical succession, supposing a proper subject withal 
 to receive and give them up, we may conceive how changes may 
 be performed, and new substances produced, though (as we have 
 said already) the principle of privation were to be withdrawn. 
 No harm accrues to the doctrine from a supposition like this ; 
 only, if we admit it, we again reduce the principles from three 
 to two ; not however the former two, those that exist in con- 
 trariety, for now we adopt the more amicable ones, those of a 
 form and a subject? or (if we take matter in its proper meaning) 
 those of form and matter. 
 
 It is in these we behold the elements of those composite 
 beings, natural substances. The disquisition makes it expedient 
 to consider each of the two apart, and this we shall therefore do 
 by beginning with matter. 
 
 effect mutation." Aristot. Phys. 1. i. c. 7. 
 p. 20. edit. Sylb. 
 
 On this passage, Themistius thus com- 
 ments. Having inserted the words above 
 quoted, he subjoins #trre -rb elSos r^v 
 X&pav aTTOTT\ripo'i Kal rr/s ffrep^fffcas' f) 
 yap oWpTjens ov (pvo~is ns Kal flSos tcnlv, 
 aAA 1 airov<ria TOV e/Sovs : " So that the form 
 supplies also the place of the privation ; for 
 the privation is itself no particular nature 
 or form, but rather the absence of the form" 
 [which is then passing into existence.] 
 Themistin Arist. Phys. p. 21. B. edit. Aid. 
 
 Simplicius on this occasion explains him- 
 self as follows : Ou jUeVrot iji-l&fff]/ v rots 
 s Qfivai T\\V ffreprjcru/ Kal rb /COT' 
 "tv, Si6ri airovaia fj.6vov ecrrl TOV 
 Si ovSfv oAAo eouT?? ffWfiffdyovffa' 
 i)pKf(rdr) 5e T< efSei p.6vcf /col O.VTOS, ry irap- 
 ovffia rfj eavrov Kal rfj oiroya'ta Swafifvy 
 rty yfVfffiv Kal r^v <f>0opav enroSiSovai : 
 "Aristotle has not deigned to place among the 
 elements [of natural productions] privation, 
 and that mode of non-being which is con- 
 sonant to it ; because privation is no more 
 than the absence of the thing produced, 
 introducing along with itself no other par- 
 ticular attribute. He himself also has been 
 satisfied with the form alone, as being able 
 by its presence and its absence to effect 
 both generation and dissolution." Simplic. 
 in Aristot. Phys. lib. i. p. 54. edit. Aid. fol. 
 1526. 
 
 Perhaps Simplicius alludes to what Ari- 
 stotle says in the following passage: 'H Se 
 ye fj.6p<pr) Kal 77 (pvcris Six&s \eyeraC Kal 
 yap rj ffrfp^ffis flS6s TTWS forty : " the 
 terms form and nature have a double 
 meaning : for in one sense even privation 
 is form." Physic. Aristot. 1. ii. c. 1. 
 
 Philoponus gives a pertinent instance to 
 explain how privation may be form. He 
 tells us, 'H yap AvSios ap/movia yiyvcrai IK 
 rrjs avapfj-offrias TTJS AvSiov. oAA' f} AvSios 
 avapfjioffrla Svvarai flvai Qpvyios ap/j-ovia, 
 t) erfpa ns' Svvarai Se Kal airXus avap- 
 /jLOffria flvai TUIV xopSw*' oiruffovv exou<rcD', 
 Kal TOVTO irotKiXcDS a\\orf &\\oos cViTeTO- 
 /jLevuv fmXXoV) f) aveifj.evd)V : " The Lydian 
 mode or harmony is made out of Lydian 
 dissonance, [that is, before the strings of a 
 lyre were tuned to that mode, they were 
 tuned after another manner, which manner 
 he calls properly, Lydian dissonance.] Now 
 Lydian dissonance may be the Phrygian 
 mode or harmony, or it may be any other 
 of the modes, [Doric, Ionic, &c. ;] it may 
 also be simply the dissonance of the strings 
 under any casual tension, and that in 
 various and different ways, either as they 
 are more stretched, or more relaxed," [that 
 is, either sharper or flatter.] Philop. in 
 Physic. 1. i. p. 45. 
 
 This shews that the Phrygian mode in 
 this example, though clearly a form of har- 
 mony, is nevertheless, when referred to the 
 Lydian mode, as much a privation as any 
 casual tension of the strings, totally void of 
 all concord. 
 
 P This is implied in the words OTI 
 yiyverai airav <-K Tf rov vtroKfifievov Kal 
 rrjs /J.op<j>rjs : " that every thing is made or 
 produced out of a subject and a figure." 
 Arist. Physic. 1. i. c. 7. p. 19. 
 
 " Figure," /j.op<p)), means the same with 
 ?5os, " form ; " viroKfip.fvov^ " subject," 
 means the same with v\tj, " matter." See 
 the treatise just quoted, particularly to- 
 wards the conclusion of the first book. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 267 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONCERNING MATTER AN IMPERFECT DESCRIPTION OF IT ITS NATURE, 
 
 AND THE NECESSITY OF ITS EXISTENCE, TRACED OUT AND PROVED 
 
 FIRST BY ABSTRACTION THEN BY ANALOGY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM 
 
 MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 MATTER is that elementary constituent in composite substances, 
 which appertains in common to them all, q without distinguishing 
 them from one another. But it is fitting to be more explicit. 
 
 Every thing generated or made, whether by nature or art, is 
 generated or made out of something else ; and this something 
 else is called its subject or matter. Such is iron to the saw ; such 
 is timber to the boat. 
 
 Now this subject or matter of a thing, being necessarily 
 previous to that thing^s existence, is necessarily different from 
 it, and not the same. Thus iron, as iron, is not a saw ; and 
 timber, as timber, is not a boat. Hence then one character of 
 every subject or matter, that is, the character of negation or 
 tion. 
 
 Again, though the subject or matter of a thing be not that 
 thing, yet were it incapable of becoming so, it could not be 
 called its subject or matter. Thus iron is the subject or matter 
 of a saw, because, though not a saw, it may still become a saw. 
 On the contrary, timber is not the subject or matter of a saw, 
 because it not only (as timber) is no saw, but can never be 
 made one, from its very nature and properties. Hence, then, 
 besides privation, another character of every subject or matter, 
 arid that is the character of aptitude or capacity. 
 
 Again, when one thing is the subject or matter of many 
 things, it implies a privation of them all, and a capacity to 
 them all. r Thus iron, being the subject or matter of the saw, 
 
 i If we compare the beginning of this " This [that is, the form] is characteristic 
 
 chapter with the beginning of the following, of every being's essence ; for as to the 
 
 it will appear that, though matter and form matter, it is common" [and runs through 
 
 are the elements, or inherent parts of every all.] 
 
 composite substance, yet they essentially Ammonius says expressly, 'H p*v yap 
 differ, inasmuch as matter being common, v\r) Koivuvlas tffrlv curia rots irpaypacri, 
 form peculiar, form gives every such sub- TO Se eTSos 8ia<f>opas : " Matter, with regard 
 stance its character, while matter gives it to things, is the cause of their general corn- 
 none, munity, or common nature ; form, the cause 
 
 Thus Philoponus: Kar' avrb yap [TO of their peculiar difference." Ammon. in 
 
 flSos scil.] x a P aKrj "npLC ovrai T & Tfpayfj.ara, Cat. p. 25. B. 
 
 KOTO Se Trjv V\TIV ouSej/ a\\-f]\uv Sia^e- r Privation and capacity are essential to 
 
 povffi: "By form, things are characterized; every thing which bears the name of 
 
 by matter, they differ not one from another." matter ; and this is the meaning of the fol- 
 
 Com. in Physic. Arist. p. 55. D. And soon lowing passage : &rri 8e TO viroKci/jifvov 
 
 after, &.IOTI avrb x a P aKT 'nP ia " riK ^ v ^ ffri a.piQ/j. p*v V, eiSet Se S6o : " the subject 
 
 rrjs fK<i<rTov ovffias' rf yap V\TJ, Koivr) : or matter is one numerically, but in cha- 
 
268 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 the axe, and the chisel, implies privation and capacity with 
 respect to all three. 
 
 Again, we can change a saw into a chisel, but not into a 
 boat ; we can change a boat into a box, but not into a saw. 
 The reason is, there can be no change or mutation of one thing 
 into another, where the two changing beings do not participate 
 the same matter. 3 But even here, were the boat to moulder 
 and turn to earth, and that earth by natural process to metallize 
 and become iron, through such progression as this we might 
 suppose even the boat to become a saw. Hence therefore it is, 
 that all change is by immediate or mediate participation of the 
 same matter. 
 
 Having advanced thus far, we must be careful to remember, 
 first, that every subject or matter implies, as such, privation and 
 capacity ; and next, that all change or mutation of beings into 
 one another, is by means of their participating the same common 
 matter. This we have chosen to illustrate from works of art, 
 as falling more easily under human cognizance and observation. 
 It is however no less certain as to the productions of nature, 
 though the superior subtlety in these renders examples more 
 difficult. 
 
 The question then is, whether in the world which we inhabit, 
 it be not admitted from experience, as well as from the confes- 
 sion of all philosophers, that substances of every kind, whether 
 natural or artificial, either immediately or mediately pass one 
 into another ; that we suppose at present no realizings of 
 nonentity, but that reciprocal deaths, dissolutions, and diges- 
 
 racter it is two ;" that is to say, two, as it See p. 263, note z, and note t, p. 269. 
 has a capacity to become a thing, and yet s This reasoning has reference to what 
 
 is under a privation, till it actually become the ancients called v\i) irpoffexfys, " the 
 
 so. Aristot. Physic. 1. i. p. 17. And soon immediate matter," in opposition to U'ATJ 
 
 after, he says : erepov yap TO avQp<air<f Kal Trptorri, " the remote or primary matter," 
 
 ry a/j-ovcry e?j/cu, Kal rtp aKT^Tj/uaTitTTw Kal of which more will be said in the course of 
 
 XaA/c<: "it is a different thing to be a this speculation. 
 
 man, and to be void of the musical art ; it It is of the immediate matter we must 
 
 is a different thing to be void of figure, and understand the following passage : 'Ei/Se- 
 
 to be brass." As much as if he had said, X fTai ^f, pins TTJS t/Ar/s o&rrjs erepa 
 
 that the man, before he became a musical yiyveffBai 5ia t^v Kivovffav alriav' olov e 
 
 artist, had both a capacity for that cha- uAou Kal KifiuTOs Kal K\ivi}' fricav Se 
 
 racter, and a privation of it ; the brass a crtpa rj v\r] e avdyKris, erepwv ovruv. 
 
 similar capacity and privation, before it olov irpiusv OVK &v yevoiro K vAot, ouS' 
 
 was cast into a statue. M rrj KIVOIHTTI alria rovro : " It is possible, 
 
 Thus too Themistius : Kai TOI ^yo^ei/ that, the matter being one and the same, 
 
 TTJS uATjs rb e?wt ev TO? ovvd^c f) 5e 8vva/j.is different things by the efficient cause should 
 
 Sr]\ov6ri fj.era ffrep'f)<re(as' ouSe yap en be formed out of it ; as, for example, that 
 
 SwafMis e?7j, jit}) <r\)v avrrj iravrws Kal rrjs out of wood should be formed a box and a 
 
 (rTepTjcrecos 1/oov/u.evTjs : " We say the es- bed. But then with regard to sonic things, 
 
 sence of matter is in capacity ; and capacity which are different, the matter is of neces- 
 
 is evidently connected with privation ; since sity different also. It is thus, for example, 
 
 it would no longer be capacity, could pri- that a saw cannot be made out of wood ; 
 
 vation in no sense be understood, as exist- nor is this a work in the power of the 
 
 ing with it."" Themist. in Aristot. Physic, efficient cause." Arist. Metaph. H. /ce</>. 5'. 
 
 p. 21. edit. Aid. p. 138. edit. Sylb. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 2G9 
 
 lions, support by turns all substances out of each other, so that, 
 as Hamlet says, from the idea of this rotation, 
 
 Imperial Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, 
 May stop a hole, to keep the winds away. 
 
 The question, in short, is, whether, in this world which we inhabit, 
 there be not an universal mutation of all things into all. 1 If 
 there be, then must there be some one primary matter, common 
 to all things ; I say, some one primary matter, and that common 
 to all things, since, without some such matter, such mutation 
 would be wholly impossible. 
 
 But if there be some one primary matter, and that common 
 to all things ; this matter must imply, not (as particular and 
 subordinate matters do) a particular privation, and a particular 
 capacity, but, on the contrary, universal privation, and universal 
 capacity. 1 " 
 
 If the notion of such a being appear strange and incom- 
 prehensible, we may further prove the necessity of its existence 
 from the following considerations. 
 
 Either there is no such general change, as here spoken of, 
 which is contrary to fact, and would destroy the sympathy and 
 
 ' The Peripatetics, according to the er- 
 roneous astronomy by them adopted, sup- 
 posed the fixed stars, the planets, the sun, 
 and the moon, to move all of them round 
 the earth, attached to different spheres, 
 which moved and carried them round, the 
 earth itself being immoveable, and placed 
 in the centre of the universe. This motion, 
 purely and simply local, was the only one 
 they allowed to these celestial bodies, 
 which in essence they held to be perfectly 
 unchangeable. Things on the surface of 
 this earth, (such as plants and animals,) and 
 things between that surface and the moon, 
 (such as clouds, meteors, winds, &c.) these 
 they supposed obnoxious to motions of a 
 more various and complicated character ; 
 motions which changed them in their qua- 
 lities and quantities, and which even led 
 to their generation and dissolution, to life 
 and to death. Hence the whole tribe of 
 these mutable and perishable beings were 
 called sublunary, because the region of their 
 existence was beneath the sphere of the 
 moon. It was here existed those elements 
 which, as Milton tells us, 
 
 in quaternion run 
 
 Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
 And nourish all things. Par. Lost. 
 
 It was here that Aristotle held 3-rt irav 
 fK na.vT'bs yivecrOai irec^u/ce, " that every 
 thing was naturally formed to arise out of 
 every thing." Lib. de Ortu et Int. p. 39. 
 rd it. Sylb. 
 
 ( teellus Lucaims (from whom, and from 
 Archytas, Timaeus, and the other Pytha- 
 
 goreans, both Plato and Aristotle borrowed 
 much of their philosophy) elegantly calls 
 this imaginary sphere of the moon's orbit, 
 i<r6fj.bs adavaatas /cat yev-fi<T<as, "the 
 isthmus of immortality and generation ;" 
 that is, the boundary which lies between 
 things immortal and things transitory. 
 Gale's Opusc, Mythog. p. 516. 
 
 The Stoics went further than this isth- 
 mus. They did not confine these changes 
 to a part only of the universe ; they sup- 
 posed them to pass through the whole ; 
 and to continue without ceasing, till all was 
 at length lost in their ^Kirvpuais, or " ge- 
 neral conflagration ;" after which came a 
 new world, and then a new conflagration, 
 and so on periodically. Diog. Laert. vii. 
 135, 141, 142. 
 
 u Tb TTpUTOV VTTOKei/JLfVO^ SwdfAfVOV 
 
 aird(ras 5e^(T0at ras /uop^as, sv arcp^ffft 
 jueV Iffriv airaauv : " The primary subject 
 or matter, having a capacity to admit all 
 forms, exists in a privation of them all." 
 Themist. in Aristot. Physic, p. 21. 
 
 Themistius well distinguishes between 
 two words, expressing the same being; I 
 mean, viroK^i^vov and #Ar?. The first he 
 makes the subject or substratum of some- 
 thing actually existing ; the other, that 
 matter which has a capacity of becoming 
 many things, before it actually becomes any 
 one of them. 
 
 This is that one being, mentioned by 
 Diogenes, whose words we have quoted in 
 the preceding chapter, p. 2G3, note h. 
 
270 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 congeniality of things ; or if there be, there must be a matter of 
 the character here established, because without it (as we have 
 said) such change would be impossible. 
 
 Add to this, however hard universal privation may ap- 
 pear, yet had the primary matter in its proper nature any one 
 particular attribute, so as to prevent its privation from being 
 unlimited and universal, such attribute would run through all 
 things, and be conspicuous in all. If it were white, all things 
 would be white ; if circular, they would be circular ; and so as 
 to other attributes, which is contrary to fact/ Add to this, that 
 the opposite to such attribute could never have existence, unless 
 it were possible for the same thing to be at once and in the 
 same instance both white and black, circular and rectilinear, &c. 
 since this inseparable attribute would necessarily be everywhere, 
 because the matter, which implies it, is itself everywhere ; at 
 least, may be found in all things that are generated and perish- 
 able. 
 
 Here, then, we have an idea (such as it is) of that singular 
 being, v\rj Trpwrrj, the " primary matter ;"" a being which those 
 philosophers, who are immerged in sensible objects, know not 
 well how to admit, though they cannot well do without it ; y a 
 being, which flies the perception of every sense, and which is at 
 best even to the intellect but a negative object, no otherwise 
 comprehensible than either by analogy or abstraction. 
 
 "This argument is taken from Plato, way of metaphor, from signifying "timber" 
 
 Speaking of the primary matter, he says, or " wood," the common materials in many 
 
 "Op.oiov yap fcj> ruv ^TTfiffi6vT<i3V Tti/i, TO TTJS works of art. Hence it was that Ocellus, 
 
 evavTias, rd re rrjs irapdirav &\\ys (puaews, Timaeus, and Plato employ various words, 
 
 dirtr' f\6oi, Sex^uei'OJ', KaKa>s Uv oujtxtytoto?, and all of them after the same metaphorical 
 
 r^v avrou irapfj.<paiv<i)v otyiv : "Were it manner, when they would express the na- 
 
 like any of those things that enter into it, ture of this mysterious being. Ocellus calls 
 
 in such case, when it came to receive things it, Traj/Sexes Kal eK/j-ayeTov TTJS yei/eVews, 
 
 of a nature contrary and totally different " the universal recipient, and impression of 
 
 from itself, it would exhibit them ill, by things generated," as wax receives impres- 
 
 shewing its own nature along with them sions from various seals. Timseus uses the 
 
 at the same time." Plat. Tim. p. 50. word v\a in the Doric dialect, and explains 
 
 Thus Chalcidius, in commenting the pas- it (like Ocellus) by tK/j.aye'ioi', to which he 
 
 sage here quoted : Si sit aliquid candidum, adds the appellations of parepa Kal nQdvav, 
 
 ut tyifjLfj.vdiov, deinde oporteat hoc transferri " mother and nurse." Plato calls it, first, 
 
 in alium colorem, vel diversum, ut ruborem irda-ris yevecrecas u7ro5oxV olov riQi\vr\v, 
 
 sive pallorem, vel contrarium, ut atrum ; " the receptacle of all generation, as its 
 
 tune candor non patietur introeuntes colores nurse ;" then, iravrbs ai(T6r)Tov /nrjTepa Kal 
 
 synceros perseverare, sed permixtione sui faroSoxV? "the mother and receptacle of 
 
 faciet interpolatos. Chalcid. in Tim. Com. every sensible object." Gale's Opusc. My- 
 
 p. 434. tholog. p. 516. 544. Platon. Tim. p. 47. 
 
 Hence we see the propriety of those de- 51. edit. Serr. See Hermes, p. 205, note c. 
 scriptions which make the primary matter Aristotle also observes, consistently with 
 
 to be "void of body, of quality, of bulk, of one of the above expressions, f) /j.ei> yap 
 
 figure," &c. : dtrceS/toTos, airoios, a/ie-yeflrjs, viro^zvovcra, ffwairia rfj popfyrj rcov yu/ofj.4- 
 
 acrxy/J-dTurTos, apopcpos, K. r. A. vu>v f<rrlu, 8><nrfp ^rrip : " that the matter, 
 
 y So strange a being is it, and so little by remaining, is in concurrence with the 
 
 comprehensible to common ideas, that the form, a cause of things generated, under 
 
 Greeks had no name for it in their language, the character of a mother." Phys. 1. i. c. P. 
 
 until v\ti came to be adopted as the proper p. 22. edit. Sylb. 
 word, which was at first only assumed by 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 271 
 
 We gain a glimpse of it by abstraction, when we say that the 
 first matter is not the lineaments and complexion, which make 
 the beautiful face ; nor yet the flesh and blood, which make 
 those lineaments, and that complexion ; nor yet the liquid and 
 solid aliments, which make that flesh and blood ; nor yet the 
 simple bodies of earth and water, which make those various ali- 
 ments ; but something which, being below all these, and sup- 
 porting them all, is yet different from them all, and essential to 
 their existence. 2 
 
 We obtain a sight of it by analogy, when we say, that as is 
 the brass to the statue, the marble to the pillar, the timber to 
 the ship, or any one secondary matter to any one peculiar form ; 
 so is the first and original matter to all forms in general . a 
 
 z Abstraction appears to have been used 
 by Plato : Atb r^v rov yeyovdros dparov 
 Kal iravrbs ai<rdr)rov ^rfpa KOI viroSox^v 
 /x^jTf y^jv, M^ T a-fpa, fj.-f)Te irvp, p.-t]re ttSwp 
 Aeyotfjiev, fA^re oaa e/c rovrcav, /JL^TC e wv 
 ravra yeyovev' oAA' a6parov flS6s ri Kal 
 &/u.op<f>ov, iravSex* 5 ' p-fTO-Xa^dvov 5e cbro- 
 pcarard irr\ rov voyrov, Kal 8vffa\ci)r6rarov 
 avrb \4yovres, ov ij/eucrcfyiefla : " Let us 
 therefore say, that the mother and recep- 
 tacle of every visible, nay, of every sensible 
 production, is neither earth, nor air, nor 
 fire, nor water, nor any of the things which 
 arise out of these, nor out of which these 
 arise, but a certain invisible and formless 
 being, the universal recipient ; concerning 
 which being, if we say it is in a very 
 dubious way intelligible, and something 
 most hard to be apprehended, we shall not 
 speak a falsehood." Plat. Tim. p. 51. edit. 
 Serr. 
 
 Thus Chalcidius : Sublatis quos sunt sin- 
 gulis, quod solum remanet, ipsum esse, quod 
 quaeritur. In Tim. Com. p. 371. 
 
 a The method of reasoning on this sub- 
 ject by analogy was used by Aristotle. 'H 
 5* viroKei/JLfvr) fyvcris eiri(rrr)r'}) Kara ava\o- 
 yiav' &s yap irpbs avSpidvra %a\i>s, ^ 
 Trpbs K\ivT\v |uAoj/, fy -rrpbs ru>v a\\tav ri 
 ruv ^x VT(av fJLOp^v T] v\T] Kal rb a/j.op(pov 
 eX et > irpiv \afieiv r^v /j-op^v ovrcas avrr) 
 irpbs ovffiav e^ei, Kal rb r6$e ri, Kal rb ov. 
 Phys. 1. i. c. 7. p. 20. edit. Sylb. " The sub- 
 ject, nature, (that is, the primary matter,) 
 is knowable in the way of analogy : for as 
 is the brass to the statue, the timber to 
 the bed, or the immediate and formless 
 material to any of those things which have 
 form before it assumes that form, so is 
 this [general and primary] matter to sub- 
 stance, and to each particular thing, and to 
 each particular being." 
 
 Not that Aristotle rejected the argument 
 from abstraction. Aeyca 8' v\t]v 77 Kad' au- 
 rV jUTjre rl, /J-i'ire TTO(rbv, /cdjre aAAo /i-qSei/ 
 ots fapurrai rb ov' cirri ydp TI, Kad' 5 
 
 KarrjyopeTrat rovrcav fKaffrov, $ rb elvai 
 erepov, Kal ruv Karriyopiuv eKdcrrij : " I 
 mean, by matter, that which of itself is not 
 denominated either this particular sub- 
 stance, or that particular quantity, or any 
 other of those attributes, by which being is 
 characterized. It is indeed that, of which 
 each one of these is predicated, and which 
 has an essence different from every one 
 of the predicaments." Metaph. Z. p. 106. 
 edit. Sylb. 
 
 And here we may observe, that as ab- 
 straction and analogy are the two methods 
 by which this strange being (as it has been 
 called) was investigated by the ancient 
 philosophers, so for that reason Timaeus 
 tells us, that it was made known to us, 
 \oyi<T(j.< vod<t>, ** by a spurious kind of rea- 
 soning," p. 545. Plato says the same, 
 only he is more full. Matter, according to 
 him, was /JLGT' avaicrQrifrlas airrbv, \oyicrfjL(a 
 rivl v69<f /j.6yis iriffrAv : " Something tan- 
 gible without sensation, something hard to 
 be believed, and that by means of a spu- 
 rious kind of reasoning." Tim. Plat. p. 52. 
 edit. Serr. 
 
 This spurious reasoning is explained by 
 Timaeus, who says, that matter is so com- 
 prehended, rtf jUTjKw /car* euOvupiav voe"i- 
 <r6ai, " by its not being understood in a di- 
 rect way, but only obliquely, and by im- 
 plication." Opusc. Myth. Gale, p. 545. 
 
 As to the being " tangible without sensa- 
 tion," this means, that though it be an es- 
 sential to body, which appears to make it 
 tangible, yet the abstraction makes it stand 
 under the same character to the touch, as 
 darkness stands to the sight, silence to the 
 hearing ; we cannot be said to see the one, 
 nor to hear the other ; and yet without 
 the help of those two senses we could have 
 no comprehension of those two negations, 
 or, perhaps more properly, those two sensi- 
 ble privations. 
 
 Both Timaeus and Plato drop expressions, 
 as if they considered matter to be place. 
 
272 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 And here, if a digression may be permitted, let us reflect for 
 a moment on the character of old Proteus. 
 
 Omnia transformat sese in miracula rerum, 
 
 Ignemque, horribilemque ferara, fluviumque liquentera. Georg. iv. 
 
 Thus Virgil : thus, before him, Homer ; 
 
 Havra 8e yiyv6fJLfvos tTfip^fferai, offa* eirl yaiav 
 
 'EpTTcra yivovrai, /col tiSup, Kal decnriSafs irvp. 'OSwro: A. 417. 
 
 " Made into all things, all he'll try ; become 
 Each living thing, that creeps on earth ; will glide 
 A liquid stream, or blaze a flaming fire." b 
 
 What wonder, if this singular deity suggests to us that singular 
 being, which we have been just attempting to describe ? The 
 allegory was too obvious to escape the writers of any age, and 
 there are many, we find, by whom it has been adopted. 
 
 Timacus calls it TO'TTOS and x&pa; Plato 
 calls it x^P 01 - an( l e'Spo. Opusc. Myth. p. 
 544. Plat. Tim. p. 52. 
 
 Chalcidius elegantly shews, how in this 
 negative manner it attends all the predica- 
 ments, and serves for a support to each. 
 Essentia est, ut opinor, cum earn species, 
 c. See Com. in. Tim. p. 438. 
 
 b To the poets here quoted may be 
 added, Horace Sat. lib, ii. s. 3. v. 73. 
 Ovid. Metam. viii. 730. 
 
 That great parent of mythology as well 
 as poetry, Homer, not only informs us con- 
 cerning Proteus,but concerning his daughter 
 Eidothea, who discovered her father's abode. 
 
 We shall perceive in the explanations 
 which follow, how this fable applies itself 
 to the subject of the present chapter. 
 
 c "Some," says Eustathius, when he com- 
 ments the passage above cited from Homer, 
 hold " Proteus to be that original matter, 
 which is the receptacle of forms ; that, which 
 being in actuality no one of these forms, is 
 yet in capacity all of them ; which Pro- 
 teus (they add) Eidothea, his daughter, is 
 elegantly said to discover, by leading him 
 forth out of capacity into actuality ; that 
 is, she is that principle of motion which 
 contrives to make him rush into form, and 
 be moved and actuated." 
 
 Heraclides Ponticus, having adopted the 
 same method of explaining, subjoins : 'That 
 hence it was with good reason, that the 
 formless matter was called Proteus ; and 
 that providence, which modified each being 
 with its peculiar form and character, was 
 called Eidothea." 
 
 The words of Eustathius, in the original, 
 are TIpcaTta T\\V irp(a'r6yovov slvai 
 
 ovffa.v jUTfei' TUV eiw*', dwd/J.ei e ra 
 trdvTa. S 877 ripcoTea /caAws \tyerai 77 
 ElSodea tKfpaiveu', 8ia TTJS e'/c rov Swctytei 
 els -r~i}v evepyeiav Trpoayuyris' ^yovv 77 
 
 KtJ>77<m, 77 ets elSos fle'etz/ aurbf, Kal Ktve?- 
 ffBai /iTjxcweoyiiej'Tj. Eustath. in Horn. Odyss. 
 p. 177. edit. Basil. 
 
 We shall only remark, as we proceed, 
 that the etymology here given of Eidothea, 
 els e?8os Offiv, " to rush into form," is in- 
 vented, like many other ancient etymologies, 
 more to explain the word philosophically, 
 than to give us its real origin. It is, per- 
 haps, more profitable, though not equally 
 critical, to etymologize after this manner ; 
 and such appears to have been the common 
 practice of Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics. 
 
 The words of Heraclides are -"no-re TJU- 
 \oyov, r}]v fj.ei/ &/ui.op<pov v\T]v Tlpcarea Ka- 
 Aelb-flcu, rV 8' flSca\OTr\affT-f)(racrav e/caara 
 Up6i/oiav EtSofleW. Hcraclid. Pontic. p. 490. 
 Gale's Opusc. Mythog. 8vo. 
 
 To these Greeks may be subjoined a re- 
 spectable countryman of our own. 
 
 Lord Verulam tells us of Proteus, that 
 he had his herd of seals, or sea-calves ; 
 that these it was his custom every day to 
 tell over, and then to retire into a cavern, 
 and repose himself. Of this we read the 
 following explanation : " That under the 
 person of Proteus is signified matter, the 
 most ancient of all things, next to the 
 Deity ; that the herd of Proteus was no- 
 thing else, than the ordinary species of ani- 
 mals, plants, and metals, into which matter 
 appears to diffuse, and, as it were, to con- 
 sume itself; so that after it has formed 
 and finished those several species, (its task 
 being in a manner complete,) it appears to 
 sleep and be at rest, nor to labour at, at- 
 tempt, or prepare any species further." De 
 Sapientia Vet. c. 13. 
 
 The author's own words are, Sub Protei 
 enim persona materia significatur, omnium 
 rerum post Deum antiquissima. Pecus au- 
 tem, sive grex Protei non aliud videtur 
 esse, quam species ordinariae animalium, 
 plantarum, metallorum, in quibus materia 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONCERNING FORM AN IMPERFECT DESCRIPTION OF IT. PRIMARY 
 
 FORMS, UNITED WITH MATTER, MAKE BODY. BODY MATHEMATICAL 
 BODY PHYSICAL HOW THEY DIFFER. ESSENTIAL FORMS. TRANS- 
 ITION TO FORMS OF A CHARACTER SUPERIOR TO THE PASSIVE AND 
 ELEMENTARY. 
 
 FORM is that elementary constituent in every composite sub- 
 stance, by which it is distinguished and characterized, and 
 known from every other. d But to be more explicit. 
 
 The first and most simple of all extensions is a line. This, 
 when it exists united with a second extension, makes a super- 
 ficies; and these two, existing together with a third, make a 
 solid. Now this last and complete extension we call the first 
 and simplest form ; and when this first and simplest form ac- 
 cedes to the first and simplest matter, the union of the two pro- 
 duces body, which isjfor that reason defined to be "matter triply 
 extended." And thus we behold the rise of pure and original 
 
 generation of things, dividing those things 
 in imagination, which are by nature inse- 
 parable." Ammon. in Praed. p. 62. 
 
 Swcxes IMV ovv ecrrt rb Siaiperbv els 
 ael Siaiperd' Goo/ua Se, rb irdvrri Siaiperov' 
 fjteyeOovs Se, rb fj.V etp' ef, ypa/j.^' rb 8' 
 firl Suo, e7r/7re5of rb 8' eVi rpia, vu^a.' 
 Kal irapa ravra OVK earns a\\o yueyeflos, 
 Sia rb ra rpta Trdvra flvai, Kal rb rpls 
 irdvrri : " Continuous is that, which is di- 
 visible into parts infinitely divisible ; body 
 is that which is every way divisible. Of 
 extensions, that which is divisible one way, 
 is a line ; that which is divisible two ways, 
 is a superficies; that which is divisible 
 three ways, is body; and besides these 
 there is no other extension, because three 
 are all, and thrice [divisible] is every ivay 
 [divisible.] Aristot. de Coelo, 1. i. c. 1. 
 
 In support of this last idea, (that the 
 term three implies all,) Aristotle refers to 
 the common practice of his own language 
 Tcfc /j.fjs yap Svo a/jL(f>(i) \eyo/j.ev, Kal rovs 
 
 videtur se diffundere, et quasi consurnere ; 
 adeo ut, postquam istas species effinxerit, 
 et absolverit, (tanquam penso complete,) 
 dormire et quiescere videatur, nee alias am- 
 plius species moliri, tentare, aut parare. 
 
 d See the first note in the preceding 
 chapter, and page 275. 
 
 * Original body, when we look down- 
 wards, has reference to the primary matter, 
 its substratum ; when we look upwards, 
 becomes itself a v\r), or "matter to other 
 things ;" to the elements, as commonly 
 called air, earth, water, &c. ; and in conse- 
 quence to all the variety of natural pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 Hence it is, that Ammonius, speaking of 
 the first matter, says, avri) ovv, toyKa>- 
 Qfiffa Kara ras rpeis Siaffrdcreis, iroiii rb 
 Sevrepov airoiov <rd>,ua: "this [that is, the 
 first matter] being embulked with three 
 extensions, makes the second matter or 
 subject, that is to say, body void of quality. 
 
 After having shewn how natural qualities 
 and attributes stood in need of such a sub- 
 ject for their existence, he adds, (which is 
 worth remarking,) oi>x 8n fy irore tvep- 
 yeta i} 8\r) a(rca/j.aros, f) aSojj.a airoLov, a\\a 
 rfyv fvraxrov rS>v foray ysveffiv Oecapovv- 
 res <pafj.fv, rfj f-mvota Siaipovvres ravra, 
 ra rf) fyixrei axdpurra : "not that there 
 ever was in actuality either matter without 
 body, or body without quality ; but we say 
 so, as we contemplate the well ordered 
 
 Kara riav rpioav ravrrjv r^v Trpoa-rjyopiav 
 <pa/j.ev irp&rov : " We call (says he) two 
 things, or two persons, both but we do not 
 call them all; it is with regard to three that 
 we first apply this appellation," (viz. the 
 appellation of all.) Arist. in loc. 
 
 This is true likewise in Latin ; and is 
 true also in English. Even the vulgar, 
 with us, would be surprised were they to 
 
274 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that body under this cha- 
 racter is something indefinite and vague, and scarcely to be 
 made an object of scientific contemplation. It is necessary to 
 this end, that its extension should be bounded ; for as yet we 
 have treated it without such regard. Now the bound or limit 
 of simple body is figure ; and thus it is that figure, with regard 
 to body, becomes the next form after extension. 
 
 In body thus bounded by figure, every other of its attributes 
 being abstracted and withdrawn, we behold that species of body 
 called body mathematical; a name so given it, because the 
 mathematician, as such, considers no other attributes of body, 
 except it be these two primary, its extension and its figure.* 
 
 But though the bounding of body by figure is one step towards 
 rendering it more definite and knowable. yet is not this suffi- 
 cient for the purposes of nature. It is necessary here, that not 
 only its external should be duly bounded, but that a suitable 
 regard should be likewise had to its internal. This internal 
 adjustment, disposition, or arrangement, (denominate it as you 
 please,) is called organization, and may be considered as the 
 third form, which appertains to body. By its accession we 
 behold the rise of body physical or natural, for every such body 
 is some way or other organized. 
 
 And thus may we affirm that these three, that is to say, 
 extension, figure, and organization, are the three original forms 
 to body physical or natural; figure having respect to its external, 
 organization to its internal, and extension being common both 
 to one and to the other. It is more than probable, that from the 
 variation in these universal, and, as I may say, primary forms, 
 arise most of those secondary forms usually called qualities 
 sensible, because they are the proper objects of our several sensa- 
 tions. Such are roughness and smoothness, hardness and soft- 
 ness, the tribes of colours, savours and odours, not to mention 
 those powers of character more subtle, the powers electric, mag- 
 netic, medicinal, &c. 
 
 Here therefore we may answer the question, how natural 
 bodies are distinguished. Not a single one among them consists 
 
 hear any one say, Give me all two, instead matical sciences) is more accurate and cer- 
 
 of Give me both. tain than that of any other body. It is, 
 
 For the grammatical idea of both, see because of all bodies, mathematical body 
 
 Hermes, p. 182. has the fewest, the most obvious, and the 
 
 The French, by a strange solecism, say most precise attributes. 
 
 tons deux ; a fault which we should not ex- Hence, too, we may perceive the differ- 
 pect in an elegant language, corrected and ence between a mathematician and a na- 
 refined by so many able writers. tural philosopher. They differ as their sub- 
 See next page. jects differ ; as the subject of the first is 
 f In body mathematical all qualities being simple, of the last is complicated ; as the 
 abstracted but figure and extension, we may attributes of mathematical body are few and 
 hence perceive the reason why the con- known, of physical body are unknown and 
 templation of such body (which contempla- infinite. Vid. Arist. Phys. 1. ii. c. 2. 
 tion makes so large a part of the mathe- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 275 
 
 of materials in chaos, but of materials wrought up after the 
 most exquisite manner, and that conspicuous in their organiza- 
 tion^ or in their figure, or in both. 
 
 As therefore every natural body is distinguished by the dif- 
 ferences just described; and as these differences have nothing to 
 do with the original matter, which being everywhere similar, 
 can afford no distinctions at all : may we not hence infer the 
 expediency of essential forms, that every natural substance may be 
 essentially characterized I It is with deference to my contem- 
 poraries, that I surmise this assertion. I speak perhaps of 
 spectres, as shocking to some philosophers, as those were to 
 JEneas, which he met in his way to hell : 
 
 Terribiles visu formae. 
 
 Yet we hope to make our peace, by declaring it our opinion, 
 that we by no means think these forms self-existent; things 
 which matter may slip off, and fairly leave to themselves, 
 
 Ut veteres ponunt tunicas aestate cicadae. Lucr. iv. 56. 
 
 They rather mean something, which, though differing from 
 matter, can yet never subsist without it; h something, which, 
 united with it, helps to produce every composite being ; that is 
 to say, in other words, every natural substance in the visible 
 world. 
 
 It must be remembered however (as we have said before) 
 that it is the form in this union, which is the source of all dis- 
 tinction. 1 It is by this, that the ox is distinguished from the 
 horse, not by that grass on which they subsist, the common 
 matter to both. To which also may be added, that as figures 
 and sensible qualities are the only objects of our sensations, and 
 these all are parts of natural form ; so therefore (contrary to the 
 
 s Nowhere, perhaps, is the force of or- and is their subject, or substratum. Arist. 
 
 ganization more conspicuous, than when we de Gen. et Corr. lib. ii. p. 34, 35. edit 
 
 perceive different grafts, upon the same Sylb. 
 tree, to produce different species of fruit. By contraries, in this place, he means the 
 
 h Matter and attribute are essentially dis- several attributes of matter., such as hot 
 
 tinct ; yet, like convex and concave, they and cold, black and white, moist and dry, 
 
 are by nature inseparable. &c., which are all of them contrary one to 
 
 We have already spoken as to the in- the other, from some or other of which 
 
 separability of attributes : we now speak as matter is always inseparable, 
 to that of matter. See note the second of this chapter. It 
 
 'H/te?j 8e Qafjifv v\i]v TIVO. T&V au^ruv is a uniform position in the physics of the 
 
 ru>v cuV07?Tz>' oAAa TOUTTJJ/ o\> x (a P lff ' r ^ v > ^ Peripatetics, on axdpurra TO. TrdOrj, 
 
 &\A' afl /xer' eVcwrtcoo-ews : " We say, there " that the affections [of body] are inseparable 
 
 is a certain matter belonging to all bodies, from it." See Arist. Phys. 1. i. It is one 
 
 the objects of sense ; a matter, not sepa- thing to be a cube, another thing to be iron, 
 
 rable, but ever existing with some contra- or silver, or wood, or ivory. The cube is 
 
 riety. most evidently and certainly no one of 
 
 Soon after : 'ApxV M" KOI irpwrnv viro- these, yet is it absurd and impossible to 
 
 6f/j.vovs elvai v^v v\rjv, rrjv ax^pitTTov suppose the cube should ever exist without 
 
 H\v, vTTOKi/j.fv>iv & roTs evavTLots .' " First, one of these, or something similar to support 
 
 and for a principle, we lay down matter, it. See before, page 271. 
 which is inseparable from the contraries, ' Pages 267, 273. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 sentiment of the vulgar, who dream of nothing but of matter,) it 
 is form which is in truth the whole, that we either hear, see, or 
 feel ; nor is mere matter any thing better, than an obscure 
 imperfect being, knowable only to the reasoning faculty by the 
 two methods already explained, I mean that of analogy, and 
 that of abstraction. k 
 
 Here therefore we conclude with respect to sensible forms; 
 that is to say, forms immerged in matter, and ever inseparable 
 from it. In these and matter we place the elements of natural 
 substance, 1 and thus finish the first part of the inquiry we 
 proposed. 
 
 We are now to engage in speculations of another kind, and 
 from the elements of natural substance to inquire after its effi- 
 cient cause ; m that is to say, that cause which associates those 
 elements, and which employs them, when associated, according 
 to their various and peculiar characters. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONCERNING FORM, CONSIDERED AS AN EFFICIENT ANIMATING PRIN- 
 CIPLE. HARMONY IN NATURE BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE 
 LIFELESS. OVID, A PHILOSOPHICAL POET. FURTHER DESCRIPTION OF 
 THE ANIMATING PRINCIPLE FROM ITS OPERATIONS, ENERGIES, AND 
 EFFECTS. VIRGIL. THE ACTIVE AND THE PASSIVE PRINCIPLE RUN 
 THROUGH THE UNIVERSE. MIND, REGION OF FORMS. CORPOREAL 
 CONNECTIONS, WHERE NECESSARY, WHERE OBSTRUCTIVE. MEANS 
 
 AND ENDS THEIR DIFFERENT PRECEDENCE ACCORDING TO DIFFERENT 
 
 SYSTEMS EMPEDOCLES, LUCRETIUS, PRIOR, GALEN, CICERO, ARISTOTLE, 
 
 ETC. PROVIDENCE. 
 
 LET us suppose an artificial substance, for example a musical 
 pipe, and let us suppose to this pipe the art of the piper to be 
 
 k See before, p. 271. three. Thus, in his Metaphysics, he tells 
 
 1 Elements are T& fVWJrdpxovTa ctfVm, us, OTL apxat etVt i-pels, rb eiSos, KOL\ r} 
 
 " the inherent," or (if I may use the ex- <rr everts Kal f) t/Ai7, " that the form, the 
 
 pression) "the in-existing causes," such as privation, and the matter, are three prin- 
 
 matter and form., of which we have been ciples." He calls them elements, because 
 
 treating. There are other causes, such as they have no existence, but in the substance 
 
 the tribe of efficient causes, which cannot be to which they belong. To these he adds 
 
 called elements, because they make no part the efficient cause, which as it exists exter- 
 
 of the substances which they generate or nally, that is, without the subject, he will 
 
 produce. Thus the statuary is no part of not for that reason allow to be an element, 
 
 his statue ; the painter, of his picture. Hence he observes, &crrf arroixe'ta fj.eu 
 
 Hence it appears, that all elements are rpia, curiai Se /col o.pxo.1 re'crtrapes, " that 
 
 causes ; but not all causes, elements. the elements were three ; the causes and 
 
 ra Aristotle having reduced his three prin- principles were four." His instances are, 
 
 ciples of natural productions to two, which health, the form ; disease, the privation ; 
 
 two we have treated in this and the pre- the human body, the subject. In these three 
 
 ceding chapter, adheres not so strictly to causes we have the elements : add to these 
 
 this reduction, but that he still admits the causes the fourth, that is, the efficient, the 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 277 
 
 united, not separated as now, but vitally united, so that the 
 pipe by its own election might play whenever it pleased. 
 Would not this union render it a kind of living being, where 
 the art would be an active principle, the pipe a passive, both 
 reciprocally fitted for the purposes of each other? And what, 
 if instead of the piper's art, we were to substitute that of the 
 harper ? Would this new union also be natural like the former I 
 Or would not rather the inaptitude of the constituents prevent 
 any union at all ? It certainly would prevent it, and all melody 
 consequent ; so that we could now by no analogy consider the 
 pipe as animated. 
 
 It is in these and other arts, considered as efficient habits, we 
 gain a glimpse of those forms, which characterize not by visible 
 qualities, but by their respective powers, their operations and 
 their energies. As is the piper's art to the pipe, the harper's to 
 the harp, so is the soul of the lion to the body leonine, the soul 
 of man to the body human ; because in neither case it is possible 
 to commute or make an exchange, without subverting the very 
 end and constitution of the animal. 11 
 
 And thus are we arrived at a new order of forms, the tribe of 
 animating principles; for there is nothing which distinguishes 
 so eminently as these ; and it is on the power of distinction that 
 we rest the very essence of form. 
 
 It is here we view form in a higher and nobler light, than in 
 that of a passive elementary constituent, a mere inactive and 
 sensible attribute. It is here it assumes the dignity of a living 
 motive power, of a power destined by its nature to use, and not 
 be used. It is to the diversity of powers in these animating 
 forms, that the diversity of the organizations in the corporeal 
 world has reference. That strong and nervous leg, so well 
 armed with tearing fangs, how perfectly is it correspondent to 
 the fierce instincts of the lion ? Had it been adorned, like the 
 human arm, with fingers instead of fangs, the natural energies 
 
 art of medicine ; and then we have the four as if a person was to say, the carpenter's 
 
 causes required. Again, call the plan of art might enter into a musician's pipe : now 
 
 the house, the form; the previous want of it is necessary that every art should use its 
 
 order, the privation ; the bricks, the mate- proper instruments, and every soul its proper 
 
 rials; add to these the fourth cause, the body. 
 
 architect's art, and again we have the four Alexander Aphrodisiensis has an ex- 
 causes required. Metaph. A. p. 198, 199. press dissertation to prove, OTI elSos ^ tyvxh, 
 edit. Sylb. "that the soul is a form." Alex. p. 124. 
 
 It is this efficient cause, that will make B. edit. Aid. Ven. 1534. It was so called, 
 
 the subject of the following chapter. not with the least view to its having a 
 
 n See Arist. dc An. 1. i. c. 3. p. 13. edit, figure, as if, for example, it were a spherical 
 
 Sylb. body, but because it was able not only by 
 
 The Stagirite uses upon this occasion the its perceptive powers to secrete forms, but 
 
 following similitude : irapa.irX-}}<nov yap Ae- by its productive powers to impart them ; 
 
 yovffiv, lixnrep e<f ns </>airj TT^V TSKTOVIKIIV whence, being considered as full of them, it 
 
 s evSvearOai'Sf'i'Yaprrjv /nfi/rex^ 1 ' was elegantly described to be T^TTOS erScuf, 
 
 TOIS bpyavois, r$)v 5e iJ/uxV f<? " the region of forms." Arist. de Anim. 1. 
 
 : " They [who adopt the notion of iii. c. 4. See also 1. ii. c. 1 . 
 
 placing any soul in any body] talk the same' See Hermes, p. '20.>, (>, 7. not' 1 c. 
 
278 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 of a lion had been all of them defeated. That more delicate 
 structure of an arm, terminating in fingers so nicely diversified, 
 how perfectly does it correspond to the pregnant invention of 
 the human soul? Had these fingers been fangs, what had 
 become of poor art, that by her operations pi'ocures us so many 
 elegancies and utilities? It is here we behold the harmony 
 between the visible world and the invisible, between the passive 
 and the active, between the lifeless and the living. The whole 
 variety in bodies, as well natural as artificial, is solely referable 
 to the previous variety in these their animating forms. It is 
 for the sake of these they exist ; it is by these they are em- 
 ployed ; and without them they would be as useless as the shoe 
 without the foot. 
 
 It was perhaps owing to this use of the word form, in order 
 to denote an animating principle, that the poet Ovid (who 
 appears by his works not unacquainted with philosophy) opens 
 his Metamorphosis with those lines, so perplexing to his com- 
 mentators : 
 
 In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas 
 Corpora. 
 
 " My mind (says he) carries me to tell of forms changed into 
 new bodies ;" not of bodies changed into new forms, but of forms, 
 that is to say, souls, transferred into new bodies. The bodies, it 
 seems, were new, but the souls or forms remained the same, of 
 which throughout his work we have perpetual testimony. Thus, 
 when he speaks of Callisto, 
 
 Mens antiqua tamen facta quoque mansit in ursa. Metam. ii. 485. 
 
 Of Arachne, 
 
 Antiquas exercet Aranea telas. Ibid. vi. 145. 
 
 Of the ants that became men, 
 
 Mores, quos ante gerebant, 
 Nunc quoque habent ; parcumque genus, patiensque labonim. Ibid. vii. 656. 
 
 And so in many other places, p which those who favour this con- 
 jecture may easily discover. 
 
 As nothing can become known by that which it has not, so it 
 would be absurd to attempt describing these animating forms by 
 any visible or other qualities, the proper objects of our sensations. 
 The sculptors art is not figure, but it is that through which 
 figure is imparted to something else. The harper's art is not 
 sound, but it is that through which sounds are called forth from 
 something else. They are of themselves no objects either of the 
 ear or of the eye ; but their nature or character is understood in 
 this, that were they never to exert their proper energies on their 
 
 P Ovid appears by these quotations to be transferred from one body into another, 
 
 have used the word forma, when he opens was Pythagorean, but which the Peripa- 
 
 his poem, in a sense truly philosophical, tetics rejected from the reasons above al- 
 
 Ilis doctrine, that this form or soul might leged, in the first note of this chapter. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 279 
 
 proper subjects, the marble would remain for ever shapeless, the 
 harp would remain for ever silent. q 
 
 It is the same in natural beings/ The animating form of a 
 natural body is neither its organization, nor its figure, nor any 
 other of those inferior forms which make up the system of its 
 visible qualities ; but it is the power which, not being that or- 
 ganization, nor that figure, nor those qualities, is yet able to 
 produce, to preserve, and to employ them. It is, therefore, the 
 power which first moves, and then conducts that latent process, 
 by which the acorn becomes an oak, the embryo becomes a man. 
 It is the power, by which the aliment of plants and animals is 
 digested, and by such digestion transformed into a part of them- 
 selves. It is the power, as oft as the body is either mutilated or 
 sick, that cooperates with the medicine in effecting the cure. It 
 is the power, which departing, the body ceases to live, and the 
 members soon pass into putrefaction and decay. 
 
 Further still, as putrefaction and decay will necessarily come, 
 and nature would be at an end, were she not maintained by a 
 supply ; it is therefore the power that enables every being to 
 produce another like itself, the lion to produce a lion, the oak to 
 produce an oak ; so that, while individuals perish, the species 
 still remains, and the corruptible, as far as may be, partakes of 
 the eternal and divine. 5 
 
 1 See Maximus Tyrius, Diss. i. who elo- 
 quently applies this reasoning to the Su- 
 preme Being, the Divine Artist of the uni- 
 verse : Et Se Kal vvv ^817 fj-aOflv epas rfy 
 e/ceiVoy fyvffiv^ TTUS ris avr^v 5ir)yf)(rr)rai ; 
 Ka\bv yuei/ yap e?i/at rbv #ebi/, Kal riav 
 KaAuv rb (pavwrarov' ctAA' ov aw/ma Ka\bv, 
 ctAA* oOei 1 Kal r$ ff(t>/j.an eirippe'i rb waAAos' 
 ou5e Aej/uaJv Ka\bs, aAA' odev Kal 6 \i/u.wv 
 Ka\6s' Kal TroTa/j-ov /caAAos, Kal flaAarTTjs, 
 Kal ovpavov, Kal riav eV ovpavfa BtSiv, iruv 
 rb KaAAos TOVTO eKe'iOw pe?, olov K ^77777? 
 aevvdov Kal aKypdrov' KaQdcrov avrou 
 yuereVxez/ e/cao-ro, /caAo, Kal eSpcua, Kal 
 ff(i)6/neva' Kal KaQoffov avrov aTroAenreTai, 
 euVxpa, Kal SiaAuojuera, Kal QQeipofAfva : 
 " But if even now you wish to learn the 
 nature of this Sovereign Being, after what 
 manner shall any one be able to explain it ? 
 Divinity itself is surely beauteous, and of 
 all beauties," &c. <xe. 
 
 Those who choose to see the remaining 
 part of this elegant original, elegantly trans- 
 lated, may find it in the second volume of 
 Lord Shaftesbury's Characteristics, p. 295. 
 
 r Here an attempt is made to explain 
 the three great principles of the soul, an- 
 ciently called rb vo-rjTiKbv, rb alaQyTiKbv, 
 Tb eprn-TiKbv, " the intellective, the sensi- 
 tive, and the nutritive." The nutritive is 
 treated first, then the sensitive, then the 
 intellective. 
 
 See below, note t, on the word intellective, 
 p. 280. 
 
 8 " This eternal and divine is what," as 
 Aristotle says, "all beings desire, and for 
 the sake of which they act whatever they 
 act agreeably to nature." Tldvra yap e'/cef- 
 vov (scil. TOV del Kal rov 0e/ou) opeyerat, 
 KaKtivov fffKa Trpdrrei '6cra Kara fyvcriv 
 irpaTTei. De Anim. 1. ii. c. 4. p. 28. edit. 
 Sylb. 
 
 Immediately afterwards he subjoins the 
 following remarkable passage, by which he 
 appears to refer the whole system of natural 
 production or generation to that one great 
 principle : 'ETret ovv KoiVtovslv aSwaTel rov 
 afl Kal rov Qtiov rfj (Twe^e'ia, Sia rb yUTjSei/ 
 rwv (pOapruv rb avrb Kal ev 
 , 77 ^uerex 6 ' 1 ' Svvarai exa- 
 arov, ravrp Koivtovti, rb fj.ev ^uctAAoi/, rb 
 Se f)rrov' Kal 8iafj.ffei OVK curb, dAA* oTov 
 aur6' apid[j.(tj fj\v oi>x cv, ei'Sei Se eV : " In- 
 asmuch, therefore, as these beings (meaning 
 the subordinate and inferior) cannot par- 
 ticipate of the eternal and the divine in 
 uninterrupted continuity, from its being im- 
 possible that any thing perishable and tran- 
 sient should remain the same and one nu- 
 merically ; hence it follows, that as far as 
 each is capable of sharing it, so far it parti- 
 cipates, one thing in a greater degree, and 
 another in a less ; and that each thing re- 
 mains not precisely the same, but as it were 
 
280 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 In all the energies here enumerated, it extends through ve- 
 getables as well as animals. But with animals, taken apart, it is 
 that higher active faculty, which, by employing the organs of 
 sense, peculiar to them as animals, distinguishes them, as beings 
 sensitive, from vegetables and plants. Further than this, with 
 man alone above the rest it is that still superior and more noble 
 faculty, which, by its own divine vigour, unassisted perhaps with 
 organs, makes and denominates him a being intellective and 
 rational. 4 
 
 And so much for the description of those forms, which, being 
 purely invisible, and (it may be said) totally insensible, are no 
 otherwise to be known, consciousness alone excepted, than by 
 sensible operations and energies," perceived in things corporeal. 
 
 As in their very essence they imply activity, as much as 
 matter, upon which they operate, implies passivity; hence in 
 every natural composite we may discern the influence of two 
 
 Maximus Tyrius. Nothing can be of greater 
 importance than a due attention to this 
 distinction ; I mean, the distinction between 
 effects and causes ; between effects which 
 are visible, and causes which are invisible ; 
 between effects, the natural objects of all 
 our sensations ; and causes, which are ob- 
 jects of no sensation at all. 
 
 It is with reference to this distinction 
 that Cyrus is made to reason in his last 
 moments by Xenophon, his philosophical 
 historian, who thus describes him addressing 
 his children : Ou yap SVjTrou rovr6 ye 
 ffatyus SOK e?re i5ej>at, us ovSfV f(rofj.ai eyu 
 en, eTretSoi' TOU avOpwn-ivov fiiov reAeu- 
 T^(rco* ovSf yap vvv rot ri]v y' /j.r]v tywxftv 
 ecopare, a\\' ols SteTrpaTTero, TOVTOIS 
 avTTjv us of><rav /carec/jcw/mre. Thus ex- 
 cellently translated by my honourable rela- 
 tion, Mr. Ashley : " You ought not to ima- 
 gine you certainly know, that, after I have 
 closed the period of human life, I shall no 
 longer exist. For neither do you now see 
 my soul ; but you conclude from its opera- 
 tions, that it does exist." Cyropaedia, 
 1. viii. 
 
 Cicero has translated the same passage 
 with great elegance, but in a manner less 
 strict, less confined to the original : 
 
 Nolite arbitrari, mihi carissimi filii, 
 me, cum a vobis discessero, nusquam aut 
 nullum fere ; nee enim, dum eram vobiscum, 
 animum meum videbatis, sed cum esset in 
 hoc corpore, ex iis rebus, quas gerebam, in- 
 telligebatis : eundem igitur esse creditote, 
 etiamsi nullum vibebitis. De Senect. c. 22. 
 
 Nothing is more certain than that many 
 things, which have no sensible qualities, 
 may be described accurately, and compre- 
 hended adequately, by their energies and 
 operations upon sensible objects. 
 
 the same, not numerically one, but one in 
 species." 
 
 To this Virgil alludes, 
 At genus immortale manet. Georg. iv. 
 
 See Plat. Conviv. p. 1197. C. edit. Fie. 
 
 1 Tuv Se Swd/uLeuv TTJS ^ U X^ S " teYflffr- 
 crai TO?S fj.fv cvuTrdpxovfft Tracrcu, Ka.Qa.irfp 
 etTTOyUei/, TOIS 8e rives O.VTWV, tviois 8e /xi'a 
 fj.6vf) : " As to the powers of the soul here 
 described, they exist all of them in some 
 beings ; some of them only in other beings ; 
 and in some beings only one of them." 
 Arist. de An. 1. ii. c. 3. p. 26. edit. Sylb. 
 That is to say, man possesses all ; brutes 
 possess some ; plants, one only. Man has 
 the vegetative, the sensitive, and the intel- 
 lective faculty ; brutes only the vegetative 
 and the sensitive ; plants, the vegetative 
 alone. 
 
 See soon after, p. 28, "A^eu /AC v yap TOV 
 
 0/>e7TTl/CoG, K. T. A.. 
 
 Ideoque ob consortium corporis est inter 
 homines, bestiasque, et csetera vita carentia, 
 societas communioque corporeorum proven- 
 tuum. Siquidem nasci, nutriri, crescere 
 commune est hominibus cum caeteris ; sen- 
 tire vero et appetere, commune demum ho- 
 minibus et mutis tantum, et ratione ca- 
 rentibus animalibus. Cupiditas porro atque 
 iracundia vel agrestium vel mansuetorum, 
 appetitus irrationabilis est : hominis vero, 
 cujus est proprium rationi mentem appli- 
 care, rationabilis : ratiocinandi enim atque 
 intelligendi, sciendique verum appetitus pro- 
 prius est hominis, quia a cupiditate atque 
 iracundia plurimum distat. Ilia quippe 
 etiam in mutis animalibus, et multo quidem 
 acriora, cernuntur : rationis autem perfectio 
 et intellectus, propria Dei et hominis tan- 
 tum. Chalcid. in Plat. Tim. p. 345. edit. 
 Fabric. 
 
 " See tho passage just before quoted from 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 281 
 
 such principles, while, under different proportions, and in different 
 degrees, the active enlivens the passive, and the passive depresses 
 the active. 
 
 It is to this that Virgil nobly alludes, when he tells us, that 
 to every enlivened substance, every animated being, there was 
 something appertaining of ethereal vigour and heavenly origin, 
 as far forth as not retarded by its mortal and earthly members. 
 
 Igneus est ollis vigor, et coelestis origo 
 Seminibus, quantum nos noxia corpora tardant, 
 Terrenique hebetant artus, moribundaque membra. 
 
 JEn. vi. 
 
 Could we penetrate that mist, which hides so much from 
 human eyes, and follow these composites to their different and 
 original principles, we might gain, perhaps, a glimpse of two 
 objects worth contemplating; of that which is first, and that 
 which is last, in the general order of being ; of pure energy in 
 the Supreme Mind, the first mover of all efficients ; of pure 
 passivity in the lowest matter, the ultimate basis of all subjects/ 
 
 But lest these should be esteemed speculations rather foreign, 
 it is sufficient to mark the analogy between things natural and 
 artificial ; how, that as there are no forms of art which did not 
 pre-exist in the mind of man, so are there no forms of nature 
 which did not pre-exist in the mind of God. It is through this 
 we comprehend, how mind or intellect is the region of forms/ 
 
 x Thus the Stoics: Ao/ce? 8" avrots thing, which is agent ; and something, which 
 apxas elvai TWV o\<av Suo, Tb TTOIOVV Kal 
 Tb Trdffxov. rb p.tv ov irdo'xov eivai T^V 
 &TTOIOV ovtriav, rfyv v\T]v, T~b Se TTOIOUV, Tbv 
 ev avTrj \6yov, Tbv Bz6v : " Their opinion 
 is, that the principles of all things are two, 
 the active principle and the passive ; that 
 the passive principle is that substance void 
 
 is patient ; thus among natural beings, God 
 is the agent ; matter, the patient ; but the 
 elements are both agent and patient united." 
 Upon this Simplicius observes, Serous 
 8e OVTOS TOV \fyofjievov 
 apx^iyiKUTaTa irapfdfTO, TTOIGIV 
 6fbv etTrcVj/, c? Kal TO, a\\a TO. 
 
 rbv 
 
 of all quality, matter ; the active principle, ofcria. oweVerai, irdo-x eli ' $* T W 
 that reason which exists within it, God." '' 
 Diog. Laert. vii. 134. 
 
 The following passage from Ammonius is 
 remarkable, and well applies to the present what has been said is evident, he has ad- 
 
 TO. a\\a ywerexet TOV 
 Se Kal irdo~x*u' TO, 
 
 Kal v\T)s Kal elSovs : 
 
 v 
 Though 
 
 subject: Aib 
 
 u/*oiuo~6ai. 
 s rcov 
 
 T-r]v \i\f]V TC? 
 
 i({) avo- 
 
 OTl St' 
 
 t< K d~ 
 
 duced (to explain himself) the two highest 
 and most leading instances, saying, that 
 God is agent, whom all other active causes 
 , avQfj.oi(as 8e, on TOV /*i/, KpeiTTovos follow ; and matter, patient, through which 
 , ^ /caret irdvTa TO. ovra, airo(()do~Ko/j.cv other beings partake of passion ; and that 
 
 the elements are both agents and patients, 
 inasmuch as they participate both of matter 
 Simpl. in Praed. p. 84. edit. 
 
 TTJS Se wA.7js, x*' l P ovos ov"ns 
 /caret Tra^ra, ravra aTro<pdo-KO/J.(V : " For 
 this reason they say that matter is dissimi- and of form, 
 larly similar to the divinity ; is similar, Basil. 1551. 
 because each of them is explained by a 
 
 > See Aristotle, already quoted, p. 277, in 
 
 negation of all other things; dissimilarly his tract Zte Anima, 1. iii. 4. p. 57. edit Sylb. 
 so, inasmuch as we deny all things of the In the eighth chapter of the same book, 
 divinity, by its being better than all things; p. 62, he calls the soul, ftSos e5f8o/, "the 
 
 we deny them of matter, by its being 
 worse." Ammon. in Prsedic. p. 50. B. 
 
 form of forms ;" and that not only from its 
 being that supreme characterizing power 
 
 Archytas thus expresses himself in his which gives to subordinate beings their pe- 
 Doric dialect : Tb /nev eVrl iroieov, Tb Se culiar form or character, but as it uses them, 
 olov ev TO?S tyvo-iKols Koieov /j.(v 6 when made, agreeably to their respective 
 (T*xov Se a uAa, i;al iroitov Kal natures. In this last acceptation it is the 
 There i.s some- form of forms, as the hand appears to be 
 
282 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 in a far more noble and exalted sense, than by being their pas- 
 sive receptacle through impressions from objects without. It is 
 their region, not by being the spot into which they migrate as 
 strangers, but in which they dwell as avro^doves^ the " original 
 natives" of the country. It is in mind they first exist, before 
 matter can receive them ; z it is from mind, when they adorn 
 matter, that they primarily proceed : so that, whether we con- 
 template the works of art, or the more excellent works of nature, 
 all that we look at as beautiful, or listen to as harmonious, is the 
 genuine effluence or emanation of mind.* 
 
 And now to recapitulate what we have said concerning form. 
 We have traced its variety, from the lifeless and inanimate up to 
 the living and animating ; from figures, colours, and sensible 
 qualities, up to the powers only knowable through their energies 
 and operations ; in other words, from those forms which are but 
 passive elements, up to those which are efficient causes. 
 
 Even in these active, animating, and efficient forms, besides 
 the differences which we have remarked, there is still another 
 worth regarding. Some of them cannot act without corporeal 
 connections, while to others such connections appear to be no 
 way requisite. What, for example, is the vegetative power in 
 plants, without a natural body for it to nourish and enliven 2 
 What the sensitive powers of hearing or of seeing, without the 
 corporeal organs of an ear, or an eye I These are animating 
 forms, b which though themselves not body, are yet so far in- 
 
 the organ of organs ; to be that superior be exquisite to a degree, yet are such beings 
 
 instrument which uses the rest, the chisel, to such objects, as if they had no organs at 
 
 the pencil, the lyre, &c. ; all which inferior all. " Eyes have they, and see not," &c. 
 
 organs or instruments, without this previous And hence the meaning of that fine tro- 
 
 and superior one to employ them, would be chaic verse in the Sicilian poet and philo- 
 
 inefficacious and dead, and incapable of pro- sopher, Epicharmus : 
 
 ducing any single effect rj if/vx^l Siffirep ^ NoCs opa Kal vovs a/covet' r' &\Aa Kcacpa 
 
 X e ' l P fa*rr Kal yap f) x e ^P opyavov eo~riv Kal rv(f)\d. 
 
 bpyavcav. Arist. in loc. It is mind alone that sees, that hears ; all 
 
 z In the scriptural account of creation, things besides are deaf and blind. 
 
 light, previously to its existence, is com- Clem. Alex. vol. i. p. 442. edit. Pott. Max. 
 
 manded to exist : " And God said, Let their Tyr. edit. 8vo. p. 12. edit. 4to. p. 203. 
 be light, and there was light." So also b "Oawv yap eanv apx&v rj evcpyeia 
 
 vegetables and animals, previously to their ff(afj.ariKr], 5?jAoz/ on ravras avfv (rdfjiaTos 
 
 existing, are commanded to exist. Now, afivvarov virapx*w olov f$aSiciv avev 
 
 whether by these commands we suppose TTO^UV. KHTTG Kal 6vpad*v e&n&cu aSvvarov 
 
 certain verbal orders, or (what seems far AeiTrerat 8e rbv vovv povov QvpaQev eirei- 
 
 more probable) only a divine volition, re- ffitvai, Kal Qeiov elvai p.6vov' oue yap 
 
 spect must needs have been had to certain avrov rfj evepyeia Koivcave? troj/iarj/cr/ eWp- 
 
 pre-existing forms, else such words or such ycia : " As many faculties or principles of 
 
 volitions must have been devoid of all the soul as require bodily or corporeal 
 
 meaning. energy, [that is, which require a body or 
 
 a A proof, that these transcendent ob- an organ to enable them to act,] these, it is 
 jects are of an origin truly mental, is, that evident, cannot exist without a body ; as, 
 nothing but mind or intellect can recognise for example, the locomotive faculty of 
 or comprehend them. And hence it follows, walking cannot exist without feet: so that 
 that, if this intellective faculty be wanting, for such faculties to pass into the body 
 as it is to inferior animals, or be unhappily from without [originally separate and de- 
 debased, as too often happens to our own tached from it] is a thing impossible : it 
 species ; though their sensitive organs may remains, therefore, that mind or intellect 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 283 
 
 separable from it, that were their connection dissolved, they 
 would be as unable to exert themselves, as the painter deprived 
 of his pencil, or the harper of his harp. It is not so with that 
 perceptive power, unmixed and pure intelligence, the objects of 
 which being purely intelligible, are all congenial with itself. 
 Corporeal connections appear so little wanted here, that perhaps 
 it is then in its highest vigour, when it is wholly separated and 
 detached. It is in this part of our animating form, that we must 
 look for the immortal and divine ; c it is this indeed is all of it 
 
 alone should pass into us from without, 
 [that is, be separate and wholly detached,] 
 and should alone be something divine ; be- 
 cause with the energy of this faculty bodily 
 energy has no communication ; that is, there 
 is no want of corporeal organs for reasoning 
 and thinking, as there is want of eyes for 
 seeing, or of ears for hearing." Arist. de 
 Animal. Gen. 1. ii. c. 3. p. 208, 209. edit. 
 Sylb. 
 
 In another place, speaking of those parts 
 of the soul which are inseparable from 
 body, because they cannot energize without 
 it, he adds, " there is however no objection 
 why some parts should not be separable ; 
 and that, because they are the energies of 
 no one body whatever. Besides (he goes 
 on and says) it is not yet evident, whether 
 the soul may be not the life and energy of 
 the body, in the same manner as the pilot 
 is the life and energy of the ship :" ov p^v 
 aAA 1 evid 76 ovSev /cwAuei, Sto rb fj,rjSevbs 
 flvai 0-d/j.aros eVreAexeias. "En 8e &8t)\ov, 
 ci OVTCOS evreAexeta TOV (Tdafj.aros V) ^fX^ 
 (txnrep irXuT^p irAotou. Arist. de Anima, 
 ii. c. 1. 
 
 In this last instance he gives a fine il- 
 lustration of the supreme and divine part of 
 the soul, that is, the mind or intellect. It 
 belongs (it seems) to the body, as a pilot 
 does to the ship ; within which ship though 
 the pilot exist, and which said ship though 
 the pilot govern, yet is the pilot notwith- 
 standing no part of the ship : he may leave 
 it without change either in the ship or in 
 himself; and may still (we know) exist 
 when the ship is no more. 
 
 c 'O 5e vovs eoiKfv eyyiveffOai, ovcria TIS 
 ovaa, Kal ov (pOeipecrOai : "mind seems to 
 be implanted [into the body,] being a pe- 
 culiar substance of itself, and not to be cor- 
 rupted or to perish," (as the body does.) 
 Arist. de An. 1. i. c. 4. p. 15. And soon 
 after, when he has told us that the passions 
 perish Avith the body, to which they are 
 inseparably united, he adds 6 8e vovs to~a)s 
 6fioTp6v n Kal airaOfS : " but the mind 
 perhaps is something more divine, and free 
 from passion, or being acted upon." 
 
 In another part of the same work, he 
 distinguishes between the original capacity 
 
 of the sensitive part, and that of the in- 
 tellective part : " sensation (he tells us) is 
 impaired by the violence of sensible objects ; 
 excessive sounds, excessive light, excessive 
 smells, prevent us from hearing, from seeing, 
 or from smelling." 'AAA.' 6 vovs, 'OTO.V TI 
 i/o-f)a"r) o~<p6Spa voTjrbv, ov% %ITTOV vofi TO 
 u7roSe(TT6pa, aAAa Kal /j.a\\ov' Tb fj.ev yap 
 alo"6i]TiKbv OVK avev (rtofioros, 6 Se vovs 
 Xopio-T6s : "but mind, when it contemplates 
 any thing clearly and strongly intelligible, 
 does not for that reason less comprehend 
 inferior objects of intellection, but even 
 more ; the cause is, the sensitive principle 
 exists not without a body, (its organs being 
 all bodily ;) but mind, on the contrary, is 
 separable and detached." Ibid. 1. iii. c. 4. 
 
 Cyrus, in the speech attributed to him 
 by Xenophon, and quoted before, page 280, 
 speaks as follows. 
 
 OijToi e7&>7, & TraTSes, ot5e TOVTO vda- 
 TTore eTreiVflrjv, us f) tyvxfy, * w P* v ai/ ^ v 
 Qvr\T(p (Tda/j-ari 77, 77* OTO.V Se roinov airaX- 
 AaTfJ, TeOvnKfV. 'Opw 7&p, OTI /col rek 
 dvr)Ta (rc5^OTa, '6<rov av fi/ avro'is xpovov 77 
 7] ^u%^ & vra - Trapexerat. Ou5e 76, OTTWS 
 &<ppa)v co-rat 7? ^/ux^, eVetScfci/ TOV titypovos 
 (Tdcfj-aros S/x yevnrai, ouSe TOVTO TTC- 
 7reio~/j,ai' aAA 1 'OTO.V &Kpa.TOs Kal KaOapbs o 
 vovs KKptOfj, T<fre Kal (ppovi/j-doraTov eiKbs 
 avTbv eJvai. Aia\vo/j.fvov 5e avBptoTrov, 
 STjAa fo~Tiv e/cacrra airiovra irpbs Tb f>p.o- 
 <(>v\ov, Tr\T)v Trjs ^t'X^s* avTV] 5e u.6vt] ofae 
 irapovo~a cure airioixra opaTai. s:.tvo<p. 
 Kvpov IIo<5. H. p. 655. edit. Hutchinson. 
 4to. Oxon. 1727. 
 
 Thus translated by the above-mentioned 
 excellent translator. 
 
 " No, children, I can never be per- 
 suaded, that the soul lives no longer than 
 it dwells in this mortal body, and that it 
 dies on separation. For I see that the soul 
 communicates vigour and motion to mortal 
 bodies, during its continuance in them. 
 Neither can I be persuaded, that the soul 
 is divested of intelligence, on its separation 
 from this gross senseless body ; but it is 
 probable, that when the soul is separated, 
 it becomes pure and entire, and is then 
 more intelligent. It is evident, that, on 
 man's dissolution, every part of him returns 
 
284 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 that a rational man would wish to preserve, when he would be 
 rather thankful to find his passions and his appetites extinct. 
 
 And thus having traced the various order of forms, from the 
 lowest and basest up to the highest and best, and considered 
 how, though differing, they all agree in this, that they give to 
 every being its peculiar and distinctive character, we shall here 
 conclude our speculations concerning form, the second species of 
 substance, and which appears in part to be an element, in part an 
 
 And yet we cannot quit these speculations, the latter part of 
 them at least, without a few observations on their dignity and 
 importance. 
 
 Their principal object has been to shew, that in the great 
 intellectual system of the universe, means do not lead to ends, 
 but ends lead to means ; that it was not the organization of the 
 sheep's body which produced the gentle instincts of the sheep ; 
 nor that of the lion's body which produced the ferocious in- 
 stincts of the lion ; e but because, in the divine economy of the 
 whole, such respective animating and active principles were 
 wanting, it was therefore necessary that they should be furnished 
 with such peculiarly organized bodies, that they might be enabled 
 to act, and to perform their part, agreeably to their respective 
 natures, and their proper business in the world. 
 
 The ancient system of atheism supposed the organs to come 
 first, before any thing further was thought of; f which organs, 
 
 to what is of the same nature with itself, beginning of this note, the following remark 
 
 except the soul : that alone is invisible, and quotation may perhaps inform us further 
 
 both during its presence here, and at its in the sentiments of the Stagirite, and his 
 
 departure." Cyropaed. p. 326, 327. school. 
 
 Thus translated by Cicero : Mihi quidem The human intellect was supposed by the 
 
 nunquam persuader! potest animos, dum in Peripatetics to be pure and absolute ca- 
 
 corporibus essent mortalibus, vivere ; cum pacity ; to be no particular thing, till it 
 
 exissent ex iis, emori : nee vero turn animum began to comprehend things ; nor to be 
 
 esse insipientem, cum ex insipienti corpore blended with body, because, if it were, it 
 
 evasisset sed, cum, omni admixtione corporis would have some quality of body adhere 
 
 liberatus, purus et integer esse ccepisset, to it, (such as hot, cold, and the like,) 
 
 turn esse sapientem. Atque etiam, cum which quality would of course obstruct its 
 
 hominis natura morte dissolvitur, caeterarura operations. On the contrary, they held it 
 
 rerum perspicuum est quo quseque dis- to receive its impressions, titnrfp eV ypa/u.- 
 
 cedant ; abeunt enim illuc omnia, unde yuoreiw, < jUTjSej' virdpxei ej/TeAe%eiot -ye- 
 
 orta sunt : animus autem solus, nee cum ypafji.fj.et/ov, " as impressions are made in 
 
 adest, nee cum discedit, apparet. De Se- a writing tablet, where nothing as yet is in 
 
 nectute, cap. 22. actuality written." Aristot. de Anima, lib. 
 
 These speculations of Cyrus may more iii. c. 4. p. 58. edit. Sylb. 
 
 properly be called the speculations of Xeno- But this in the way of digression : it is 
 
 phon, who derived them without doubt (as only the short specimen of an ancient 
 
 he did the rest of his philosophy) from his speculation, which gives us reasons, why 
 
 great master, Socrates. They passed also the human intellect can have no innate 
 
 into other systems of philosophy, derived ideas. 
 
 from the same original ; such, for example, d See the two last notes of the preceding 
 
 as the philosophy of Aristotle, who was a chapter. 
 
 hearer and a disciple as well of Socrates as e See before, in the beginning of this 
 
 of Plato. chapter, p. 278. 
 
 Besides what has been offered in the f See Hermes, p. 232. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 285 
 
 being all of them formed fortuitously, some of them luckily an- 
 swered an end, and others answered none : those that answered, 
 for a while subsisted ; those that failed, immediately perished. 
 
 Empedocles (which is somewhat surprising, if we consider 
 some of his better and more rational doctrines) appears to have 
 favoured this opinion : teal rd fjuopca r&v ^oocov diro Tv^r)? 
 <yeveo-6ai ra 7r\elara $j)<iiv : " he says, (as Aristotle tells us,) 
 that the limbs of animals were the greater part of them made 
 by chance." Soon after this, Aristotle proceeds in explaining 
 this strange system : oirov fjuev ovv airavra <Tvve/3r], coo-Trep icav 
 el eve/cd rov eyiyvero, ravra yu-ev ecra)6r), CLTTO TOV avTOfidrov 
 7rt,T7)$eia)<$. oaa e /JLTJ o#ra>9, a7rco\TO KOI diroK- 
 , KaOaTrep " > Efj,7re$o/c\r)<i \e<yei, rd ftovyevrj KOI dvSpoTTpwpa : 
 " when therefore these limbs all coincided, as if they had been 
 made for the purpose, they were then saved and preserved, 
 having been thus aptly put together by the operation of chance ; 
 but such as coincided not, these were lost, and still [as far as 
 they arise] are lost ; according to what Empedocles says con- 
 cerning [those monstrous productions] the bull species with 
 human heads." Arist. Physic. 1. ii. c. 4. 8. 
 
 Lucretius advances the same doctrine, which was indeed 
 suitable to his ideas of the world's production. The earth, he 
 tells us, in his account of creation, aimed at the time to create 
 many portentous beings, some with strange faces and members ; 
 others deficient, without either feet or hands ; but the endeavours 
 were fruitless, for nature could not support, and carry them on 
 to maturity : 
 
 Multaque turn Tellus etiam portenta creare 
 Conata est, mira facie, membrisque coorta ; 
 Orba pedum partim, manuum viduata vicissim : 
 
 Nequicquam, quoniam Natura absterruit auctum, 
 
 Nee potuere cupitum setatis tangere florera, 
 
 Nee reperire cibum, &c. Lucret. v. 835, &c. 
 
 It is more expressly in contradiction to the doctrines inculcated 
 through this whole tract, that he denies final causes ; that he 
 holds, eyes were not made for seeing, nor feet for walking, &c. ; 
 that he calls such explanations a preposterous and inverted 
 order, the existence of the use (according to him) not leading to 
 the production of the thing, but the casual production of the 
 thing leading to the existence of the use. 
 
 Lunrina ne facias oculorum clara creata, 
 Prospicere ut possimus, et, ut proferre viai 
 Proceros passus, ideo, &c. 
 
 Caetera de genere hoc inter quaacunque pretantur, 
 
 Omnia perversa praepostera sunt ratione : 
 
 Nil adeo quoniam natum'st in corpore, ut uti 
 
 Possimus ; sed quod natum'st, id procreat usus. Lucret. iv. 822. 30. 
 
 An elegant poet of our own, states this doctrine with his usual 
 humour : 
 
286 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Note here, Lucretius dares to teach 
 (As all our youths may learn from Creech) 
 That eyes were made, but could not view, 
 Nor hands embrace, nor feet pursue ; 
 But heedless Nature did produce 
 The members first, and then the use : 
 What each must act, was yet unknown, 
 Till all was moved by Chance alone. 
 
 A man first builds a country seat, 
 Then finds the walls not fit to eat ; 
 Another plants, and wond'ring sees 
 Nor books, nor medals on his trees. 
 Yet poet and philosopher 
 Was he, who durst such whims aver. 
 Blest, for his sake, be human reason, 
 Which came at last, tho' late, in season. Prior's Alma, canto i. 
 
 The poet had cause to be thankful, that a time came, when 
 men of sense opposed reason to such sophistry ; but the opposi- 
 tion was not so late, nor so long in coming, as he imagined. 
 Galen, many centuries ago, in his excellent treatise De Usu 
 Partium ; Cicero, in the best and most conclusive part of his 
 treatise De Natura Deorum ; and before them both, as well 
 as before Lucretius, Aristotle, through every part of his works, 
 and, above all, in those respecting the history of the members, 
 and the progression of animals, had inculcated, with irresistible 
 strength of argument, the great doctrine of final causes ; which 
 if we allow with regard to ourselves, but deny to nature, we 
 totally annihilate through the universe any divine or intelligent 
 principle. For nothing can be divine, which is not intelligent ; 
 nor any thing intelligent, which has not a meaning ; nor any 
 being have a meaning, which has no scope, or final cause, to 
 govern and direct its energies and operations. 
 
 A painter, painting a hundred portraits, succeeds in ninety- 
 nine, and fails in one. We may possibly impute the single 
 failure to chance; but can we possibly impute to chance his 
 success in the ninety-nine ? How then can we dream of chance 
 in the operations of nature ; operations so much more accurate, 
 though withal so much greater, and more numerous, than those 
 of the painter? Chance is never thought of in that which 
 happens always ; nor in that which happens for the most part ; 
 but, if any where, in that which happens unexpectedly and 
 rarely. 8 
 
 And so much for those philosophers, recorded for having 
 hardily denied a Providence. 
 
 8 See the note, p. 12, 13, where the doc- It was consonant to the reasoning there 
 
 trine of chance and fortune is discussed at held, that Plato, long before, is said to have 
 
 large upon the Peripatetic principles ; and called fortune crj^uTTTcojUa fyticreus $ Trpoai- 
 
 where an attempt is made to explain that peffecas : " a symptom, or thing co-incident 
 
 most subtle and ingenious argument of the either with nature or the human will." 
 
 Stagirite, by which he proves that chance and See Suidas in the word Efyuap/ieVrj. Plato's 
 
 fortune are so far from supplanting mmd, account will be better understood, perhaps, 
 
 or an intelligent principle, that the exist- by recurring to the quotation in the former 
 
 ence of the two former necessarily infers part of this note, 
 the existence of the latter. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 287 
 
 There are others, who, though they have not denied one, have 
 yet made systems that would do without one ; seeming to think, 
 concerning the trouble of governing a world, as queen Dido did 
 of old, 
 
 Scilicet is superis labor est ; ea cura quietos 
 
 Sollicitat ? h Virg. JEn. iv. 
 
 A third sort, with more decency, have neither denied a Pro- 
 vidence, nor omitted one ; yet have seldom recurred to it, but 
 upon pressing occasions, when difficulties arose, which they 
 either happened to find, or had happened to make. They appear 
 to have conducted themselves by Horace^s advice : 
 
 Nee Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus. Hor. Art Poet. 
 
 A fourth philosopher remains, and a respectable one he is, 
 who supposes Providential wisdom never to cease for a single 
 moment ; and who says to it with reverence, what Ulysses did 
 to Minerva, 
 
 ov5e Se \-fj6ca 
 
 Nor can I move, and 'scape 
 Thy notice. k 
 
 But to quit philosophers and poets, and return from a digres- 
 sion, to which we have been led insensibly by the latent con- 
 nection of many different ideas. 
 
 There remains nothing further, in the treating of substance, 
 
 h It was the advice of the Epicureans, Ausonius has translated the sentiment in 
 
 with regard to " themselves, not to marry, two iambics, Ep. cxvi. 
 
 not to have children, not to engage in Quod est beatum, morte et aternum carens, 
 
 public affairs:" ovyap ya/j.7)Teov, oAA 1 ouSe Nee sibi parit negotium, nee alteri. 
 
 Trai8oiroi7)Tov, aAA' ou5e TroAiTevTeW. Ar- See also Lucretius i. 57. vi. 83, whom 
 
 rian. Epict. iii. 7. p. 384. edit. Upt The Horace seems to have copied in the verses 
 
 political life, according to them, was, like above quoted. 
 
 that of Sisiphus, a life of labour which It is true, this idea destroyed that of a 
 
 knew no end. Providence ; but to them, who derived the 
 
 Hoc est adverso nixantem tundere monte world from a fortuitous concourse of atoms, 
 
 Saxum, quod tamen a summo jam vertice such a consequence was of small import- 
 
 rursum ance. 
 
 Volvitur, et plant raptim petit cequora campi. * Horn. Iliad, x. ver. 279. See Arrian's 
 
 Lucre t. iii. 1013, &c. Epictetus, lib. i. c. 12, both in the original, 
 
 Hence, with regard to their gods, they and in Mrs. Carter's excellent translation. 
 
 provided them a similar felicity ; a felicity, See also the comment of my worthy and 
 
 like their own, detached from all attention, learned friend Upton, on this chapter, in 
 
 Thus Horace, when an Epicurean : his valuable edition of that author, vol. ii. 
 
 Deos didici securum agere tevum, p. 40, 41. See also Psalm cxxxix. 
 
 Nee, si quid mirifaciat natura, deos id k To the citations in note t, p. 293, may 
 
 Tristes ex alto coeli demittere tecto. be added the following fine sentiment of 
 
 Hor. lib. i. sat. 5. Thales: 'Upcarrja-e TIS avrbv, f I \-fidoi eota 
 
 Thus Epicurus himself: rb /Aaicdptov /cat &v0p(airos aSutuv' a\\' oue 8iavoov/j.fvos, 
 
 &<p6apTov of/re aurb irpdy/jLara ex et > of/re &>TJ : " One asked him, If a man might 
 
 &\\<f> Trape'xet : " that which is blessed and escape the knowledge of the gods, when he 
 
 immortal (meaning the Divine Nature) has was committing injustice ? No, says he, not 
 
 neither itself any business, nor does it find even when he is meditating it." Diog. Laert. 
 
 business for any other." Diog. Laert. x. i. 36. 
 139. 
 
283 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 than to say something of those characters which are usually 
 ascribed to it by Aristotle and his followers, when they consider 
 it not in a physical, but in a logical view. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONCERNING THE PROPERTIES OF SUBSTANCE, ATTRIBUTED TO IT IN THE 
 PERIPATETIC LOGIC. 
 
 THE ancient logicians, or rather Aristotle and his school, have 
 given us of substance the following characters. 
 
 They inform us, that, as substance, it is not susceptible of 
 more and less. 1 Thus a lion is not more or less a lion, by being 
 more or less bulky ; a triangle is not more or less a triangle, by 
 being more or less acute-angled. The intensions and remissions 
 are to be found in their accidents ; the essences remain simply 
 and immutably the same, and either absolutely are, or abso- 
 lutely are not. 
 
 Again ; substance, they tell us, admits of no contraries." 1 It is 
 to this that Milton alludes, when, after having personified sub- 
 stance, he tells us, 
 
 To find a foe it shall not be his hap, 
 
 And peace shall lull him in her flow'ry lap. Milt. Poems, No. ii. 
 
 The assertion is evident in compound beings, that is to say, 
 in substances natural ; for what is there contrary to man con- 
 sidered as man, or to lion considered as lion I This is true also 
 in the relation borne by matter to form ; for while contraries by 
 their coincidence destroy each other, these two, matter and 
 form, coalesce so kindly, that no change to either arises from 
 their union. Thus the marble, when adorned with the form of 
 a statue, is as precisely marble as it was before ; and the oak, 
 when fashioned into the form of a ship, is as truly oak as when 
 it nourished in the forest. If there be any contrariety in sub- 
 stance, it is that of form to privation, where privation neverthe- 
 less is nearly allied to nonentity. 
 
 Lastly ; substance, they tell us, is something, which, though it 
 have no contrary, yet is by nature susceptible of all contraries, 
 itself still remaining one and the same." 
 
 We cannot forget that description, given by Virgil, of the 
 Cumsean prophetess : 
 
 Subito non vxiltus, non color unus, 
 Non comptae mansere comse ; sed pectus anhelum, 
 Et rabie fera corda tument. JEn. vi. 
 
 1 Ao/m 5e ^ ovffta. ^ 67n8e'xe<r0at rb edit. Sylb. 
 
 (jia\\ov Kal rb ?ITTOV. Arist. Prsed. p. 28. n MaAttrra Se tSiov TTJS ovffias So/ce? elvai 
 
 edit. Sylb. See Hermes, p. 175. rb ravrbv /cat fv apidfj.$ %v T&V evavriwv 
 
 m 'Tirdpxei 8e rais ovffiais Kal rb fj.r]SfV elvai Se/CTt/cJj'. Arist. Prsed. p. 29. edit. 
 
 avrais fvavriov elvai. Arist. Prsed. p. 28. Sylb. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 289 
 
 Here we see her countenance and complexion perpetually 
 changing, her hair dishevelled, her breast panting, and a trans- 
 ition too in her manners from sobriety to distraction. How 
 different is all this from the appearance of that sibyl, who first 
 so courteously received ^Eneas at Cumse, and afterwards so pru- 
 dently attended him to the shades ? Yet, amidst all these con- 
 trarieties, was she still the same sibyl ; she was susceptible of 
 them all, without becoming another woman. 
 
 This last character of substance appears to be the most essen- 
 tial : for what is the support of contraries, or indeed of every 
 attribute, but substance? Motion and rest, heat and cold, 
 health and sickness, vigour and decay, are all to be found at 
 times in each individual of the human race. Most of the same 
 contraries are to be found among brutes, and some of them 
 descend even to the race of vegetables. 
 
 If we descend from these minuter substances to our terra- 
 queous globe, here tempest and calm, frost and thaw, rain and 
 drought, light and darkness, have each their turn ; yet leave it, 
 when they depart, after all their seeming contest, the same indi- 
 vidual globe, and not another. Thus the poet, we have already 
 quoted, still considering substance as a person : 
 
 Yet he shall live in strife, and at his door 
 
 Devouring war shall never cease to roar : 
 
 Yea, it shall be his nat'ral property, 
 
 To harbour those that are at enmity. Milt. Poems, No. ii. 
 
 If we extend our views beyond the spot which we inhabit, 
 what is the whole visible universe but the comprehensive re- 
 ceptacle of every contrary conceivable? Within this immense 
 whole they all distributively exist, while each of them by suc- 
 cession fulfils its allotted period, without disturbing the general 
 order, or impairing the general beauty. 
 
 But if we ascend from passive and material substances up to 
 such as are active and immaterial, here we shall find no distri- 
 bution, no succession of contraries ; but motion and rest, equality 
 and inequality, similarity and dissimilarity, identity and diversity, 
 will appear, each pair co-existing with the same being in the 
 same instant, and that by an amazing connexion of both together 
 under one. 
 
 It is by virtue only of this combining, this unifying compre- 
 hension, (and which for that reason can only belong to a being 
 unextended and indivisible,) that the mind or intellect pro- 
 nounces that A is not B, that C is unequal to D, that E is un- 
 like to F. Were such propositions, instead of being compre- 
 hended at once by something indivisible and one, to be compre- 
 hended in portions by the different parts of something divisible ; 
 or were they to be comprehended by a power indivisible, yet not 
 at once, but in a succession ; it would be as impossible either way 
 to comprehend the real propositions, as it would if they were to 
 
290 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 be recognised in part by a man in England, in part by one in 
 China ; or else in part by a man in the present century, in part 
 by one of the succeeding. It may be asked, in such instances, 
 who is it that comprehends the whole ? 
 
 Lastly, much more in the Supreme Mind may we find such 
 coincidence, since here, not only contraries, but all things what- 
 ever co-exist, and that, too, after a manner peculiarly tran- 
 scendent ; not by a knowledge which is partial, but by one which 
 is universal ; not with occasional remissions, but in one uniform 
 unremitting energy ; p not by subsequent impressions from things 
 already pre-existing, but by that original causality, through 
 which it makes all things to exist. 
 
 A noble field for speculating opens upon this occasion ; which, 
 though arising out of our subject, yet naturally leading us be- 
 yond it, we shall omit, and return to our logical inquiries, con- 
 cluding here what we have to advance in our theory concerning 
 substance/ 1 
 
 We are now to consider the remaining genera, predicaments, 
 or arrangements; that is to say, quality, quantity, relation, 
 site, &c. 
 
 Some of these are at all times no higher than accidents ; such, 
 for example, as site or position, the time when, and the place 
 where. Others, upon occasion, characterize and essentiate ; such, 
 for example, as magnitude, figure, colour, and many qualities. 
 Thus a triply extended magnitude is essential to body, angularity 
 to a cube, heat to fire, and colour to every superficies not trans- 
 parent. In all such instances they make a part of the character- 
 istic form, and in that sense are to be considered rather as sub- 
 stances than as accidents. However, as this holds not always, 
 and that they are sometimes as merely and as strictly accidents 
 
 This reasoning, and that in Hermes, p. seems to prove in the strongest manner that 
 22 1, note rf, abundantly shew the supremacy such faculty (by this faculty I mean the 
 of the mind among the faculties of the human mind or intellect) must be incorporeal ; for 
 soul. It is mind that sees the difference, body, being infinitely divisible, is by no 
 not only between black and white, bitter means susceptible of such a simple and 
 and sweet, but (which no sense is equal to) perfect unity, as this recognition must ne- 
 the difference between black and bitter, cessarily be. See Hermes, 1. iii. c. 4. note d. 
 white and sweet, and the various tribes of See also Aristot. de Anima, 1. iii. c. 2. p. 52. 
 heterogeneous attributes. Nor does it shew edit. Sylb. Themist. Paraph, p. 8.5. a, 6. 
 this supremacy in these recognitions only, P See the chapter on Quality, where the 
 but likewise when under one and the same verses of Empedocles are quoted, 
 view it recognises objects of sense and of 1 The author, in the representing of 
 intellect united, as in case of syllogisms ancient opinions, has endeavoured, as far 
 made of propositions particular and uni- as he was able, to make all his treatises 
 versal ; such as (if I may be permitted to consistent and explanatory one of another, 
 speak after so scholastic a manner) the Those who would see what he has already 
 syllogisms Darii and Ferio in the first written on the two great elements of sub- 
 figure, stance, discussed in this and the three pre- 
 
 To this may be added, that this joint ceding chapters, may search the index of 
 
 recognition of things multiform, contrary, Hermes for the words Matter and Form ; 
 
 and heterogeneous, and that by the same and the index of Dialogue Concerning Art 
 
 faculty, and in the same undivided instant, for the word Cause. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 291 
 
 as any of those which are so always, we choose under that 
 common denomination to speculate upon them all, beginning, ac- 
 cording to order, first from the first. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONCERNING QUALITIES CORPOREAL AND INCORPOREAL NATURAL 
 
 AND ACQUIRED OF CAPACITY AND COMPLETION TRANSITIONS IM- 
 MEDIATE, AND THROUGH A MEDIUM DISPOSITIONS, HABITS GENIUS 
 
 PRIMARY AND IMPERFECT CAPACITY SECONDARY AND PERFECT 
 
 WHERE IT IS THAT NO CAPACITIES EXIST QUALITIES, PENETRATING 
 
 AND SUPERFICIAL ESSENTIAL FORM FIGURE AN IMPORTANT QUA- 
 LITY FIGURES INTELLECTUAL, NATURAL, ARTIFICIAL, FANTASTIC 
 
 COLOUR, ROUGHNESS, SMOOTHNESS, ETC. PERSONS OF QUALITY 
 
 PROPERTIES OF QUALITY SOME REJECTED, ONE ADMITTED, AND 
 
 WHY. 
 
 As substance justly holds the first rank among these predica- 
 ments, or universal arrangements, by being the single one among 
 them that exists of itself, so the next in order, as some have as- 
 serted/ is quality, because quality is said to be an attribute 
 from which no substance is exempt. 
 
 There may be substances, they tell us, devoid of quantity ; 
 such, for example, if we admit them, as the intellective, or im- 
 material ; but that there should be substances devoid of quality 
 is a thing hardly credible, because they could not then be cha- 
 racterized and distinguished one from another. 
 
 On this reasoning it is maintained, that although we have no 
 idea of quantity suggested to us in that animating principle, the 
 soul, yet can we discern that this principle has many different 
 qualities, and that animals from these qualities derive their dis- 
 tinct and specific characters. There is, for example, a social 
 sympathy in the soul of man, which prompts the individuals of 
 our species to congregate, and form themselves into tribes. 
 
 Homo sum, human! nihil a me alienum puto. 
 
 Terent. Heauton. act. i. 
 
 We can trace the same congregating quality in the bee, in the 
 beaver, and even in the ferocious wolf. It is, however, less fre- 
 
 r This was the opinion of Archytas : is imparted to quantity from substance, so 
 
 irpwra pxv reraKrai ovffla Seurepa 5e a also must quantity succeed and come after 
 
 vot^ras: "the first in order is substance, quality, inasmuch as it derives from quality 
 
 the second quality." Simplic. in Praed. its very character and distinctive peculi- 
 
 Quantitat. p. 31. edit. Basil. Simplicius arity." Ibid. To iroibv \eyfrai f) SiaQopb 
 
 adds, fbcnrep % ovcria rov irocrov irpovird.px*ii T ^s ov&tas : "The difference which attends 
 
 St6ri rb clvai rca iroffcf &irb rrjs oixrias tv- each substance is called quality.' 1 '' Arist. Me- 
 
 SiSorai. OVTVS Kal /j.era rb iroibv Uv efrj rb taph. A. c. 14. He explains it immedi- 
 
 iroffbv.. iireiS^ rbv x a P aKTi nP a avrbv, /cot ately : " man is a biped animal ; horse, a 
 
 rfyv lSt6rr)ra airb rrjs iroiorrjTos %x fl ' " as quadruped." 
 substance precedes quantitv, because being 
 
 u 2 
 
292 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 quent in those of ferocious character ; the greater part of whom, 
 if we except those seasons while they hreed and nurture their 
 young, seem to feel no other instincts but such as lead them to 
 be solitary. It was under this unfeeling and gloomy character 
 that Homer describes Polypheme and his giant-brethren : 
 
 0efu<rreuet 5e fKacrros 
 IlaiSwj/, 7j5' a.\6x<v' ovS" a\\-f)\a>v o.\4yovffi. Odys. ix. 1 1 4. 
 
 " Each lords it o'er 
 
 His children and his wives ; nor care they aught 
 One for another." 
 
 It is no less obvious, on the other hand, that there are qualities 
 which may be considered as peculiar to body. If we admit 
 figures, colours, and odours for qualities, and such undoubtedly 
 they are, we must admit, of course, that among animal bodies 
 there is one figure to the serpent, another to the horse ; one 
 colour to the swan, another to the parrot. Even in the vegetable 
 race, the rose has one odour, the jessamine another ; there is one 
 figure to the orange, another to the fig. 
 
 It follows, therefore, that as qualities help to distinguish not 
 only one soul from another soul, and one body from another 
 body, but (in a more general view) every soul from every body, 
 it follows (I say) that qualities, by having this common reference 
 to both, are naturally divided into corporeal and incorporeal. 
 
 It was the judgment of Shakspeare to unite them in the cha- 
 racter of Richard the Third, when he makes Buckingham relate 
 in what manner he recommended him to the citizens of London : 
 
 Withal I did infer your lineaments, 
 Being the right idea of your father, 
 Both in your form, and nobleness of mind. 
 
 Virgil does the same with respect to ^Eneas, when he makes 
 his heroic virtue and his graceful person have so powerful an 
 effect upon the unfortunate Dido : 
 
 Quis novus hie nostris successit sedibus hospes ? 
 Quam sese ore ferens, quam forti pectore et armis ? 
 
 JEn. iv. 10, 11. 
 
 The qualities above mentioned admit of another division, and 
 that is into natural and acquired. Thus, in the mind, docility 
 may be called a natural quality; science, an acquired one : in the 
 human body, beauty may be called a natural quality; gentility, an 
 acquired one. This distinction descends even to bodies inani- 
 mate. To transmit objects of vision is a quality natural to 
 .crystal ; but to enlarge them, while transmitted, is a character 
 adventitious. Even the same quality may be natural in one 
 substance, as attraction in the magnet ; and acquired in another, 
 as the same attraction in the magnetic bar. 
 
 All the above qualities have not only their completion, but 
 their capacity. 3 Thus not only the grape when complete, (that 
 
 * Thus we translate the words eVreAe- fiev Swcfytei, ra Se fvepyfia. 
 X "* and StW/its : sometimes we read TO. " power," is seen in uArj, " matter ; 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 293 
 
 is to say, when mature,) possesses a delicious flavour ; but there 
 is a capacity also to produce it, residing in a simple grape-stone. 
 Even in artificial substances there are in like manner capacities. 
 A grain of gunpowder has the capacity of explosion ; a musical 
 instrument, that of rendering harmony. If, leaving these arti- 
 ficial and vegetative substances, we go still higher, we shall in 
 animals find capacities, commonly known by the name of in- 
 stincts; to which the frame of every species is peculiarly ac- 
 commodated, and which frame such instincts internally actuate. 
 
 Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit ; unde nisi intus 
 
 Monstratum ? Horat. Sat. ii. 1 . .52. 
 
 In man there is a capacity to science and virtue ; and well 
 would it be for him, if not also to their contraries. Yet such is 
 our nature, such the peculiar character of the reasoning faculty, 
 belonging to us as men ; it is capable of either direction, 1 and 
 may be employed, like the same weapon, as well to evil as to 
 good. 
 
 Nor are there such qualities only as capacities, but there is 
 a contrary and negative sort, which may be called incapacities ; u 
 and these also of different kinds, some for better, some for 
 worse ; so that where the capacities do honour, there the inca- 
 pacities debase ; where the capacities debase, there their oppo- 
 sites do honour. Thus to the power of being taught, an honour- 
 able capacity, is opposed the incapacity of being taught, a 
 debasing one ; and hence is man distinguished from an insect, 
 and the one called docile, the other indocile. Again, to the power 
 of dying, a debasing capacity, is opposed the inability of dying, 
 a superior one ; and thus are superior beings called immortal in 
 the way of excellence/ whilst man is called mortal, with a view 
 to subordination. 
 
 The transition from qualities of capacity to those of comple- 
 tion, is sometimes immediate, sometimes through a medium. 
 Thus in a grain of gunpowder, the transition from the power of 
 exploding, to actual explosion, is immediate ; so from the power 
 
 completion," in elSos, "form." And why this? because they are both 
 
 The division above mentioned into corpo- founded in reason ; and it is the same reason, 
 
 real and incorporeal is taken from Ploti- in all instances, which shews us the thing, 
 
 nus, as we learn from Simplicius, in Praed. and shews us also its privation : 6 8e \6yos 
 
 p. 69. B. 6 avrbs STJA.O? rb Trpayima, Kal T^V oWprj- 
 
 1 'E7raju<f>oTepet iracra rj \oyoi8))s [5u- criv. Arist. Metaph. ix. 2. p. 143. edit. 
 
 ra/xts :] " Every power of the rational kind Sylb. See also pages 147, 153, of the same 
 
 has a capacity either way, that is, a double work. 
 
 capacity." Ammon. in Praed. p. 127. At u Awd/j.fis, a8vva/j.tai. Arist. Praed. p. 
 
 fjLfV ovv /j-era \6yov 8wcjuets, at aural 41. edit. Sylb. 
 
 jr\i6vo)v Kal rwv Ivavriaov : " The powers x Sappho, the celebrated poetess, has a 
 
 that are connected with the reasoning fa- singular sentiment upon this subject: Tb 
 
 culty, are the same with respect to various a.TroQvr}crK*iv K.a.K.6v' ot Oeol yap ovrta KfKpt- 
 
 and contrary operations." Aristot. de In- KcuriV airf6vf)<rKov yap av : "To die, is an 
 
 terpr. p. 75. edit. Sylb. evil ; the gods have so determined it, or 
 
 It is thus medicine, as an art, can cause else they would die themselves." Arist. 
 
 sickness as well as health ; music, as an Rhet. 1. ii. c. 22. s. 27. 
 art, can cause discord as well as harmony. 
 
294 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 of hearing, to actual hearing ; from the power of seeing, to actual 
 sight ; and the same in the other senses/ all which we seem to 
 possess in a sort of perfection from the beginning. But there 
 are other capacities, and those none of the meanest, where the 
 transition to completion is necessarily through a medium. 
 
 Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam, 
 
 Multa tulit, fecitque puer. Hor. Art. Poet. 412. 
 
 If an art be our end, there are many energies to be practised; 
 if a science, many theorems to be understood ; if moral virtue, 
 many appetites to be curbed, many opinions to be eradicated, 
 before we can attain the wished-for goal. The qualities, which 
 distinguish any being, during this changeable period, may be 
 called tendencies, dispositions, or progressive qualities. They are, 
 too, as well as capacities, of a different colour, some good, some 
 bad. There is a kind of laudable progression, before we arrive 
 at perfect virtue; as there is a kind of degenerating interval, 
 before we sink into perfect vice. 
 
 Our tendencies during these intervals are easy to be inter- 
 rupted. As the wiles of pleasure, and an ill-directed shame, are 
 often fatal checks to a young proficient in virtue ; so are con- 
 science and a better shame to young beginners in vice. And 
 hence we may perceive the true character of these tendencies ; 
 which is, that of all qualities they are the least steady and per- 
 manent. Horace well describes this state of fluctuation : 
 
 Si toga dissidet impar, 
 
 Rides : quid, mea cum pugnat sententia secum ; 
 Quod petiit, spernit ; repetit, quod nuper omisit ; 
 .ZEstuat, et vitae disconvenit ordine toto. Horat Epist. 1. i. 96. 
 
 It is to the same mutable condition that Epictetus alludes, 
 
 y The Peripatetics made two sorts of ca- culating." Arist. de An. ii. 5. He means 
 
 parity, both of which have a foundation in by this, that every man originally sees 
 
 nature, and yet are evidently distinguished with the same ease, as an able geometrician 
 
 the one from the other. Man, as a rational goes through a theorem. There is none of 
 
 being, is capable of geometry. This is the the fatigue and labour and delay of a 
 
 first capacity. After he has acquired the learner : seeing and hearing have no need 
 
 science of geometry, he possesses it, even to be taught us. 
 
 when he does not geometrize. This is the Animum autem reliquis rebus ita perfecit, 
 
 second capacity ; a capacity acquired indeed ut corpus: sensibus enim ornavit ad res 
 
 by labour, but when once acquired, called percipiendas idoneis, ut nihil aut non mul- 
 
 forth in an instant ; a capacity founded on tumadjumentoullo ad suani conformationem 
 
 the original one, but yet in every view of it indigeret. Quod autem in homine praestan- 
 
 far superior and more valuable. tissimum et optimum est, id, &c. Cic. de 
 
 All this holds with regard to the intellect Fin. 1. v. c. 21. 
 
 or mind, but by no means with regard to And here, by the way, we may perceive 
 
 the senses, for these are perfect, or nearly a capital distinction between those two 
 
 so, from the beginning, and require neither powers or faculties of the soul, sense and 
 
 time, nor teaching, for their maturity. intellect, which faculties in vulgar specula- 
 
 QTO.V Se yewrjBri, e%et 77877 uxrirep CTTI- tions are too often confounded. In intel- 
 
 Kal rb alo-Qdvea-Oai, xal rb KO,T* eV- lect there is an advance to better and more 
 
 o/ut,oio)s Aeyerat T< 06a>pe7i/: "As complete; a progression wholly unknown 
 
 soon as any one is born, he immediately to the powers of sense, which is complete 
 
 possesses sense, as he would actual science ; from the very beginning, through all its 
 
 and the energy of sensation has a similar operations, 
 meaning with that of actual scientific spe- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 295 
 
 where having spoken upon proficiency, he subjoins the following 
 advice : " That after a certain time his young philosopher should 
 exhibit himself, to see how far the fancies overpowered him, as 
 they did before ; and how far he was now able to resist their 
 influence. He advises him, however, to fly at first such conflicts, 
 as would put his virtue to a trial too severe ; and quotes the 
 proverb on the occasion, that the metal pot and the stone pot 
 do not with safety accord ^ z 
 
 Such therefore is the character of these tendencies, or dis- 
 positions. 3 But different is the case when their course is 
 finished, and when they may be said to have attained their 
 maturity and completion. The man completely virtuous dreads 
 no allurements ; the man completely vicious feels no compunc- 
 tions. Like sturdy oaks, they defy that force which could 
 easily have bent them while they were but saplings. 
 
 And hence, as we are not said to have an estate, because we 
 are walking upon it, or to have a picture, because we are holding 
 it ; but to have them, implies a superior, a more permanent pos- 
 session, such as either cannot be defeated, or at least not easily; 
 hence, I say, these completions, whether virtuous or vicious, are 
 called, from their steadiness and permanence, habits. b They 
 are possessions, which their owner may properly be said to have, 
 and by which we call him habitually good, or habitually bad. 
 The professors of medicine find this distinction in human bodies. 
 It is not any health, (such as health just recovered, or with dif- 
 ficulty preserved,) but it is confirmed and steady health, which 
 they call a good habit ofbody. They have reference in diseases 
 to the same permanence, when they talk of hectic coughs, and 
 hectic fevers, complaints not casual, but which make a part (as 
 it were) of the constitution. 
 
 And thus, besides the distinctions of corporea I and in corporeal r , 
 of natural and acquired, may all qualities be considered as capaci- 
 ties, as tendencies, and as habits ; as capacities only and habits, 
 where the transition is immediate ; as all three successively, 
 where the transition is through a medium. 
 
 It is worth while to observe in the human mind the succes- 
 sive appearance of these qualities, where during the transition 
 there exists a medium or interval. The original power which 
 
 z Arrian. Epict. 1. iii. c. 12. shift easily, may be called dispositions, he 
 
 a Aictfleoas, "disposition;" e|ts, "habit." subjoins, that so it is: ty ^ ris xal avruv 
 
 Arist. Cat. p. 40. edit. Sylb. TOVTWV rvyxafei Sia XP^ VOV "x^Qos ^5rj 
 
 b Aia^epet e|is StafleVecos rca TV/I' fj.fi/ ffv/j-iretyvinw/uievri ital aviaros (legitur O.K(- 
 
 evKivriTov e?*/at, T^J/ Se iro\vxpovi<jnspov, VTJTOS,) 2) TTO.VV SvaidvriTos ovffa, fyv avris 
 
 Kal Sua"Kivrir6Tfpoi>: "Habit differs from forces fiv tfSr) irpocrayopevoi : "Unless any 
 
 disposition, as the latter is easily moveable, one of these very affections should by length 
 
 the former is of longer duration, and more of time become naturalized, and grow either 
 
 difficult to be moved." Arist. Praed. p. 40. immoveable, or only to be removed with 
 
 edit. Sylb. difficulty ; which perfection then perhaps 
 
 And just after, having spoken of warmth we may call a habit.' 1 '' Arist. Praed. p. 41. 
 
 and cold, of health and sickness, and sliewn edit. Sylb. 
 how far these, when they are mutable and 
 
296 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 the mind possesses of being taught, we call natural capacity; 
 and this in some degree is common to all men. The superior 
 facility of being taught, which some possess above the rest, we 
 call genius. The first transition, or advances from natural power, 
 we call proficiency ; and the end or completion of proficiency, we 
 call habit. 
 
 If such habit be conversant about matter purely speculative, 
 it is then called science ; if it descend from speculation to prac- 
 tice, it is then called art; and if such practice be conversant in 
 regulating the passions and affections, it is then called moral 
 
 Even all these habits, after having been thus acquired, can 
 return at times into capacity, and there lie dormant and for a 
 time unperceived. 
 
 Alfenus vafer, onmi 
 
 Abjecto instrumento artis, clausaque taberna, 
 Sutor erat. Herat. Sat. i. 3. 130. 
 
 Wide however is the difference between this habitual, se- 
 condary capacity, and that which is natural and original. The 
 habitual can pass at once, when it pleases, into perfect energy ; 
 the natural, only through the medium of institution and re- 
 peated practice. 
 
 The several qualities thus variously distinguished are to be 
 found only in beings of subordinate nature. But if there be a 
 being, whose existence is all-perfect and complete, and such must 
 that Being necessarily be, the source of perfection to all others ; 
 with the nature of such being this variety will be incompatible. 
 In him are no powers or dormant capacities, no proficiencies or 
 transitions from worse to better, and still much less from better 
 to worse ; but a full and immutable energy through every part 
 of space. It was concerning this divine principle that Empe- 
 docles sung of old : 
 
 yelp av8po/j.fr) Kt<pa\rj Kara yvla KfKaffraL, 
 Ov fifv airal vdiruv ye Suo /cAaSot aiffaovffiv, 
 Ov TrJSes, ov 06a yovva, ov /i^Sea Aaxi/TjevTa, 
 'AAAa <f>p))v ifpfy., /cat aOeffQaros eTrAero [JLOVVOV, 
 Qpoyriffi K6ff(ji.ov airavra Karaiffffovcra 6oyo~i. 
 No limbs hath he, with human head adorned ; 
 Nor from his shoulders branch two sprouting arms ; 
 To him belong nor feet nor pliant knees ; 
 But mind alone he was ; ineffable, 
 And holy mind : that rapidly pervades 
 With providential cares the mighty world. 6 
 
 c See before, note y, p. 294. Ovx airXov rity." Arist. de An. 1. ii. c. 5. p. 33. edit. 
 
 6vros TOV Svvdfj.fi Aeyo/iei/ou, ctAAa TOV fikv Sylb. 
 
 &ffirtp av efiro/j-ev rbv ira78a SvvaffOai ffrpa- d See Ammon. in lib. de Interpret, p. 199. 
 
 TTjyeli', TOV 8f &s rbi/ v r]\iKia 6tra: B. and Poes. Philosoph. Hen. Step. p. 30. 
 
 " Capacity or power is not a simple term of where, instead of otfre yap av8po(j.er), we 
 
 one meaning only, but there is one sort, read ov /j.ev yap ftporep. 
 when we say of a child, he has a capacity And here it may be observed, by way 
 
 to be a military leader ; another, when we of digression, that in this part of Ammo- 
 
 say so of a man, who is in complete matu- nius, a part truly valuable, and deeply phi- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL AllRANGEMENTS. 297 
 
 The speculations of this genus, or arrangement, having now 
 carried us to the sublimest of all objects, ought here to end. But 
 as there still remain a few observations, and besides these a dis- 
 quisition into the properties of the genus, and that the apparent 
 as well as the real ; we cannot quit the subject till these inquiries 
 have been first satisfied. Thus then the treatise proceeds. 
 
 With respect to qualities purely corporeal, they may be con- 
 sidered either as penetrating body, such as gravitation, heat, 
 flavour, and the like ; or else as confined to the surface, such as 
 figure, colour, smoothness, roughness, &c. Those internal qua- 
 lities which pervade the whole, (whether they arise merely from 
 organization, or include that and something more,) constitute 
 what we call essential form or natural essence. And hence the 
 just idea of natural essence, or essential form, e which consists 
 in giving a character to the subject which it pervades. It is 
 through this internally pervading character, that substances are 
 what they are ; that they become not only distinguished from 
 one another, but from the nicest mimicries of art ; the real 
 orange from the orange of wax, the living lion from the lion 
 painted. 
 
 Indeed one of the capital distinctions between operations na- 
 tural and artificial is, that nature penetrates, while art stops at 
 the surface. It is the surface of the canvas, which the painter 
 covers ; the surface of the gem, which the jeweller polishes ; the 
 surface of the steel, to which the smith gives a figure ; and the 
 surface of the string, to which the musician applies his bow. 
 There is hardly any deviation from this rule with respect to arts, 
 if we except those only, (such as cookery and medicine,) the 
 business of which consists principally in compounding natural 
 materials. Here indeed the proportions pass through the whole 
 composition, and the more accurate these proportions, the greater 
 of course the merit of each artist. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that though artificial quali- 
 ties are mostly superficial, yet are not all natural qualities to be 
 considered as internal. The form or essence of every natural 
 substance (that is to say, in other words, its system of internal 
 qualities) extends itself outwardly f every way from within ; and, 
 
 losophical, we meet in the printed text two eKetVwv, a reading manifestly better, though 
 
 chasms, which much impair the meaning, not so important as the former. 
 The first occurs, p. 199. B. line 19, between The edition of Ammonius, here referred 
 
 tbe words ra>v Kal rcav. Here a MS. col- to, is that of Venice, in 12mo., in the year 
 
 lation supplies the word afyavuv. The se- 1 545. The same places may be found in 
 
 cond occurs p. 200, line 2, after the word the edition of Aldus, at Venice, in 12mo., 
 
 arvvifvruv. Here the same MS. supplies the in the year 1546, p. 172. B. p. 173. and in 
 
 following valuable reading, whieh lies far the folio edition of the same Aldus, in the 
 
 beyond the reach of the most acute con- year 1503, where the pages are not marked, 
 
 jecture. The words are ov <rvvitvrwv [8rt but where the above chasms easily shew 
 
 7rept7reTo<r/iOTo TTJS dA.7j0tas etVt.] themselves to the reader's eye. 
 
 There is a third reading, from the same e See before, p. 275. 
 
 authority, in the fourth line of the same f "Cicnrep Se TTJS 8m<rra<re&>s rb reAos 
 
 page, which is <X7r' e'/ceiVoJp, instead of ^TT' ftrn rb ffxVP-O; ovrws TJ rov 8\ov eftovs 
 
298 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 as it must necessarily stop somewhere, (every individual being 
 finite,) so according to the different points at which it stops in 
 its evolution, it communicates to each substance a different and 
 peculiar figure. And hence the true character of every natural 
 and specific figure, which ought not to be considered merely as 
 a surface, but as a bound ; the bound to which the internal es- 
 sence or form every way extends itself, and at which, when it is 
 arrived, it finally terminates. 
 
 For this reason it is, that of all the external qualities there is 
 none so capital, so characteristic, as figure. It is a kind of uni- 
 versal signature, by which nature makes known to us the several 
 species of her productions ; the primary and obvious test, by 
 which we pronounce this a vegetable, and that an animal ; this 
 an oak, and that a lion : so that if we neither suspect fraud, nor 
 the fallibility of our own organs, we commonly rest here, and 
 inquire no further. 
 
 If we pass from these natural subjects to contemplate figure 
 in works of art, we shall discover it to be almost all that art is 
 able to communicate. It is to this that the painter arrives by 
 addition ; the sculptor by detraction ; the founder by fusion ; 
 and the stucco-artist by moulding. Even when we contemplate 
 the tools of art, it will appear, that as it is by virtue of their 
 figure alone the saw divides, the hammer drives, and the pincers 
 extract ; so is it from these several figures, that they derive 
 their character and their name, not from their matter, which 
 matter is often the same, when the tools are totally different and 
 distinct one from another. 5 
 
 Nor are these artificial the only figures with which man is 
 found conversant. Among the various possibilities which the 
 mind suggests, there is a more accurate tribe of figures, which it 
 recognises and defines, and which, it may be justly questioned, 
 whether matter ever possessed; for example, the perfect tri- 
 angle, the perfect circle, the perfect pyramid, the perfect sphere, 
 with the rest of those figures commonly called mathematical.' 1 
 These are not sought out by experiments, nor are the truths 
 dependent on them derived from experiments, being in fact the 
 result of a more authentic knowledge, that is to say, in other 
 words, of the purest demonstration. On these figures, and their 
 dependent truths, rests the whole of mechanics, so highly useful 
 to human life ; rest astronomy and optics, and a large part of 
 physics, some of the noblest subjects among the corporeal for 
 contemplation. 
 
 &XP 1 T ^ s e7ri<az>eias T$?J/ complete form, at its surface, produces 
 
 v a.Tveyzvvi](Tv, ovffav avT-rjv rb (f>ai- shape ; shape being itself the apparent ves- 
 
 vo^vov tx vos T v eifSot/s, Kal TeAeuTcuav tige of that form, and the ultimate extent 
 
 KTa<nv rrjs rov \6yov C'TT} ra eKrbs irpo- of that progression, which the internal ratio 
 
 68ov. Simplic. in Praed. p. 69. B. edit. Basil, makes outwards." 
 
 " For as the end or extremity of any ex- s See before, ehap. iv. 
 
 tension is the figure, so the ending of a h See p. 94, and note g. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 299 
 
 The industry of man stops not even here, but prompts him 
 to search for figures, riot only in his intellect, but in a lower 
 faculty. 
 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
 
 And as imagination bodies forth 
 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothings 
 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 
 Shaksp. Mids. Night's Dream, act v. sc. 1. 
 
 And hence that tribe of figures, which are neither natural, nor 
 artificial, nor intellectual, but which make a fourth sort, that 
 may be called fantastic, or imaginary ; such as centaurs, satyrs, 
 sphinxes, hydras, &c. 
 
 And so much for figure, that most capital quality of all the 
 superficial. 
 
 The next quality of this sort after figure is colour, the source, 
 like figure, of many varieties and distinctions. Yet that it is 
 inferior to figure is obvious from this : in the sketches of a 
 painter we know things by their figures alone, without their co- 
 lours ; but not by their colours alone, when divested of their 
 figures. 
 
 As for roughness, smoothness, hardness, softness, though they 
 may be said, perhaps, to penetrate further than the surface, yet 
 are they, to man^s sensation at least, so many qualities super- 
 ficial. 
 
 And now with respect to all kinds of qualities, whether cor- 
 poreal or incorporeal, there is one thing to be observed, that 
 some degree of permanence is always requisite ; else they are 
 not so properly qualities, as incidental affections. 1 Thus we call 
 not a man passionate, because he has occasionally been angered, 
 but because he is prone to frequent anger ; nor do we say a man 
 is of a pallid or a ruddy complexion, because he is red by imme- 
 diate exercise, or pale by sudden fear, but when that paleness or 
 redness may be called constitutional. 
 
 We have said already, that it was the essence of all qualities to 
 characterize and distinguish. And hence the origin of that phrase, 
 " a person of quality ;" that is to say, a person distinguished 
 from the vulgar by his valour, his wisdom, or some other capital 
 accomplishment. As these were the primary sources of those 
 external honours paid to eminent men in precedences, titles, 
 and various other privileges ; it followed that these honours by 
 degrees grew to represent the things honoured ; so that as virtue 
 
 1 These Aristotle calls nddrj. OfcVe y&p plexion ; nor is he who turns pale from 
 
 6 epvOpiuv SLO. TO. aiVx^etrflat, fpvdpias being frightened, called of a palish com- 
 
 \fyerai, ovre 6 wxp&v 5ia rb (oj8eT<r0ai, plexion, but they are rather said to have 
 
 applets' a\Aa jUAAov irsirovQfva.1 rt' &<rr been particularly aftected ; for which reason 
 
 Trafrrj yuei/ TO. TotavTa Ae^cTcu, iroi6ri\rfs 8e such events are called incidental affections, 
 
 o> : "Neither is the man who blushes from and not qualities." Arist. Freed, p. 43. 
 
 being ashamed, called of a reddish com- edit. Sylb. 
 
300 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 led originally to rank, rank in after-days came to infer virtue ; 
 particular ranks, particular virtues : that of a prince, serenity ; 
 of an ambassador, excellence ; of a duke, grace ; of a pope, 
 holiness ; of a justice or mayor, worship, Sec. &c. 
 
 As to the general properties of quality, they may be found 
 among the following. 
 
 Contrariety appertains to it. j Thus in the corporeal qualities, 
 hot is contrary to cold, and black to white. So, too, in mental 
 qualities, wisdom is contrary to folly, and virtue to vice : subor- 
 dinate virtues to subordinate vices ; liberality to avarice, courage 
 to cowardice. Even vices themselves are contrary one to another; 
 cowardice to temerity, avarice to profusion. It may be doubted, 
 however, whether this character of quality be universal ; for 
 what among figures is there contrary in one figure to another, 
 either in the square to the circle, or in the circle to the square \ 
 
 Another property of qualities is to admit of intension and re- 
 mission* Thus of two persons handsome, there may be one the 
 handsomer ; and among many handsome, one the handsomest. 
 
 Uaffdcav 8' uVep 7)76 /ccfy>?j e^ei r?5e ,ueVw7ra, 
 
 'PeTa 5* apiyj/t&r'n ireAeraj, /caAal 8e re iraffai. Horn. Odys. Z. 107. 
 
 " Far above all she bears her tow'ring head, 
 
 With ease distinguish'd, tho' they all are fair." 
 
 So sir John Falstaff, speaking to his companion, the young 
 prince " I am not John a Gaunt, your grandfather ; and yet I 
 am no coward." 1 
 
 It appears, however, that the above-mentioned species of 
 quality, called figure, no more admits this property than it did 
 contrariety. The figures which are triangles, are not more so 
 one than another ; no more are the circles, circles ; the squares, 
 squares, &c. : which seems, indeed, to arise from their definitude 
 and precision." 1 
 
 But there is a property to be found which may justly deserve 
 the name, by being common at least to the whole genus, if not 
 peculiar to that only : and this property is, that by virtue of their 
 qualities things are denominated like and unlike? It is thus that 
 the swan by his quality of whiteness resembles the snow ; that 
 Achilles by his quality of fierceness resembles a mastiff; and 
 that the earth by her quality of figure is like to a bowl. 
 
 From this property we see the reason why there is no arrange- 
 ment to which the poets are so much indebted as to this; 
 since hence they derive those innumerable images which so 
 strongly distinguish poetry from every other species of writing. 
 For example : let us suppose a young hero just slain ; let us 
 
 J "firdpxei 8e fvavTi^s Kara rb iroibv, m See Hermes, p. 175. 
 K. r. A. Arist. Praed. p. 44. edit. Sylb. n "Oftoia 8e ^ av6fj.oia Kara /j.6vas ras 
 
 k 'ETrtSe'xeTcu 5e rb /MiXXov Kal rb 3\TTOv iroi6rirjras \fjeraf 8/J.oiov yap erepov erepy 
 
 TO iroid' K. T. A. Arist. Freed, p. 45. edit, otf/c eVrt /car' #AAo ouSei/, 3) Kaff & iroi6v 
 
 Sylb. to-riv. Arist. Prad. p. 45. edit. Sylb. 
 
 1 Shaksp. Hen. IV. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. SOI 
 
 suppose him lying, with a drooping head, a face divested of life 
 and bloom, yet still retaining traces both of beauty and of youth. 
 The poet would illustrate this pathetic image by finding some- 
 thing that resembles it. And where is he to search, but where he 
 can discover similar qualities ? He finds at length an assemblage 
 of them in a flower just gathered : the same drooping head, the 
 same lifeless fade, the same relicts of a form that was once fair 
 and flourishing. 
 
 Thus then Virgil, speaking of young Pallas : 
 
 Qualem virgineo demessum pollice florem 
 
 Seu mollis violse, scu languentis hyacinth!, 
 
 Cui neque fulgor adhuc, necdum sua forma recessit ; 
 
 Non jam mater alit tellus, viresque ministrat. JEn. xi. 68. 
 
 Again, what would Milton have us conceive, when he describes 
 the tremendous shield of Satan 2 Those conspicuous characters 
 of brightness, vastness, and rotundity. To what subject then 
 ought he to refer, that we may comprehend what he would de- 
 scribe ? It must be to one that eminently possesses an assem- 
 blage of the same qualities. Let the poet, in his own words, 
 inform us what this subject is : 
 
 The broad circumference 
 Hung on his shoulders, like the moon. Par. Lost, i. 286. 
 
 The reason of this property may be, perhaps, as follows. To 
 be like is something less than to be perfectly the same, and some- 
 thing more than to be perfectly different. And hence it is, that 
 when two things are called like, there is implied in their nature 
 something of sameness, and something of diversity. If it be 
 asked what the sameness is ; we answer, it must be something 
 more definitive than those transcendental samenesses which run 
 through all things. We say not that a piece of ebony is like a 
 swan, because they both are ; or that a crow resembles a snow- 
 ball, because each of them is one, and not two. The identity 
 must be sought from among the number of those qualities, the 
 nature of which is less extensive, and more confined to parti- 
 cular species. Let blackness, for example, be a quality of this 
 character in that union of qualities which constitutes ebony; 
 and let the same quality be one also in that union which con- 
 stitutes a crow. So far, then, the ebony and the crow are the 
 same ; through every other quality perhaps they are different ; 
 and through sameness, thus tempered by diversity, they become, 
 and are called like. 
 
 The same happens to the earth and a bowl, from their com- 
 mon rotundity ; to the hero and the mastiff, from their common 
 ferocity. 
 
 And so much for the second universal genus, arrangement, or 
 predicament, the genus of quality, its various species, and its 
 different properties. 
 
 See note //., p. 27-% and note r, p. 305. 
 
302 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONCERNING QUANTITY ITS TWO SPECIES THEIR CHARACTERS. TIME 
 
 AND PLACE THEIR CHARACTERS. PROPERTY OF QUANTITY, WHAT. 
 
 QUANTITIES RELATIVE. FIGURE AND NUMBER, THEIR EFFECT UPON 
 
 QUANTITY IMPORTANCE OF THIS EFFECT. SCIENCES MATHEMATICAL 
 
 APPERTAIN TO IT THEIR USE, ACCORDING TO PLATO. HOW OTHER 
 
 BEINGS PARTAKE OF QUANTITY. ANALOGY, FOUND IN MIND. COM- 
 MON SENSE AND GENIUS, HOW DISTINGUISHED. AMAZING EFFICACY 
 OF THIS GENUS IN AND THROUGH THE WORLD. ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 THE attribute of substance, standing in arrangement next to 
 quality, is quantity ; the former having precedence, as being 
 supposed more universal ; while the latter, at least in appearance, 
 seems not to extend beyond body. 
 
 Out of natural bodies is the visible world composed, and we 
 may contemplate them in different manners; either one body, 
 taken by itself and alone ; or many bodies, taken collectively 
 and at once. When Virgil says of the oak, 
 
 Quantum vertice ad auras 
 ./Etherias, tantum radice ad Tartara tendit ; Geor. ii. 29 1 . 
 
 or when Milton informs us, that 
 
 Behemoth, biggest born of earth, unheaved 
 
 His vastness ; Par. Lost, vii. 471. 
 
 in these instances we have only one body, taken by itself and 
 alone, and this naturally suggests the idea of magnitude. But 
 when in Virgil we read, 
 
 Quam multa in sylvis autumni frigore primo 
 
 Lapsa cadunt folia ; JEn. vi. 309. 
 
 or when in Milton, 
 
 Thick as autumnal leaves, that strew the brooks 
 
 In Vallombrosa ; Par. Lost, i. 302. 
 
 in these instances we have many bodies taken collectively and at 
 once, and this naturally suggests the idea of multitude. 
 
 Horace gives the two species together in his fine address to 
 Augustus : 
 
 Cum tot sustineas et tanta negotia. Horat. Epist. 1. ii. 1. 
 
 Now in magnitude and multitude we behold these two primary, 
 these two grand and comprehensive species, into which the genus 
 of quantity is divided ; magnitude, from its union, being called 
 quantity continuous ; multitude, from its separation, quantity 
 discrete. p 
 
 P ToD Se TTOO-OV rh p.tv tffri 5io>/>J<r/ueVoj>, rb 8e (Twe^es. Aristot. Praed. p. 30. edit. 
 Sylb. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 303 
 
 Of the continuous kind is every solid ; also the bound of every 
 solid, that is, a superficies ; and the bound of every superficies, 
 that is, a line ; to which may be added those two concomitants 
 of every body, namely, time and place. Of the discrete kind are 
 fleets, armies, herds, flocks, the syllables of sounds articulate, &c. 
 
 We have mentioned formerly, q when we treated of time, that 
 every now or present instant was a boundary or term at which 
 the past ended and the future began ; and that it was in the 
 perpetuity of this connection that time became continuous. In 
 like manner within every line may be assumed infinite such con- 
 nectives, under the character of points ; and within every super- 
 ficies, under the character of lines ; and within every solid, under 
 the character of superficies ; to which connectives these quantities 
 owe their continuity. And hence a specific distinction, attending 
 all quantities continuous, that their several parts everywhere 
 coincide in a common boundary or connective/ 
 
 It is not so with quantities discrete ; for here such coincidents 
 is plainly impossible. Let us suppose, for example, a multitude 
 of squares, a?, y, z. &c. 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 Here if the line AB, where the square x ends, were the same 
 with the line CD, where the square y begins, and EF in like 
 manner the same with GH, they would no longer be a multitude 
 of squares, but one continuous parallelogram ; such as 
 
 the figure KMNL. 
 
 Another specific character belonging to the solid body, the 
 superficies, and the line, (all of which are quantities continuous,) 
 is, that their parts have a definite position within some definite 
 whole ; s while in quantities discrete, that is in multitudes, such 
 position is no way requisite. In the most perfect continuous 
 quantities, such as beams of timber, blocks of marble, &c. it is 
 with difficulty the parts can change position, without destruction 
 to the quantity, taken as continuous. But a herd of cattle, or 
 an army of soldiers, may change position as often as they please, 
 and no damage arise to the multitude, considered as a multitude. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that this character of po- 
 
 <i See Hermes, lib. i. c. 7. p. 146. 9 "E-n, ret ptv IK Oea-tv ^x^ vruv "7^* 
 
 r See Arist. Praedic. p. 31. edit. Sylb. &\\i)\a TUV tv avrois fjLopia>j/ (Tvi/co-ny/cc' 
 
 'H Se ypa/j-fji.^ ffvvexfis tanv, K.T.\. This oTov TO. /iei/ rf)s ypa/j.fj.rls p.6pia, Qeffiv e%ei 
 
 character is described to be irp6s riva. Kowbv irpbs #AA?jAa, K. T. A.. Arist. Praed. p. 31. 
 
 %pov ffvv&Trreiv. Ibid. edit. Svlb. 
 
304 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 sition extends not to time, though time be a continuous subject. 
 How, indeed, should the parts of time have position, which are 
 so far from being permanent, that they fly as fast as they arrive ? 
 Here, therefore, we are rather to look for a sequel in just order;* 
 for a continuity not by position, as in the limbs of an animal, 
 but for a continuity by succession : 
 
 Velut unda supervenit undam. Horat. Epist. ii. 2. 176. 
 
 And thus are the two species of quantity, the continuous and 
 the discrete, distinguished from each other. 
 
 Besides this, among the continuous themselves there is a 
 further distinction. Body and its attributes, the superficies and 
 the line, are continuous quantities, capable all of them of being 
 divided ; and by being divided, of becoming a multitude ; and 
 by becoming a multitude, of passing into quantity discrete. But 
 those continuous quantities, time and place, admit not, like the 
 others, even the possibility of being divided. For grant place 
 to be divided, as Germany is divided from Spain ; what interval 
 can we suppose, except it be other place 2 Again : suppose time 
 to be divided, as the age of Sophocles from that of Shakspeare ; 
 what interval are we to substitute, except it be other time? 
 Place, therefore, and time, though continuous like the rest, are 
 incapable of being divided, because they admit not, like the rest, 
 to have their continuity broken." 
 
 But to proceed. Let us imagine, as we are walking, that at 
 a distance we view a mountain, and at our feet a molehill : the 
 mountain we call great, the molehill little ; and thus we have 
 
 I *O Se id] fffTiv vTrofj.fvov, TTUS tt,v TovTo have moved through the same space in a 
 Qtffiv rivb. X l >' aM-a fj.a\\ov TU^IV rivk less time. Let it have moved through it in 
 eftrots Uv %X iV -> T V r ^ 1 J -* V "rpdrepov elvai the time 6. It is thus the sphere A di- 
 rov xpfoovi T b 5e vtrrepov. Arist. Praed. vides the time. Again: inasmuch as the 
 p. 32. edit. Sylb. quicker A has in the time passed through 
 
 II They cannot be divided actually, from the whole space y 8, the slower B in the 
 the reasons here given ; but they may be same time will have passed through a smaller 
 be divided in power, else they could not be space. Let this be 7 /c. It is thus the 
 continuous ; nor could there exist such sphere B divides the space. Again : inas- 
 terms as a month, a year, a cubit, a fur- much as the slower sphere B in the time 9 
 long, &c. has passed through the space 7 /c, the quicker 
 
 In this sense of potential division they sphere A will have passed through it in a 
 
 may be divided infinitely, as appears from less time ; so that the time 6 will be again 
 
 the following theorem : divided by the quicker body. But this 
 
 A B being so divided, the space 7 K will be di- 
 
 moves quicker moves slower vided also by the slower body, according to 
 
 K the same ratio. And thus it will always 
 
 7 - - - - 8 be, as often as we repeat successively what 
 Space. has been already demonstrated : for the 
 
 quicker body will after this manner divide 
 the time, and the slower body will divide 
 
 Time. the space ; and that, in either case, to in- 
 
 Let A and B be two spheres that are finite, because their continuity is infinitely 
 
 moving, and let A be the quicker moving divisible in power. See the original of this 
 
 sphere, B the slower ; and let the slower have theorem in Aristotle's Physics, lib. vi. cap. 2. 
 
 moved through the space 7 8 in the time p. 111. edit. Sylb. "Effrea rb f*,ej> e<' S> o, 
 
 r?; it is evident that the quicker will K. T.\. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 305 
 
 two opposite attributes in quantity continuous. Again : in a 
 meadow we view a herd of oxen grazing, in a field we see a yoke 
 of them ploughing the land : the herd we call many, the yoke 
 we call few ; and thus have we two similar opposites in quantity 
 
 Of these four attributes, great and many fall under the common 
 name of excess ; little and few under the common name of de- 
 fect. Again : excess and defect, though they include these four, 
 are themselves included under the common name of inequality. 
 Further still, even inequality itself is but a species of diversity; 
 as its opposite, equality, is but a species of identity. They are 
 subordinate species confined always to quantity, while identity 
 and diversity (their genera) may be found to pass through all 
 things/ 
 
 Now it is here, namely, in these two, equality and inequality, 
 that we are to look for that property by which this genus is 
 distinguished. It is from quantity only that things are denomi- 
 nated equal or unequal* 
 
 Further still : whatever is equal, is equal to something else ; 
 and thus is equality a relative term. Again : if we resolve in- 
 equality into its several excesses and defects, it will be apparent 
 that each of these is a relative term also. It is with reference 
 to little that great is called great ; with reference to few that 
 many are called many; and it is by the same habitudes inverted 
 exist little and few. And thus is it that, through the property 
 here mentioned, the attribute of quantity passes insensibly into 
 that of relation ; z a fact not unusual in other attributes as well 
 as these, from the universal sympathy and congeniality of nature. 
 
 Nay, so merely relative are many of these excesses and defects, 
 that the same subject, from its different relations, may be found 
 susceptible of both at once. The mountain, which by its re- 
 lation to the molehill was great, 3 by its relation to the earth is 
 
 x The following characters of the three a This may be true with regard to 
 
 first great arrangements, or universal^genera, mountains and molehills, and the other 
 
 are thus described by Aristotle : Tavra [*\v more indefinite parts of nature; but with 
 
 yap, &v pla r} ovffia' '6/j.ota 5', >v f] TroiSr^s regard to the more definite parts, such as 
 
 n'ia' Iffa 8e, &v rb iroabv eV: "Things are vegetables and animals, here the quantities 
 
 the same, of which the substance is one ; are not left thus vague, but are, if not ascer- 
 
 similar, of which the quality is one ; equal, taincd precisely, at least ascertained in some 
 
 of which the quantity is one." Metaph. A. degree. 
 
 K(/>. if. p. 88. edit. Sylb. Thus Aristotle: *E<rri yap TI iraffi ro7s 
 
 y "iSiov Se /j.d\iffra TOV iroffov, rb Iffov foots Trepas TOV /j-eyedovs' Sib ital rrjs T>V 
 
 Kal aviaov \4yfffQai. Arist. Prsed. p. 34. 6<rruv av|^<rews. Et yap ravr' e!x*v atf- 
 
 z Aristotle says expressly of the things tyiffiv del, Kal T&V (awv '6aa e%et (HTTOVV fy 
 
 here mentioned, that no one of them is rb avaXoyov, Tiv^aver' av ecos ^17: "All 
 
 quantity, but exists rather among the tribe animals have a certain bound or limit to 
 
 of relatives, inasmuch as nothing is great or their bulk ; for which reason the bones have 
 
 little of itself, but merely with reference to a certain bound or limit to their growth, 
 
 something else. Tovrtau Se oi/SeV eVri TTO- Were the bones, indeed, to grow for ever, 
 
 ffbv, dA.Aa fj.a\\ov rwv trp6s rt, ouSei/ yap then, of course, as many animals as have 
 
 avrb naff avrb, K.T.\. Arist. Pried, p. 33. bone, or something analogous to it, would 
 
 edit. Sylb. continue to grow as long as they lived." 
 
 X 
 
306 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 little ; and the herd, which were many by their relation to the 
 single yoke, are few by their relation to the sands of the sea- 
 shore. 5 And hence it appears that the excesses and defects which 
 belong to quantity are not of a relative nature only, but of an 
 indefinite one likewise. The truth of this will become still more 
 evident, when it is remembered that every magnitude is infinitely 
 divisible, and that every multitude is infinitely augmentable. 
 
 What, then, is to be done 2 How is it possible that such at- 
 tributes should become the objects of science? It is then only 
 we are said to know, when our perception is definite; since 
 whatever falls short of this, is not knowledge, but opinion. Can, 
 then, the knowledge be definite, when its object is indefinite? 
 Is not this the same, as if we were to behold an object as straight, 
 which was in itself crooked ; or an object as quiescent, which 
 was in itself moving ? We may repeat, therefore, the question, 
 and demand, what is to be done 2 It may be answered as fol- 
 lows: quantity continuous is circumscribed by figure, which, 
 being the natural boundary both of the superficies and the solid, 
 gives them the distinguishing names of triangle, square, or circle ; 
 of pyramid, cube, or sphere, &c. By these figures, not only the 
 infinity of magnitude is limited, but the means also are furnished 
 for its most exact mensuration. Again ; the infinity of quantity 
 discrete is ascertained by number, the very definition of which 
 is 7rX?}#o? topio-fjbevov, that is, " multitude circumscribed or de- 
 fined. 11 Thus, if, in describing a battle, we are told that many 
 of the enemy were slain, and but few saved ; our knowledge (if 
 it deserve the name) is perfectly vague and indefinite. But if 
 these indefinite multitudes are defined by number, and we are 
 
 Arist. do Anini. Gener. ii. 6. p. 227. edit, it is united.] But yet, notwithstanding if 
 
 Sylb. it change the bound or limit, either as to 
 
 What follows from Simplicius is to the greater or to less, in a remarkable degree, 
 
 same purpose ; only where he mentions the being [by such deviation] is esteemed a 
 
 form, we must understand that efficient monster." Simplic. in Praed. p. 37. A. edit, 
 
 animating principle described in the sixth Basil, 
 chapter of this work. Simplicius gives examples of this devia- 
 
 "Enaarov e?Sos (Tvvvtr&ysi, pera rijs ol- tion in the case of giants and of dwarfs. 
 Kfias tSiJr^Tos, Kal Troffov ri purport ffv/j.- b Aristotle's instance goes further, and 
 
 fjifrpov rrj I8i6rt]ri.' ov yap er^Tj/io p.6vov shews how a smaller number may be called 
 
 fvi<p4pci jiefl' eavrov rb eTSos, aAAa Kal many, a larger number be called few. 'Ev 
 
 jueyeflos, 6 fterci Siaffrdffecas fls T^JV v\f]v pi^v rfj Ktib/j.y 7roAAoi/s avOpcbirovs (pafjLtv 
 
 xapayiyverai, YlXaros 5e e%et Kal TOVTO flvai, ev 'AO-fji/ais Se o\iyovs, TroAAaTrAa- 
 
 eVflaSe Sia rb aSpicrrov irats TTJS eVuAou criovs avruv ftvras' KC.I tV (j.ev rrj oiKla 
 
 (pixrecas. 'Eav 8e iroAw rbv '6pov irapaAAa|7?, 7roAAoi>s, ei/ Se rep OedrpCf) o\lyovs, iroAAw 
 
 ^ Trpbs rb jiieT^or, '/} Trpbs rb eAarrov, repas TrAeioos avruv ovras : " We say, there are 
 
 vofj.i^rai : " Every form introduces, along many men in a village, and but few in 
 
 with its own original peculiarity, a certain Athens, though the number in this last be 
 
 measure of quantity, bearing proportion to many times larger ; so, too, we say, there 
 
 that peculiarity ; for it brings with itself, are many persons in a house, and but few 
 
 not a figure only, but a magnitude also, in the theatre, though the number in this 
 
 which passes into the matter by giving it last may be many times more. Ibid. 
 extent. Now even here this magnitude c See before, page 254, and Hermes, p. 
 
 has a sort of latitude, from the indefinite 223. 
 nature of the material principle [with which 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. S07 
 
 told that the slain were a thousand, the saved a hundred ; in 
 such case our knowledge becomes adequate and complete. 
 
 It is in the contemplation of these two quantities thus defined, 
 the continuous by figure, the discrete by number, that we behold 
 them rendered subjects for the two noblest of sciences, the first 
 of them for geometry, the second for arithmetic ; d from which 
 two, (and not from mere experiments, as some have hastily as- 
 serted,) both the knowledge of nature, and the utilities of common 
 life, are in the greatest part derived. 
 
 It is here we see the rise of those mathematical sciences, 
 arithmetic, geometry, music, &c. which the ancients esteemed 
 so essential to a liberal education. Nor can we believe there is 
 any one now but must acknowledge, that a mind properly tinged 
 with such noble speculations, (supposing there be no want of 
 genius, or of courage,) is qualified to excel in every superior 
 scene of life. Far more honourable they surely are, than the 
 arts of riding a horse, or of wielding a sword, those accomplish- 
 ments usually assigned to our youth of distinction, and for the 
 sake of which alone they are often sent into distant countries, 
 as if there were nothing to be taught them at home, nor any 
 thing in a gentleman worth cultivating but his body. We 
 would not undervalue these bodily accomplishments, (for per- 
 fection of every sort is certainly worth aiming at ;) but we 
 would wish them to be rated as much below the mental, as the 
 body itself is inferior to the mind. 
 
 There is an elegant account of the sciences above mentioned 
 in the Republic of Plato. Glaucus (one of the persons of the 
 dialogue) takes pains to recommend them from their usefulness 
 in human life : arithmetic for accounts and distributions ; geo- 
 metry for encampments and mensurations ; music for solemn 
 festivals in honour of the gods ; and astronomy for agriculture, 
 for navigation, and the like. Socrates, on his part, denies not 
 the truth of all this, but still insinuates, that they were capable 
 of answering an end more sublime. " You are pleasant," says 
 he, " in your seeming to fear the multitude, lest you should be 
 thought to enjoin certain sciences that are useless. It is, indeed, 
 no contemptible matter, though a difficult one, to believe, that 
 through these particular sciences the soul has an organ purified 
 and enlightened, which is destroyed and blinded by studies of 
 other kind ; an organ better worth saving than a thousand eyes; 
 inasmuch as truth becomes visible through this alone." 6 
 
 These, that we have here mentioned, appear to be the only 
 
 '' See Hermes, p. 218, and note, p. 222. e-a<rro?s opyavAv n |/UXT?S 
 
 e The above is an attempt to translate Kal avafairvpe'tTai, O.-KU\\V^VOV Kal rvip- 
 
 the following elegant passage of Plato : Xovpevov inrb TUV &\\uv 
 
 'HSi/y e?, ort eoiKas SeSi^TJ TOVS TroAAofyy, Kpe7rrov t>v ffcadr}vai pvpiuv o^JLarcav' 
 
 /J.TJ 5o/c?7? xp7j<TTa /.'.adTjfjLara TrpoardrTfiv' yap avT<p a\rj#eia oparai. Plat, de Repul). 
 
 Ti 8' f'trrlv ou irtLvv fpavhov, a\\a. xaAeirbj/ lib. vii. p. 527. edit Serran. Hermes, page 
 
 OTI tV TOUTOJS rots ftaftrj/iajni/ 202. 
 
 x 2 
 
308 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANUEMENTS. 
 
 Species of quantity ; inasmuch as other things are called quan- 
 tities, not from themselves, but with reference to these. Thus 
 we say, that there is much white, because the superficies, which 
 it covers, is much ; and that an action was long, because the 
 time was long during which it was transacted. And hence it 
 is, that, if any one is to explain the quantity of an action, as, for 
 example, the length of the Trojan war, he explains it by the time, 
 saying, it was a war of ten years. So when we give the quantity 
 of any thing white, we define it by the superficies, because, as 
 that is in quantity, so also is the white.' 
 
 We further observe, that quantity continuous and discrete^ 
 may be said to blend themselves with all things. Thus in sub- 
 stances, let Mount Athos represent the former ; the army of 
 Xerxes, the latter. In colours, let us view the former in the 
 uniform blueness of a clear sky ; the latter, in the many and di- 
 versified tints of a rainbow. In sounds we find quantity dis- 
 crete belonging to speech or language, it being the essence of 
 articulation, that every syllable should be distinct. The con- 
 tinuous, on the contrary, naturally suggests itself to our ears, 
 when we hear yellings, bowlings, and heavy psalmody. In mo- 
 tions, when a grasshopper moves by leaps, we behold quantity 
 discrete ; when a ship sails smoothly, we behold quantity con- 
 tinuous. The motion of all animals, that have feet, (whether 
 they leap or not,) by being alternate, is of the discrete kind : 
 but it is fabled of the gods, that, when they moved as gods, it 
 was under one continued progression of their whole frame to- 
 gether ; to which Virgil, they say, alludes, in speaking of Venus, 
 
 Et vera incessu patuit dea. JEn. i. 411. 
 
 The mind, though devoid of corporeal extension, admits what 
 is analogous to these two species of quantity, and recognises 
 their force even within the sacred recesses of itself. For what 
 can be more truly united in perfect continuity, than the terms 
 which compose a self-evident truth? And how is this continuity 
 still further extended, when by the union of two such truths 
 there is produced a third, under the indissoluble connection of a 
 demonstrative syllogism ? If there was not this syllogistic con- 
 tinuity, there might indeed be other continuities, but it would 
 never be in our power to prove any thing concerning them. 
 Again, when we consider either many propositions, without re- 
 ference to a syllogism; or many independent terms, without 
 reference to a proposition ; what have we then but quantity 
 discrete \ Philosophical arrangements ? Treasures, as capable of 
 being numbered, estimated, and recorded, as those which the 
 miser commits to his coffers. 
 
 f Kvpiws Se Troffa ravra Aeyercu p.6va XSVKOV Ae^ercu, r$yf rfy ^iruj>dviav TroA- 
 
 ra eiprjjueVa, ra Se &\\a irdvra Kara crv/j.- X-^v flvat' Kal y Trpa^is /uawpa, rwye rbv 
 
 fifBriK^s' fls ravra yap airoB\eirovTS Kal XP^ VOV > K - T - ^- Aristot. Prsed. p. 32. edit. 
 
 TO #AAa TToa-a \4yop.fV olov iro\v rb Sylb. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 309 
 
 It is, indeed, by the help of an innate power of distinction 
 that we recognise the differences of things, as it is by a con- 
 trary power of composition that we recognise their identities. * 
 These powers, in some degree, are common to all minds ; and as 
 they are the basis of our whole knowledge, (which is, of neces- 
 sity, either affirmative or negative,) they may be said to consti- 
 tute what we call common sense* On the contrary, to possess 
 these powers in a more eminent degree, so as to be able to per- 
 ceive identity in things widely different, and diversity in things 
 nearly the same ; this it is that constitutes what we call genius, 
 that power divine, which through every sort of discipline renders 
 the difference so conspicuous between one learner and another. 
 
 It was from speculations of this kind, that some of the an- 
 cients were induced to consider quantity in a far higher rank 
 than is usual in common speculations. " They considered both 
 species under the common character of a bound or measure, and 
 as such to be conspicuous throughout the whole universe ; 
 the nature of the continuous, called magnitude, being seen in 
 union and connection ; that of the discrete, called multitude, 
 in accumulation and juxtaposition ; that by virtue of magnitude, 
 the world or universe was one; was extended and connected 
 everywhere, through its most distant parts ; that by virtue of 
 multitude it was diversified with that order and fair arrange- 
 ment, seen in the amazing variety of stars, of elements, of plants, 
 of animals ; of contrarieties on one side, and of similarities on 
 the other ; that if these quantities were thus distinguishable in 
 the copy or image, (for such was this world, when compared to 
 its archetype,) much more so were they in those pure and im- 
 material forms, the invariable and immediate objects of the Su- 
 preme Intellect. The whole production of quantity (as of every 
 thing else) they referred with reason to this primary intelligent 
 cause ; whose virtual efficacy, as far as it passes through all 
 things without dividing itself or stopping, they supposed to 
 generate continuity and union ; as far as it stops in its progress 
 at every particular, and communicates to each a peculiar form 
 of its own, they held to generate distinction and multitude ; and 
 as far as it perpetually exerts at once these two distinct and op- 
 posite energies, they considered as for ever rendering the uni- 
 verse both many and one ; many, through its order and fail- 
 variety; one, through its connection and general sympathy ." i 
 
 8 See p. 221, note d. rai nsysBos, KOTO, tvwffiv Kal aAAT/Aoux'a"' 
 
 h See p. 46, note h. rov 5e Siojptcr^ievou, ^ris Ka\f7rai ir\rj6os, 
 
 1 The authors from whom the preceding Kara o-dpeiav Kal irapaQtviv Kal yap Kara 
 
 sentiments are taken, are Plotinus and /uev r)]v rov /j.yt9ovs overlay, e?s 6 K6o~/j.os 
 
 lamblichus, in the commentary of Sim- <?<rri re Kal vot'irai, o-<paipiKos #al Q-V/J.- 
 
 plicius upon this predicament of quantity. irffpvKws eaurw, SiaTerc^ieVos re Kal a\\Tj- 
 
 "ETI 8c 6 nAamvos i5ia yap Kal tpvcris Aoirxoi'/uei/os' Kara Se rb TrAf/floy, T}TC 
 
 fKao-rtp, us Kal tv r$ travrl K^apy dewpe'i- avvraf,is Kal TJ 8iaKO(r/j.r)o~ts, ?j e/c 
 
 rat, rov /j.cv <rvvtx ovs '? Qvffis, f)rts KaAci- <f>cpf f'nrf'iv (r-TOi-)^((av, Kal 
 
310 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 And so much for the third universal genus, or predica- 
 ment, that of quantity, its various species, and its peculiar 
 properties. 11 
 
 We cannot however quit this and the preceding predicament 
 (I mean the predicaments of quality and quantity) without ob- 
 serving that, as they are diffused in a conspicuous manner 
 throughout the universe, so writers both sacred and profane, 
 both poetic and prosaic, appear to have expressed their force, 
 and that often at the same time, as the predicaments themselves 
 often exist so in nature. 
 
 " Lord, how manifold are thy works ! in wisdom hast thou 
 made them all." l 
 
 Here [manifold] denotes the quantity of the divine works ; 
 [made in wisdom] denotes their quality. 
 
 Nam et qualis in cujusque rei natura, et quse forma, quaeritur : 
 an immortalis anima, an humana specie deus : et de magnitudine 
 et numero : quantus, sol ; an unus, mundus. m 
 
 Where the critic not only delineates the two great predica- 
 ments here mentioned, but divides also quantity into its two 
 capital species, I mean magnitude and number. 
 
 Cicero goes further in his Tusculan Disputations, not only pro- 
 ducing quality and quantity, but substance also, their support ; 
 which he places first, according to its proper order. Si quid sit 
 hoc, non vides ; at quale sit, vides : si ne id quidem ; at quantum 
 sit, profecto vides." 
 
 Even comic writers have expressed the force of these two 
 predicaments. 
 
 Quantam et quam veram laudem capiet Parmeno ? Terent. Eun. v. 4. 3. 
 
 "How great, and how true praise will Parmeno acquire ?" 
 
 Great indicates quantity: true indicates quality; for what 
 quality in praise is more valuable than truth ? 
 
 The poets, who dealt in subjects more exalted than comedy, 
 appear many of them to have employed the same language. 
 
 0e&>pe?Tcu, Kal i>avTi<t)TT]T<i>v t) 6/j.oioT^rcav fv Troie?, ravrfj rb Sicapior/j.fvoj' irapdyei. 
 
 r6ffuv Kal rSffcos' el ovv ev rais fiKdariv eirei 8e a ( ua Kal /iei/et Kal Trp6ficri, TO. Svo 
 
 O&TW ravTa Kexcoptarat, TTO\IJ irpdrfpov lv aTroyewq. Trepte^et yap i) rwv vof\Tuiv 
 
 TOIS voovfj.vois y4vfffi' Kal irpb TO^TWI/, ev fifrpvv Suva/its a/u.a a/u.<p6Tpa ra jj-tvovra 
 
 vois /co0' aura avXois elSetn SjettTTj/ce, KOI- Kal irpo'iovra ei/ fvl T$ avrta, Simplic. in 
 
 vbv X OJ/ra 9 & s & (Wren, rb p-trpov Kal rb Praed. p. 34. edit. Basil. 1551. 
 
 irepas. Simplic. in Praed. p. 32. B. edit. As the above sentiments are expressed 
 
 Basil. 1551. in the text, a verbal translation of them is 
 
 'O Se 0e?os "'id/j.fiXixoitTreif)}) yap y omitted. It may, however, be acceptable 
 
 TOV evbs Swa/Ais a<fi ov irav rb irocrbv O.TTO- to the curious to see them in their originals, 
 
 yevvarai, SiareivfTai Si' oXtav p avr?), Kal and for that reason they have been sub- 
 
 6pift fKacrrov Trpo'iovffa a(p' eauryjs, 77 fj.v joined. 
 
 di '6\(av. 8rf)Ki iravTO.Tra(nv aSiaipfrcas, rb k See before, note s, p. 305. 
 
 <rvvex*s \)tyiaTr\<n, Kal p T^\V TrpSffoSov ' Psalm civ. 24. 
 
 irotetTai n,iav, Kal aSiaiperov KOI avev Siu- m Quintil. Instit. Orat. 1. vii. c. 4, 
 
 v' y Kal irpo'iovffa "ffrarat Kaff fKacrrov n Tusc. Disp. 1. i. 25. 
 , Kal p 6pl(i (KaffTov, Kal fKafnov 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 311 
 
 Thus Tibullus, speaking of Bacchus : 
 
 Qualis quantusque minetur. Tibul. 1. iii. eleg. vi. 23. 
 
 Ovid, of Jupiter : 
 
 Quantusque et qualis ab alta 
 Junone excipitur. Metam. iii. 204. 
 
 Virgil, of Venus : 
 
 Qualisque videri 
 Caelicolis, et quanta solet. ./En. ii. 589. 
 
 The same, of Polypheme : 
 
 Qualis, quantusque cavo Polyphemus in antro. ./En. v. 641. 
 
 Homer, (whom it is probable the rest all copied,) speaking of 
 Achilles : 
 
 "Hroi AapSaviSys TLpiap.os Oav/j-a^ 1 'AxtAija, 
 
 "Offffos fyv, olos re' Qtoiffi yap avra. ecpnet. Iliad. H. 623. 
 
 " Nor less the royal guest the hero eyes, 
 His godlike aspect, and majestic size." 
 
 These attributes, given by poets to gods and heroes, have been 
 found by Euclid in figures geometrical. He has a problem to 
 teach us how to describe a rectilineal figure, which to one given 
 rectilineal figure shall be similar, to another shall be equal. p 
 Similar is a property of quality ; equal, of quantity.* 1 
 But it is time to finish, and proceed to the arrangement next 
 in order. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONCERNING RELATIVES 1 THEIR SOURCE RELATIVES APPARENT REAL 
 
 THEIR PROPERTIES, RECIPROCAL INFERENCE, AND CO-EXISTENCE 
 
 FORCE OF RELATION IN ETHICS IN MATTERS DRAMATIC IN NA- 
 TURE, AND THE ORDER OF BEING RELATIONS, AMICABLE AND 
 
 HOSTILE EVIL WANT FRIENDSHIP STRIFE RELATION OF ALL 
 
 TO THE SUPREME CAUSE EXTENT AND USE OF THIS PREDICAMENT, 
 
 OR ARRANGEMENT. 
 
 THROUGH the three universal genera, predicaments, or arrange- 
 ments, already described, subordinate beings may be said to 
 
 Pope's Homer, book xxiv. ver. 798. <i See before, pages 300, and 305. 
 The translation, we see, renders the words r The title of this arrangement is ex- 
 
 ttffffos and olos by a periphrasis, and it pressed by a plural, and not a singular, (like 
 
 should seem with some propriety, as " the quality and quantity,) because all relation 
 
 god-like aspect" of Achilles is clearly among is necessarily between two: ?j Se cr^etm 
 
 his qualities, and his " majestic size" evi- TouAa%i(rroj> tv 8v<rl Trpdy/j.a<ri fleajpelrai. 
 
 dently respects his magnitude, that is to Ammon. in Cat. p. 94. B. "[Siav yap rrjs 
 
 say, his quantity. It must be confessed, erxerrews JU.&'TJS, rb v iro\\ois ixpccrrdvai 
 
 however, that much of the force of the /j.6v(as. forep ov8e/a irp6fft<TTi TWV a\\ci)y 
 
 original will necessarily be lost in the Kar-nyopiuv : "it is a peculiarity of rela- 
 
 translation, where single words in one tion only, to have its existence in many, 
 
 language cannot be found corresponding to which is the case with no one else of the 
 
 single words in the other. predicaments." Simpl. in Praed. p. 41. B. 
 
 P Euclid, vi. 25. edit. Basil 1551. 
 
312 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 attain their completion ; through substance they exist ; through 
 quality they are distinguished ; and through quantity they 
 acquire a magnitude, and become a certain multitude. 
 
 Yet when beings are thus produced, we must not imagine 
 them to exist, like pebbles upon the shore, dispersed and 
 scattered, without dependence or mutual sympathy. It would 
 be difficult out of such to compose a universe or perfect whole, 
 because every perfect whole has a respect to its parts, as well as 
 the parts a respect both to such whole, and to each other. 
 Hence then the rise of that genus called relation, a genus which 
 runs through all things, holding all of them together, inasmuch 
 as there is no member of the universe either so great or so 
 minute, that it can be called independent, and detached from 
 the rest. 
 
 Now in all relation there must be a subject whence it com- 
 mences; for example, snow: another, where it terminates; for 
 example, a swan : the relation itself; for example, similitude : 
 and lastly, the source of that relation; for example, whiteness:* 
 the swan is related to snow, by being both of them white. 
 
 The requisites to relation being in this manner explained, it 
 will appear that those only are the true relatives, which express 
 in their very structure the relative source, and whose very 
 essence may be found in this their reciprocal habitude.* But 
 this perhaps will be better understood by a few examples. 
 
 The swan (it was said before) was in whiteness like snow. 
 Here the swan and the snow were produced as relatives. We 
 produce others of like kind, when we assert that London is 
 larger than York, a lemon equal to an orange, &c. 
 
 But the truth is, these subjects are none of them properly 
 relatives of themselves, but then only become such (as indeed 
 may every thing else) when a relation is raised between them 
 through the medium of a relative attribute. London, we say, 
 
 8 This source may be sought for among cede this of relatives, I mean quality and 
 
 the differential characters of being, in what- quantity, though they have an existence 
 
 ever predicament or arrangement they void of relation, we cannot say so of their 
 
 happen to exist, be it in quality, as the characteristic peculiarities ; for like is a 
 
 character of whiter ; in quantity, as that of relative term, and so is equal. Hence 
 
 greater, that of more numerous ; in time, Simplicius, #AAo yap TO tcrov irapa rb Troabf, 
 
 as that of older ; in place, as that of upper, Kal &\\o rb 8/toioj' irapb rb iroi6v : " equal 
 
 &c. is something else beside quantity; like, 
 
 This is what Simplicius means when he something else beside quality.' 1 '' Simpl. in 
 
 says, avdjKTf] avr^v (scil. r^v a-^oiv) eV Praed. By something else, he means they 
 
 T(f Kara Siafyopav xapaKTrjpi tvinrdpxeiv. are relatives. 
 
 Simpl. in Cat. l Tlp6s n Tcfc rotavra A^CTOI, oVo, awri 
 
 Hence, too, we may see why relation airtp ftrrlv, *Ttpa>v slvai \fycrai' ^ biruxrovv 
 
 stands next to quantity ; for, in strictness, #AAo>s irpbs frepov : " Such things as these 
 
 the predicaments which follow are but dif- are said to be relatives ; namely, as many as 
 
 ferent modes of relation, marked by some are said to be what they are, by being 
 
 peculiar character of their own, over and things belonging to other things, or which 
 
 above the relative character, which is com- in any other sense have reference to some- 
 
 mon to them all. thing else." Arist. Praed. p. 34. edit. Sylb. 
 
 Even in the two predicaments that pre- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 313 
 
 is larger than York. The relation subsists in larger, which 
 being attributed to London, makes it a relative to York, which 
 is in fact something less. The same holds in the lemon and 
 orange, and in all possible instances. To whatever subject we 
 associate any of the relative attributes, we immediately render 
 the subject by such association a relative. Such a subject there- 
 fore is only a relative incidentally. 
 
 But the true and real relatives are those attributes themselves, 
 the terms larger, equal, like, &c. ; for these in their very structure 
 express the relative source, and only exist in a joint and reci- 
 procal habitude one to another. 
 
 There are also relative substances, as well as relative attri- 
 butes ; that is to say, terms which indicate at once both a sub- 
 stance and a relative. Such are master and servant, preceptor 
 and disciple : master implies a man ; and not only that, but a 
 man having dominion : servant implies a man, and not only that, 
 but a man rendering service ; and the same may be said of the 
 other example alleged. 
 
 Now a distinguishing property of these real relatives is, that 
 they reciprocate in their predication." Every master is the 
 master of a servant, and every servant the servant of a master ; 
 every preceptor the preceptor of a disciple ; and every disciple 
 the disciple of a preceptor. The same holds in the relative 
 attributes as well as in the substances, greater being always 
 greater than less, and less being always less than greater. That 
 this is a property which never fails, will better appear, if from 
 any relative substance we subtract the relative attribute, and 
 substitute in its room the substance alone. For example, from 
 the relative substance, master, let us subtract the relative attri- 
 bute, dominion, so that man only shall remain, divested of that 
 attribute. We cannot affirm of every man, as we can of every 
 master, that merely as a man, he is the master of a servant/ 
 
 From this necessity of reciprocal predication, another property 
 of relation follows, that we cannot understand one relative, 
 without understanding its companion ; and that in proportion as 
 our knowledge of one relative is more precise, so is that likewise 
 of the other. y I cannot know, for example, that A is greater 
 
 u TldvTa Sf ra irp6s rt irpbs avrunpe- servant, as we say, the master of a servant." 
 
 <povra \fyerai. Arist. Praed. p. 35. Arist. Praed. p. 37, where much more is sub- 
 
 x Aristotle finds an instance in the same joined, worth reading. 
 
 term, servant : Ofoi' 6 SouAos, lav ^ y Relata sunt simul cognitione. Cognito 
 
 Sefnrdrov cbroSoflf; SouAos, aAAo avdpcairov, proinde alterutro, cognoscitur alterum ; (id- 
 
 3) StVoSos, fy &TOVOVV rS)V ToiovTivv, ovK que eodem plane modo, et mensura cogni- 
 
 avTUTTpeQfi' ov -yhp o'lKeia. TJ airdSoa-ts tionis) et ignorato ignoratur. Logic. Com- 
 
 eo-Tiv : " For example, the term servant, if pend. Saunderson, p. 41. edit. Oxon. 1672. 
 
 he be not described as the servant of a I have quoted Saunderson, as he was an 
 
 master, but of a man, or of a biped, or of accurate logician, but Aristotle's own words 
 
 any other such thing, does not reciprocate, are as follows : 'Edv ris eiSfj ri wpurnevws 
 
 because the description returned is not ne- ruv irp6s T*, K^/ceT^o, irpbs 6 Aeyerai, 
 
 cessary and essential ; that is, we cannot upiff^tvoss efcrcTeu : " If any one know 
 
 say, the man of a servant, or the biped of a with precision any one of two relatives, he 
 
31 4, PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 than B, without knowing that B is less than A ; and if with 
 more precision I know that A is double, I necessarily know 
 withal that B is half: and if with still further precision I know 
 the measure of A to be eight, I know with equal precision the 
 measure of B to be four. z 
 
 And this naturally leads to that fundamental property of 
 relation, on which the rest all depend, namely, the necessary 
 and universal co-existence of relatives, 3 which always commence 
 together, subsist together, and cease together. Ulysses, in his 
 speech to Thersites, says in anger, May I lose my son Tele- 
 machus, if I do not seize, &c. And how does he express this 
 sentiment 2 
 
 irarfyp K/c\r?jU.eVos eft?*/. Iliad. B. 260. 
 
 " May I no longer be called the father of Telemachus." 
 
 He well knew he could only lose that relative denomination, by 
 losing his son, with whose birth and duration it was indissolubly 
 connected. It was not that Ulysses might not have survived 
 Telemachus, or Telemachus, Ulysses ; the co-existence being 
 only attached to the relative characters, those of father and son. 
 
 And hence we may collect, that the co-existence here men- 
 tioned is not like that of substance, and its essential properties, 
 (as rationality, for example, co-exists with man, or sensation 
 with animal ;) but a co-existence less intimate by far than that 
 is, because it subsists between beings actually distinct one from 
 another. 
 
 And hence it has followed, that some logicians have treated it 
 as possessing less of the real, than any one of the other genera. 
 They tell us, Relatio est ens minimce entitatis. b 
 
 Yet we must be careful how we undervalue it, c in consequence 
 
 will know also the other relative which it tions, without change or loss within itself. 
 
 refers to, with equal precision." Arist. Let the corresponding relative but vary, or 
 
 Praedic. p. 39. edit. Sylb. cease to exist ; let the master lose his ser- 
 
 z And here, by the way, it is worth ob- vant, or the preceptor his disciple ; let 
 
 serving, that as all relatives are recognised those who stood on my right remove them- 
 
 in combination, while every object of sense selves to my left ; or those who stood above 
 
 is perceived distinct and independent ; it me, place themselves below ; and it is easy 
 
 follows, that all relatives are properly objects to conceive a subject, after having lost or 
 
 of the intellect, and that, if it were not for varied every one of these relations, still to 
 
 this faculty, we should know nothing con- remain itself invariably the same. 
 cerning them. Let A, for example, be sup- a Ao/ce? Se TO, irp6s TI a/j.a rfj Qfoei 
 
 posed the master of B, and let A be tall, elvai. Arist. Praed. p. 37. 
 well-proportioned, ruddy, &c. These last b Fell's Logic, p. 92. 
 characters only are visible to the eye, nor c Thus Simplicius, in his comment on this 
 
 does the eye see more, while the relation categoric : Ata ravra Se, ws Trapcwpvo/ieVTyj' 
 
 subsists, or less, when the servant dies, and rais &\\ats Kar-nyopiais, rty rov irp6s ri 
 
 the relation is at an end. Were there a eTrei(ro8i(t>8r) yo/xibu<n' Kal rot irpor)yoviu.- 
 
 change in the master's person, were he to vf\v ovcrav, Kal Kara Sicwpopav <n/ceicw 
 
 become deformed from being well-shaped, or flecopouyUe'r/Tjv. AUTTJ yap Koiv6Tt]s e<rr} Sta 
 
 pale from being ruddy, then would the eye iravTcav Si^Kovffa, TWJ/TC evavrlwv, Kal rS>v 
 
 be able to recognise what had happened, diroffovv iafyfp6vT<av, Kal T<av oXtav yevcov, 
 
 But it is a singular property of this genus, Kal r&v far' avra r^ay^fvuv T^TIS et ^ 
 
 that a relative may change, or lose its rela- iraprjv^ 8ie<rird(r6r) &f iravr-n (1. iravra) airb 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 315 
 
 of such a notion ; since with those who well attend to its 
 amazing efficacy, it is more likely to acquire a rank perhaps 
 above its real merit. 
 
 What ought we to think, should it appear the basis of 
 morality I " Moral duties (says Epictetus) are in general mea- 
 sured by relations. Is he a father \ The relation ordains, that 
 he must be taken care of : that thou yield to him in all things ; 
 bear with him, when he reproaches, when he strikes, &c. But 
 he is a bad father. And wert thou then by nature connected 
 with a good father ? No ; but with a father. Thus, therefore, 
 out of neighbour, out of citizen, out of magistrate, wilt thou 
 trace the moral duty, if thou make it a custom to contemplate 
 the relations." d 
 
 The Stoic emperor Antoninus inculcates the same doctrine : 
 " There are (says he) three relations ; one to the proximate cause, 
 which immediately surrounds us ; one to the divine cause, from 
 which all things happen to all ; and one to those, along with 
 whom we live." e So important is the knowledge of relations 
 (according to these philosophers) in a subject which so much 
 concerns us, I mean an upright and a virtuous conduct. 
 
 It is to a subordinate end, that Horace applies this knowledge, 
 when he makes it an essential to dramatic poets, and as a philo- 
 sophical critic teaches them, that it is through this knowledge 
 
 iravruv : "And hence some conceive the 
 predicament of relation, by its growing on, 
 as it were, to the rest, to be something 
 episodic and adventitious, although it be in 
 fact truly principal, and an object of con- 
 templation from its own distinctive cha- 
 racter. It is this, indeed, is that band of 
 community which passes through all things; 
 through contraries, through things in any 
 way different, through whole genera, and 
 through the several beings, arranged be- 
 neath them ; that principle, which, were we 
 to suppose away, all things in that instant 
 would be dissipated and torn from all 
 things." Simplic. in Praedic. p. 44. B. edit. 
 Basil. 1551. 
 
 See also the same author in the same 
 comment: Ot/re yap ra yevr], o&re ra vir y 
 avrwv uvra, Koivwviav eei riva Trpbs &\.- 
 ArjAa, el /XT/ ris tr^e'trews 77 \6yos ev rots 
 ova iv. "Aroirov 5e T^V ROivtaviav avaipeiv 
 Twit Sia(f>ep6fTcav irpbs a\\rj\a' &TOTTOV e 
 Kal TT)I/ ap/JLoviav avaipeiv, ov ity ev TOLS 
 <t>66yyois fj.6vi]v, ovSe r^v ev TOLS apiB/J.o'is, 
 aAAa Kal T^V ev rats ovffiais Kal Swdfj-eai 
 traffais Kal eVep-yefcus, T^TIS eyyivo/LLevr) rots 
 overt, ffvvfiyayev els ravrbv, Kal a'xeVt*' 
 fX fli/ Trpbs SAAr/Aa aireipydcraTO' avatpeB'f)- 
 fferai Se Kal rb <rv/j./j.eTpov Kal T<roi/, Kal 
 , Kal eTjwri^u.Tj. Et Se Kal yeca- 
 Kal /J-OVCTIK^ Trepl (r^eVeis fx V(Tlv -> 
 8e airrai' 
 
 Tlus Se Kal ((pfrbv iraffiv 6 Oebs 
 Aeyerat, el jiiijSe/i/a (T^fVis e(nl irpbs rb 
 efperbv T$ e(piefj.et/cf : " For neither the 
 universal genera, nor the things included 
 under them, can have any connection one 
 with another, if there exist not in things 
 the ratio of habitude or relation. But it is 
 absurd to take away the connection of 
 things that differ one from another : absurd 
 also to take away harmony, not that only 
 which exists in sounds, nor that which ex- 
 ists in numbers, but that also which exists 
 in substances, and in all the variety of ca- 
 pacities and energies ; that, which having 
 been implanted in beings, has brought them 
 together, and effected, that they should have 
 the relation here spoken of to each other. 
 [Further than this, by taking away rela- 
 tion] there will be taken away the propor- 
 tionate, the equal, the knowable, and know- 
 ledge. If geometry and music arc em- 
 ployed about relations, and these last have 
 no existence ; then will those sciences be 
 ridiculous, in being employed about non- 
 entities. How also can God himself be 
 called 4 an object of desire to all beings,' if 
 there be no relation between the thing de- 
 sired, and that which desires?" Simplic. 
 in Pra?d. p. 43. B. 
 
 u Epict. Ench. c. 30. 
 
 M. Ant. viii. 27. 
 
316 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 only they can truly delineate characters. The verses are well 
 known : 
 
 Qui didicit, patriae quid debeat, &c. 
 
 It is thus, too, that Shakspeare, either by knowledge ac- 
 quired, or (what is more probable) by the dictates of an innate 
 superior genius/ makes Macbeth shudder at the thoughts of 
 murdering Duncan, when he reflects on the many duties he 
 owed him, arising from the many relations he stood in, all of 
 which duties he was then basely going to violate : 
 
 He's here in double trust ; 
 First, as I am his kinsman, and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed : then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 Not bear the knife myself. 
 
 And here I cannot help remarking upon this excellent tragedy, 
 that it is not only admirable as a poem, but is perhaps at the 
 same time one of the most moral pieces existing. It teaches 
 us the danger of venturing, though but for once, upon a capital 
 offence, by shewing us that it is impossible to be wicked by 
 halves ; that we cannot stop ; that we are in a manner compelled 
 to proceed ; and yet that, be the success as it may, we are sure 
 in the event to become wretched and unhappy. 5 
 
 But to return to our subject, I mean that of relation. 
 
 If we quit mankind, and view its more general extent, we 
 shall find, that, where continuity fails, there relation supplies its 
 office, connecting as it were all things the most remote and hete- 
 rogeneous. Were they indeed combined under an union more 
 intimate, were it the same with that continuity, seen in a living 
 body and its limbs, the whole universe would be no more than 
 one immense animal. But it is not so : and those who have 
 explained its nature have rather called it one city, or one com- 
 monwealth ; h a very different species of monad from one animal, 
 or living being. It is here, then, (as we have said,) relation inter- 
 venes, and under a thousand different ties connects all things 
 together. 
 
 The ties indeed are many, though the sources are few. Every 
 subordinate being, as it is by nature subject to wants, (indigence 
 and imperfection being essential to its constitution,) has a con- 
 nection with those beings through whom such wants may be 
 supplied. Hence, then, one source of relation. Again : every 
 being whatever, that has power to supply such wants, has a 
 connection with those beings to whom it can thus become sub- 
 servient. Hence, then, another source of relation. Now in the 
 
 f The author has in this place considered 3) Sia fyvtriv, " either through art, or through 
 
 Shakspeare as Aristotle did Homer, and nature." Vid. Arist. Poet. c. 8. 
 has left it uncertain, to what cause his e See the remarks on this tragedy in that 
 
 transcendent merit should be ascribed. Ari- elegant book, the Essay on the Writings and 
 
 stotle, speaking of Homer's superiority, says, Genius of S/iakspeare. 
 in like manner, that it.was tfroi Sto r^x^^i -' h See p. 96, and nc 
 
 note m. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 317 
 
 divine economy of the whole it is so admirably contrived, that 
 every being in different degrees possesses this double character, 
 and not only needs assistance, but is able in its turn to afford it. 
 Nothing is so mighty, as to subsist without help; nothing so 
 minute, as not at times to have its use. Thus as connections 
 reciprocate, and are everywhere blended, the concatenation of 
 relations grows in fact universal, and the world becomes (as 
 above described) one city or commonwealth. 
 
 Instances of this double relation occur (as we have said) in 
 every particular being. The ewe is related to the grass, as to 
 the being which supplies her wants; to her lamb, as to the being 
 whose wants she herself supplies. The grass again is related to 
 the earth, as to the being which affords it aliment ; while it is 
 related to the ewe, by becoming itself aliment to her. The 
 earth is related to vegetables, as she is both their parent and 
 their nurse ; while she is related to the sun, as to the fountain of 
 her genial warmth. The relations of the sun are finely repre- 
 sented by Epictetus, who makes the Sovereign of the Universe 
 thus address that noble luminary : " Thou (saith he) art sun : 
 thou art able, by going round, to form the year and the seasons ; 
 to enlarge and nourish the fruits ; to raise and still the winds ; 
 to warm in due degree the bodies of men : arise, go round, and 
 beginning from the greatest, extend after this manner thy influ- 
 ence to the most minute." 1 
 
 Nor, when we mention the earth, ought we to forget that 
 equitable discharge of her relations, for which Virgil well distin- 
 guishes her by the character of most just : 
 
 Fundit hurao facilem victum justissiraa tellus. Georg. ii. 460. 
 
 The Attic historian and philosopher will be found the best 
 commentator on this elegant passage of the Roman poet : " The 
 earth, too, (says Xenophon,) being a divinity, teacheth those 
 that can learn it of her, justice : for such as cultivate her best, 
 she requiteth with most goods." k 
 
 When we view the relation of the male to the female, and of 
 the female to the male, and add to this the common relation 
 extending -from both to their offspring, we view the rise of 
 families through the whole animal race. Among the more 
 social, such as sheep and cattle, these families by fresh relations 
 are combined into larger multitudes, under the name of flocks 
 and herds. Among those of higher order still, (such as the 
 bee, 1 the ant, the beaver, and, above all, the social and rational 
 
 1 Arrian. Epict. 1. iii. c. 24. p. 444. ' Virgil speaks of the bee, as he would of 
 
 edit. Upton. 2i> i\ios el' SiWcrai, K. r. \. man : 
 
 k "ETI 8e r) 777, debs oScra, rous Svva/j.- Mores et studia et populos et prcelia dicam. 
 
 vovs KaTO.fj.avQa.vf iv, Ka\ StKaio(rwr)v SiSdcr- Georg. iv. 
 
 Kfi' TOVS yap apiffra OfpaTrsvovras avrty, Aristotle, distinguishing these animals 
 
 ir\flffra ayaQa ai/TtiroJC?. Xenoph. (Eco- from those which do no more than barely 
 
 nom. p. 35. edit. Oxon. herd together, elegantly calls them a>a rro- 
 
318 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 being, man,) these herds and flocks by relations more excellent 
 are improved into civil polities, where there is a general interest 
 or common good, a good to which either willingly or unwillingly 
 every individual cooperates." 1 
 
 If we descend below animals down to vegetables, we shall 
 discover in the vine, the ivy, the woodbine, and all the plants of 
 slender stalk, a manifest relation to those of a trunk more solid, 
 such as the oak, the elm, and the several trees of the forest. It 
 is with a power which appears almost a conscious one, that the 
 former of these tribes, recognising their relation, apply to the 
 latter for a support, and spontaneously twine their bodies, or at 
 least their tendrils, around them." 
 
 by twining round the branch of another 
 vegetable, to bind the vine to that vege- 
 table ; which vine, among the vegetable 
 tribe, possesses this natural character, that 
 it should rest upon another for its support. 
 Now that the tendril, by twining round the 
 branch of another vegetable, should bind 
 the vine on, neither belongs to the vine, 
 when it first begins to grow, nor yet to its 
 tendril ; but is something which accrues 
 subsequently: and yet, nevertheless, the 
 binding of it to another vegetable is the 
 final cause why the tendril should grow at 
 all, and belong to the vine. But it is im- 
 possible that what as yet is not, and has no 
 arrangement in the order of things, ( I mean 
 the binding,) should be the cause of some- 
 thing which now is, (I mean the tendril of 
 the vine, when it first appears.) The cause 
 of any thing produced must have an actual 
 existence, and not be a nonentity. This 
 binding therefore of the vine to some other 
 vegetable must have been preconceived in 
 some mind or intellect, who presiding over 
 it (as any man, being an artist, presides 
 over his works) makes the tendril grow to 
 it for the sake of such binding : which 
 tendril also wonderfully, if there be nothing 
 adjoining of a nature for it to twine round, 
 appears in some sort to shoot upwards ; but 
 if any branch be near, instantly deviates 
 and twines round it. It is therefore irra- 
 tional to suppose that the tendril did not 
 grow to the vine, that it might hereafter 
 bind it to another vegetable ; nor can there 
 be any degree of reason for asserting, that 
 some mind or intelligence did not preside 
 over such operations." 
 
 The force of this argument is as follows : 
 things exist before their ends ; that is, 
 before that the ends of their existence take 
 place. The tendril exists, before it binds 
 the vine ; the minute-hand exists, before it 
 indicates the minutes. And yet is this 
 binding, and this indicating so necessary, 
 that the things themselves would never 
 have existed, but for the sake of these only. 
 
 , "political or civil animals;" ani- 
 mals formed for a life of civil association, 
 where the business is one, and that common 
 to the whole tribe; a>v ev n, K. T. A. 
 Histor. Anim. p. 5. edit. Sylb. 
 m ......... ty Se /j.r) 0eA&>, 
 
 KaKbs yev6fj.fj/os, ov$(v rjrrov tyo/.tcu. 
 
 Epict. Enchirid. c. 52. 
 See page 1 02, and note b. 
 " Ta T\TJ, e'(/>' & T(av <pvffei yiyvo/jLfvcav 
 
 fKCUTTO, feral, 0V Kal rrjV O.p")(T}V v6l>S <pV- 
 
 ofjLfvois Trdpfffnv avTo'is, aAA' vcrrara STJTTOU 
 Trapayiyverai. 2/fOTrcDyuei/ 8' avrb (p' evbs 
 ToGSe* rrj a/nreAoy e'At/ct re'Aos eVri, rb 
 frepov cpvrov irrop9y 7repieAi%0e?(raj/, e/ceij/Cf? 
 rrjv ajjLTrtXov avaSfjo'ai ry (pvr<, ravrt]v 
 eV rots (pvro?s rrjv (pvcriv ei\r)xviav, eVoA- 
 \6Kav\ov flvai. OUKOVV rb erepov (pvrov 
 nropOtf rj]v eAt/co TrepieXixde'icrav avaS'/jfrcu 
 rrjv afjnreXov, oijre rrj a/JureXy <pvo/j.evr), 
 cure rrj eAtKt fvOus ir&pfcrTiv, aAA' vffrar6v 
 76 Trapaytyvcrai' ovSev /j.fvrot %TTOV rov 
 SA&JS eAtKa rf) a.fj.irf\cf atnov 
 77 f<p* crepe? (f)VTaj avdSeffis avr^s 
 'Afj-'iixuvoi' Se rb /UTjSeVaj oi/, /iTjS 5 
 TO?S ofiffi rfrayfj.4vov^ OVTOS rov tfdr) 
 yiyvc-o-Oai' elvai yap Sel rb atnov 
 rov yiyvo/j.evov, ow%t /u$? 
 Qai apa 8e? ei/ nvi vcp 
 crepcf <pvr< avdSfcriv^ Ss avrij fTrio'ro.ruv^ 
 &(nrep 5rjfj.iovpybs av^p a'Kevaa'ro'ts, Kal 
 eAt/ca avrrj TT)S roiavrrjs eVe/ca ava- 
 -f fy Kal 6avi*a(rt(i>s, tav fj.ev 
 ev n avrrj roiovrov irapaKerirai o'l<? ?re- 
 -> * 7r> svQv Trcas (paiverai (pepo- 
 )' eav Se irropdos ris irapfi, v8vs TTC- 
 
 fj.r) ov rovrov eV^/ca (pvecrOai^ STTCOS 
 avrty <pvTO) ai/aS^o"??, vovv fX l ^ ^ L0 ^ v ' 
 otfr rb IJLT] vovv rots roiovrois etyiffrdvai 
 Hx l b v K d ovrivovv \6yov: "The ends, 
 to which the several vegetable produc- 
 tions tend, are not instantly present to 
 them, as soon as they begin to grow, but 
 some way or other accrue to them subse- 
 quently. We may perceive this in a single 
 instance. The end to the vine's tendril is, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 319 
 
 When therefore we contemplate the various relations already 
 hinted, and mark in how friendly a manner they bring the most 
 distant beings together, we may be tempted to say with the 
 philosopher, that "all things are full of friendly principles." 
 But we must not suffer this sentiment to carry us too far. 
 Things are not only full of friendly principles, but of hostile 
 likewise. 
 
 The fangs of the lion are as much the work of nature as the 
 tendrils of the vine, or the nurturing teats of the ewe. To what 
 then have these formidable weapons relation ; for nature, we are 
 assured, makes nothing in vain 2 p If to offence, then is the lion 
 himself a source of hostile relation ; if to defence, then is he the 
 object of injury from some other ; so that hostility in either case 
 is necessarily implied. Were it possible to doubt as to the 
 offensive here, we could never doubt as to the structure of the 
 spider's web ; a structure clearly taught her by nature for offence 
 alone. These and the like preparations, such as the boar's tusk, 
 
 Where, then, were these ends, when the 
 things themselves first appeared ? In ex- 
 ternal and visible nature ? This from the 
 hypothesis is impossible, for the hypothesis 
 makes them subsequent. No other place 
 then remains, but either the Sovereign Mind, 
 or a mind subordinate, according as the 
 work itself is a work of nature or of art." 
 See before, p. 281, 282. 
 
 I have taken the preceding extract from 
 a manuscript of that able scholar and philo- 
 sopher George Gemistus, otherwise called 
 Pletho, who flourished in the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, both before and after the taking of 
 Constantinople. If it apply not immedi- 
 ately to the subject, it has at least the 
 merit of being something rare and ingenious. 
 It is a morsel of that controversy among 
 the learned Greeks of this period, whether 
 the preference in philosophy was due to 
 Plato or to Aristotle. Scholarius, among 
 others, was for Aristotle ; Pletho for Plato ; 
 from whose work on this subject (which 
 was an answer to Scholarius) this extract is 
 taken. There is another small work of 
 Pletho's upon the same subject, entitled, 
 Ylepl &v 'ApifTTOTeATjs Trpbs H\dr(ava 5m- 
 (pfperai, printed at Paris, 1541 ; and Bes- 
 sario (a learned Greek of that age, who 
 went over to the Latin church, and became 
 a cardinal) wrote a large tract to defend 
 the Platonic doctrine, entitled, Contra Ca- 
 lummatorem Platonis. The printed edition 
 is in Latin, but the whole work is extant 
 in Greek among the manuscripts of St. 
 Marc's library at Venice, to which library 
 Bcssario bequeathed his own. There is, 
 too, a fine letter remaining of the same 
 Bcssario, addressed to Michael Apostolius ; 
 .who, though ho took Bessario's sidr, and 
 
 defended Plato, yet appears to have done 
 it, according to Bessario's letter, with a zeal 
 and bitterness not becoming him ; a zeal 
 and bitterness too frequent in controversy, 
 and (unfortunately for the cause of letters) 
 nowhere more than among learned men, 
 and those in particular whom we call pro- 
 fessors of humanity. 
 
 The epistle above mentioned may be 
 found in Greek and Latin, published by 
 the learned Boivinus, in the second tome of 
 THistoire de 1'Academie Royale des In- 
 scriptions, &c. p. 455 ; and it is well worth 
 perusal, for its temper and elegance. 
 
 See also Cicero de Senectute, c. 15. Vitis 
 quidem, &c. 
 
 Ildura 5f <pi\coi/ /j.effT(L Arrian. Epict. 
 1. iii. c. 24. p. 486. edit. Upt. 
 
 P This was an axiom inculcated every- 
 where by Aristotle ; and more especially 
 when he is speaking of final causes, which, 
 though now they make a small part of phi- 
 losophy, were never omitted by the Stagi- 
 rite, as often as they could be introduced. 
 His own words deserve attention : 'H <pv(ris 
 ovOev Troif'i (JidryVi ^AA.' ael e rwv evSex~ 
 p.4v(av r?7 ouarict irtpl fKacrrov yevos a>ov 
 rb &PKTTOV : " Nature makes nothing in 
 vain ; but with respect to each animal genus, 
 out of the several ways practicable, she al- 
 ways makes that which is best." De Ani- 
 mal. Ingressu, p. 28. edit. Sylb. And again, 
 in the same tract: 'H (fivcris ovBfv Srj/j.iovp'yf'i 
 /.lar^r, fbcnrep eJpTjrai Trpdrcpov, aAAa TTB.VTO. 
 irpbs rb fie\TLoi/ fK r&v eVSexo/xe'i/cov : 
 " Nature creates nothing in vain, but (as 
 has been said already) all things for the 
 best, out of the several ways that are prac- 
 ticable." Ibid. p. 141. edit. Sylb. 
 
320 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 the eagle's talons, the viper's venom, &c. are all founded on 
 such wants as can never be satisfied amicably. The wants, 
 therefore, of this character naturally rouse up similar instincts, 
 and thus the world becomes filled as well with hostile relations, 
 as friendly. 
 
 Torva leaena luputn sequitur, lupus ipse capellam. Virg. Eel. ii. 
 
 It appears to have been these relations of hostility that first 
 gave rise to the phenomena of natural and moral evil. Now 
 whether real evil exist at all, or whether we should confine it, 
 with the Stoics, to evil purely moral, are questions beyond the 
 scope of this treatise to examine. It will be sufficient to say, 
 that much evil is imaginary, and founded merely on false opi- 
 nion : that of the evils more real, there are many which have 
 their end, and so may be said to partake, ultimately, the nature 
 of good. Many of the difficulties and distresses which befall the 
 human species, conduce to save it from sloth, and to rouse it 
 up to action ; to action which is, in fact, the very life of the 
 universe. 
 
 Pater ipse colendi 
 
 Haud facilem esse viam voluit, primusque per artem 
 Movit agros, curis acuens mortalia corda, 
 Nee torpere gravi passus sua regna veterno. Virg. Georg. i. 
 
 If there were no dangers, then could there be no fortitude ; 
 if no temptations, then no temperance ; if no adverse accidents, 
 nor loss of what we love, then no submissive resignation, no pious 
 acquiescence. 
 
 Ou/c b.v ycvoiTO x^^ 5 ^0"0Act ita\ Ka.K<i' 
 
 CTT' cx elv Ka\a>s. 
 
 " Things good and ill can ne'er exist apart ; 
 But such the mixture, that they well accord." 1 
 
 Again, the jaws of the lion, the poison of the rattle-snake, 
 the sword of the conqueror, and every instrument of destruction, 
 may be said incidentally to prepare the way for generation ; and 
 that not only by making room for new comers, but by furnishing 
 fresh materials towards their respective production. For though 
 the theatre of the world so far resembles other theatres, that it 
 is perpetually filled with successions of new spectators ; yet has 
 it this in peculiar, that the spectators which succeed here, are 
 made out of those that went before. 1 " Every particular birth, or 
 
 1 The fine distich here translated is from " Perhaps it is difficult to prove any thing 
 
 Euripides, quoted by Plutarch, De Isid. et clearly upon subjects such as these, without 
 
 Osirid. p. 369. edit. Xyland. having often considered and examined them. 
 
 As to the speculations here offered, and And yet to have thrown out doubts con- 
 
 the solutions suggested, we may well apply cerning them, is a thing not altogether 
 
 to them that just reflection of the Stagirite, without its use." Aristot. Prsed. p. 40. edit. 
 
 though used by him on a different occasion. Sylb. 
 
 'iffus 5e xaA.eTrb?' Kal Trepl TUV TOIOVTWV r The subject-matter is the same in many 
 
 <r<f>o8pcas aTrofyaivfcrOai) ^ iro\\<i.Kis ene- succeeding beings ; as the river is the same, 
 
 ' rb yueVroi 8n)Tropr)Ki'cu irepl which, as it flows along, reflects many dif- 
 
 avT&v, OVK &xpr]o'T6v fffn : ferent objects. It is in this sense we are to 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 321 
 
 natural production, appears an act, if not of hostility, at least of 
 separation ; a secession from the general mass ; a kind of revolt 
 from the greater bulk in favour of a smaller; which smaller 
 would detach itself, and, were it able, be independent. 
 
 In a word, as friendship, by cementing multitude, produces 
 union ; so strife, by dissolving union, produces multitude ; and it 
 is by multitude that the world becomes diversified and re- 
 plenished. 
 
 And hence we may perceive the meaning of what Heraclitus 
 says in Plutarch, where he calls " war, the father and king and 
 lord of all things ;" and asserts, " that when Homer prayed, 
 
 That strife be banished both from gods and men, 
 
 he was not aware that he was cursing the generation of all 
 things ; as, in fact, they deduce their rise out of contest and an- 
 tipathy. 1 ' The same philosopher adds immediately, " that the 
 sun could not pass his appointed bounds : that otherwise, if he 
 could, 
 
 Tongues he would find to patronise the cause :" 
 
 meaning, by this mythological way of talking, that the sun could 
 not desert his course, because so much depended on it ; or other- 
 wise, if he could, that being himself one of the primary authors 
 of generation upon this earth, and well knowing how much strife 
 cooperated in the same work, he would surely look out for an 
 advocate (were such any where existing) to defend the cause of 
 strife against the calumnies of Homer. s 
 
 understand the following assertion, and not Plutarch, de Isid. et Osir. p. 370. edit. Xy- 
 
 with the least view to equivocal produc- land. fol. 
 
 tion. Dr. Squire, the late bishop of St. David's, 
 
 OVKOVV Sia rb r^v rouSe fyQopav a\\ov has given a fair edition of this tract in the 
 fivai yevfffiv, /cat rfy rovSe yevecriv SAAou original, to which he has subjoined an Eng- 
 tivai (pdopav, airavcTTOV avayitaiov tivai rfyv lish translation ; but (according to a prac- 
 /jLra/3o\.^)v : " Wherefore, from the disso- tice too frequent with the best critics) he 
 lution of one thing being the generation of has, in the passage above quoted, attempted 
 another, and the generation of one thing to mend, where no emendation was want- 
 being the dissolution of another, it necessa- ing. 
 
 rily follows that the change must be perpe- Chalcidius plainly alludes to the same 
 
 tual, and never cease." Arist. de Gen. et sentiment of Heraclitus in the following 
 
 Corr. 1. i. c. 3. p. 10. edit. Sylb. extract from his commentary on Plato's 
 
 The change here alluded to is the com- Timaeus : Proptereaque Numenius laudat 
 
 mon course of nature in the production of Heraclium (lege Heraclitum) reprehenden- 
 
 beings, which, were it not for the process tern Homerum, qui optaverit interitum et 
 
 above mentioned, would either soon be at a vastitatem malis vitae, quod non intelligeret 
 
 stand, or would require a perpetual miracle mundum sibi deleri placere : si quidem 
 
 for the supply of new materials. sylva, quse malorum fons est, exterminare- 
 
 s 'HpoKAen-os fj.lv yap avriKpvs ir6\e^ov tur. Chal. p. 396. edit. Meurs. 1617. 
 ovojj.a.^1 irartpa Kal fiaaiXea Kal Kvpiov In the Greek quotation Homer is sup- 
 
 iravTuv Kal rbv fiei/ "O/^poi/, vxo'J.evo^ posed to wish inadvertently against the ge- 
 
 y E/c re deciiv epiJ', UK T' avQp&Trcav airo- neration of all things ; in the Latin, he 
 
 AeVflcu, wishes, in the same inadvertent manner, 
 
 \avQavfiv (pricrl TTJ iravTuv yevefffi Kara- against the existence of sylva , that is, of 
 
 pw/jLevov, e'/e yuctx^s Kal avTiiraOeias TV/I/ 76- "matter." The difference is easily reconciled, 
 
 vf<nv e%(Wa>j/' TjAioj/ Se ^ virfp^a-ecrOai if we suppose matter to be the basis of ge- 
 
 TOI/S Trpoo"f)KovTas '6povs' et Se /^, neration, and to be essentially requisite to 
 
 FAwTras fj.iv 81/07$ firiKovpovs et-tvpTifffiv. the existence of things generable and pe- 
 
 V 
 
322 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 From all these speculations one thing at least appears, (what- 
 ever else may be doubtful,) that relations of hostility, as well as 
 friendship, have their use in the universe. Both also equally 
 arise from want on one side, and from the power of removing it 
 on the other/ , The difference is, that in friendly relations the 
 help is communicated either with pleasure, as when the mother 
 suckles her child ; or at least without pain, as when we shew a 
 traveller his way, In hostile relations, the help, without regard 
 to the communicator, is either taken by force, as when the wolf 
 devours the lamb ; or obtained by stratagem, as when the spider 
 ensnares the fly. 
 
 And thus by the reciprocal relations of want and help, (both 
 of which under a variety of forms exist in every individual,) is 
 there a kind of general concatenation extended throughout the 
 universe ; while each being communicates what help it can 
 afford, and obtains, in its turn, that help which it requires. 
 
 To all these relations must be added that chief, though men- 
 tioned last, that of the whole universe, and every being in it, to 
 the first, supreme, and intelligent Cause, through which relation 
 they are called his offspring, and he their Father. Here, indeed, 
 the relations are not blended as before ; they are all purely re- 
 ferable to want on one side, and all purely arise from spontaneous 
 help on the other ; the correspondence existing, as far as perfect 
 has respect to imperfect, independent to dependent, the object 
 desired to the beings which desire," the maker to his works, the 
 parent to his children." 
 
 And now to conclude with a remark, which regards relation 
 in general. " As to every continuous being the genus of quality 
 gives distinctions, which help to mitigate its sameness, and 
 render it, as it were, discrete ; so to beings discrete, however re- 
 mote, the genus of relation gives a connection, which serves to 
 mitigate their diversity, and to render them, as it were, con- 
 tinuous. Thus is the world maintained as well in its union, as 
 in its variety, while both species of quantity run through the 
 whole, and through every part." 
 
 And so much for the arrangement or genus of relation^ its na- 
 ture, its properties, its utility, and extent. y 
 
 rishable, out of which this lower and visible relation between the object of desire, and 
 
 world is wholly composed. the being which desires ?" Simplic. in Prae- 
 
 1 How far the want of good leads to arts die. p. 43. B. edit. Basil. 1551. See be- 
 
 and action, may be seen in p. 14, and in fore, note c, p. 314. 
 
 notes subjoined. We here perceive it to ex- x St. Paul has given his sanction to that 
 
 tend, not only to the whole animal world, verse of Aratus, Tou yap Kal yevos eV^eV: 
 
 but even to the vegetable. More will be " For we are his offspring." Arat. Phcen. 
 
 found on this subject in the treatise upon v. 5. Acts xvii. 28. 
 Motion, a part of the present work. J Before we quit this arrangement, we 
 
 u Tlu>s Se Kal e^er^y iracnv 6 0ebs \eyt- shall subjoin the following note, 
 rat, et jUTjSe^o <rxns eWt trpbs rb e'^erbz/ The old logicians held, that things in- 
 
 T<p ttyiffjifvcp ; "How is God called an ob- telligible, and intellection, were relatives ; 
 
 ject desirable to all beings, if there be no so also things sensible, and sensation. But 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 323 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 CONCERNING ACTION AND PASSION. ACTION, ITS FIVE SPECIES THOSE 
 
 OF PASSION RECIPROCATE MIND DIVINE, HUMAN LATTER, HOW 
 
 ACTED UPON POLITICS, ECONOMICS, ETHICS. PASSIVITY IN BODIES 
 
 ANIMATE AND INANIMATE. ACTION AND RE-ACTION, WHERE THEY 
 EXIST, WHERE NOT. SELF-MOTION, WHAT, AND WHERE. POWER, 
 
 WHENCE AND WHAT REQUISITE BOTH IN ACTION AND IN PASSION. 
 
 POWER, THOUGH LIKE NONENTITY, YET WIDELY DIFFERENT. DOUBLE 
 IN THE REASONING FACULTY. POWER, NOT FIRST IN EXISTENCE, 
 BUT ENERGY, WHICH NEVER HAS CEASED, OR WILL CEASE, OR CAN 
 CEASE. 
 
 IN treating of relatives, we have considered principally those 
 which possess the relative character in a degree above every 
 
 then they started an objection If relatives 
 coexist, and always reciprocate in their 
 existence, what would become of Euclid's 
 theorems, supposing there were no geome- 
 tricians? What would become of sensible 
 objects, supposing there were no beings 
 sensitive ? 
 
 One solution of this objection is derived 
 from the percipient : the first original and 
 supreme percipient is everywhere, and al- 
 ways in the full energy of universal per- 
 ception. 
 
 Another solution is from the objects per- 
 ceived, be they sensible or intelligible. 
 Every such object has a double nature ; an 
 absolute nature, and a relative one. The 
 sound A is an octave to the sound B. B 
 ceases, and A continues. A is no longer 
 an octave, but still it is a sound : and even 
 though we should call it no sound, if there 
 were to be no hearers ; it would still be 
 an undulation of air, capable of producing 
 sound, if there were an ear capable of per- 
 ceiving it, that is, an organ adequate to the 
 sensation. 
 
 The instance given on this occasion by 
 the philosophers Porphyry and Simplicius, 
 is curious, because it is taken from that 
 difficult system of music, the enharmonic. 
 The following are the words of Simplicius : 
 Khv yap Sia pa9v/j.iav ccTro^aAw/xej' Trore 
 T^]V TUV OVTUV -yvSxnv, ovSev TJTTOV /j.4i>ei 
 TO. tWa, forep fffrl TO. eTTKTTTjTci 1 Kal yap 
 & Trj novffiKrj TrpSrepov ^v KaTyKouo/j.ev 
 SieVecos, vvv 8e aveTralffO'rjroi TOVTOV TOV 
 8mo"T7J/uaTos eVjueV: "For if ever, through 
 any sloth or indolence, we reject know- 
 ledge, those things, which are intelligible, 
 remain nevertheless. It is thus that in 
 music we used in former davs to hear the 
 
 quarter-tone, but now we are unable to 
 distinguish this interval." Simplic. in 
 Freed, p. 48. B. edit. Basil. 1551. 
 
 Porphyry having told us, that though 
 there were no geometry, considered as a 
 science, there would still be objects geome- 
 trical, subjoins eTret /cat ev rfj ovaiKrj rb 
 
 ot /j.ovffiKol, vffTpov Se a/ieATjtfefo-Tjs rrjs 
 \ip5las, Kaff %v rb StecncuW 
 eyueAwSetro, OVKCTI TOV TOIOVTOV 
 effTai (lege e(Trt) SICHTTT^UOTOS" Kal 
 SrjAor %TI zv Tp <pvo~ei etrri Tt> 
 TOVTO 8idffTTi/j.a, el Kal f] ar07j<m 
 irev : " For thus, too, in music, musicians 
 used formerly to hear (and distinguish) the 
 interval of the quarter-tone ; but in latter 
 days, the enharmonic melody having been 
 neglected, by which this interval used to 
 be modulated, there is no longer now any 
 sensation of such an interval : and yet it is 
 evident that this sensible interval has an 
 existence in nature, although for the pre- 
 sent the sensation of it be lost." Porphyr. 
 in Praedic. p. 40. ed. Paris. 1543. 
 
 Porphyry flourished in the third century ; 
 Simplicius in the sixth. 
 
 We may remark, by the way, from the 
 above quotations, how fast the arts of ele- 
 gance were sinking, even in the more early 
 of those two periods. 
 
 As for the state of philosophy in the 
 latter period, we may form a judgment of 
 it by what we learn from Simplicius in the 
 same treatise, with regard to the Stoics. 
 Having, in his Commentary on the Pre- 
 dicaments of Action and Passion, given 
 many quotations from the Stoic logic, he 
 concludes the chapter with the following 
 \\onls: FIoAA^ 5e ?? TUV TOIOVTCW tfp- 
 Y 2 
 
324 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 other. But there are things which, as they possess it blended 
 with characters more eminent, have been formed for that reason 
 into separate arrangements. Such, for example, is the relation 
 between a being and the place which it occupies ; that between 
 a being and the time while it exists ; the first of which relations 
 gives an answer to the question, where; the latter to the ques- 
 tion, when. 
 
 There are also relations of position ; relations of habit ; and, 
 besides these, there are relations of action and passion ; all of 
 which are distinguished by peculiar attributes of their own, and 
 have therefore merited distinct examinations from the ancient 
 writers upon logic. 
 
 Thus, if we consider the two last, I mean action and passion, 
 we shall find them diffused through every part of the universe ; 
 and that, either united in one subject, or else separate, and in 
 different subjects. 
 
 By Horace they are united : 
 
 Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam, 
 
 Multa tulit, fecitque puer. Hor. Art. Poet. 412. 
 
 So are they by Livy, in that manly speech of Caius Mucius : 
 Et facere et pati fortia, Romanum est. z 
 So are they by Shakspeare : 
 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 
 The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
 
 Or by opposing end them. Hamlet. 
 
 So are they by Milton : 
 
 Fall'n cherub, to be weak is miserable, 
 
 Doing, or suffering. Par. Lost, i. 157. 
 
 In Virgil we see them separated, and passion given to man, 
 action to the Deity : 
 
 ! passi graviora, dabit Deus his quoque finem. jEn. i. 203. 
 
 As, therefore, action and passion are of the most extensive in- 
 fluence ; as they partake in some degree the nature of qualities 
 or attributes, by being intimately and essentially connected with 
 substance ; while the relatives when, where, and position seem 
 rather connected accidentally : we shall give action and passion 
 their just precedence, and make them the subject of the present 
 chapter. 
 
 The species of action are as many as are the different modes 
 of acting in the different species of agents. 
 
 yaaia irapa rots STwi'/coTs 1 SJv tfi 7)/j,>v Omar burnt the Alexandrine library ; nor 
 
 /col y SiScKTKaAta, Kal TO, irXe'tffTa ruv ffvy- did the siicceeding caliphs emerge from bar- 
 
 ypafj./j.dTuv firi\f\onrev : " There is much barity till the race of the Abbassidse, near 
 
 elaborate discussion of these matters among two centuries after. 
 
 the Stoics, of whom both the doctrine and The barbarity of Western Europe con- 
 
 most of the writings are in our times lost, tinned much longer, and did not begin to 
 
 and at an end." Simpl. in Freed, p. 84. B. lessen till the fifteenth century, that pre- 
 
 edit. Basil. 1551. ceding the age of Leo the Tenth. 
 Mahomet soon followed, whose successor z Liv. ii. 11. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 325 
 
 The first sort of action is that of mere body alone, considered 
 either as void of sensation wholly, like fire, when it burns ; or, 
 at least, as void of sensation, at the time when it operates. 
 Such is that great and universal power, the power of attraction, 
 which all body, animal, vegetable, and elementary, is found to 
 possess in proportion to its quantity ; that active power, (if it 
 may for the present be so called,) the effects of which modern 
 philosophy has scrutinized with so much penetration. Such, 
 too, are those energies peculiar to different bodies, and arising 
 out of them from their different natures ; as when we say, the 
 heavens emit light ; the trees produce leaves ; the fields give us 
 corn, &c. 
 
 Caelum nitescere, arbores frondescere, 
 
 Segetes largiri fruges, &c. Cic. Tusc. Disp. i. 28. 
 
 Such, too, are those more secret operations of bodies, whether 
 magnetic or electric ; to which may be added the virtues and 
 efficacies of bodies medicinal. All these energies in a compre- 
 hensive sense may be called the action of body, considered 
 merely as body. 3 
 
 A second sort of action is that which is the result of sensation, 
 instinct, and natural appetite, and which therefore, being com- 
 plicated, must necessarily be confined to bodies of a higher 
 genus, to bodies sensitive, that is, to animals. 
 
 Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit, &c. Hor. Sat. ii. 1. 
 
 Nowhere are these actions expressed with more elegance and 
 conciseness, than by our own epic poet, in his Paradise Lost : 
 
 Air, water, earth, 
 By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swam, was walked. 1 * Par. Lost, vii. 502. 
 
 There is a third species of action more complicated even than 
 the preceding, being derived not only from sensation, instinct, 
 and natural appetite, but from reason also, superadded to these. 
 This 'is a mode of action peculiar to man, because of all the 
 animals we see around us, man alone possesses the reasoning 
 faculty. 
 
 a This is that genus of energies which, ras <paivo/j.ei>as iSidryras, Kara Trdaas Se 
 
 as lamblichus describes it, " indicates no avrwv ras Suj/cfyiets, oi>x p /J.6vov vrfped 
 
 action belonging to soul, or to animal tffn Kal avrirvira, ctAA' p'i<al trepl avr&v 
 
 nature, or to reasonings, or to life, but *X i ^oAAas Spaa"rTjpiovs Svvdfj.is. Simpl. 
 
 which (on the contrary) exhibits the par- in Prsedic. p. 81. edit. Basil. 1551. 
 ticular energy of bodies, considered as b Kal 8rj\ov '6ffa irore eV-n /cat diroia 
 
 bodies purely inanimate ; and that as well 6?5rj riav a\6yuv uw, roaavra KOI roiavra 
 
 with respect to all the peculiarities which Kal ev rw iroitlv Sidtyopd eanv f?Sr) Kara 
 
 appear to surround body, as to all those rfyv roiavryv (vepyeiav, irepl 5>v eV raTs 
 
 various inherent powers of bodies, not only irepl fycav laropiais 5iapid(j.e'tcr6ai elwOa- 
 
 as they are solid and capable of resisting, /J.GV: "It is evident, that as are the species 
 
 but as they contain within them a multitude of irrational animals in number and in 
 
 of powers that are efficacious and active." quality, so many and such are the different 
 
 Tevos ffspyfiuv, frrrep tyvx^s KOI (pixrews species in acting agreeably to this [animal] 
 
 Kal \6y<av Kal farjs OVKCTL eirjSefoz/txrt mode of energy ; which several species of 
 
 7rotrj(rtj/, T&V 5e (rco/j.dTwv, rj ff<ap.ard eirrti/ acting have been usually enumerated in the 
 
 *, <f>avepav KaQi(TT7](ri r^v (rco/uaroeiS^ histories of animals." Simpl. in Praed. p. 
 
 eiav Kara irdaas )U.c> ras iff pi rb <rS>p.a. 81, ut supra. 
 
326 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Widely diversified is the share assumed by the subordinate 
 faculties of the human soul, in actions of this character. Some- 
 times they submit to reason, and are (as becomes them) obe- 
 dient ; at other times they reject her, and proceed of them- 
 selves. And hence it is, that actions, produced from causes so 
 peculiarly complicated, derive to themselves the colours of good 
 and evil, and are denominated, in distinction to every other deed 
 of man, actions moral. 
 
 When Virtue and Pleasure addressed the young Hercules, 
 Virtue supposed him to have a reason that could control his ap- 
 petites ; Pleasure supposed him to have appetites that would 
 bear down his reason. Had he obeyed the last, he had been 
 vicious ; as he obeyed the first, he was virtuous. There was a 
 conflict in either case between his better part and his worse ; 
 and in that conflict both species of faculties were presumed, his 
 rational faculties, and his irrational. 
 
 There is a fourth sort of action, where the intellect, operating 
 without passions or affections, stays not within itself, but passes 
 out (as it were) to some external operation. It is thus that 
 nature, considered as an efficient cause, may be called the 
 energy of God, seen in the various productions that replenish 
 and adorn the world. It is thus that art, considered as an 
 efficient cause, may be called the energy of man, which imitates 
 in its operations the plastic power of nature. d 
 
 The last and most excellent sort of action is seen in contem- 
 plation ; in the pure energy of simple intellect, keeping within 
 itself, and making itself its own object. This is the highest 
 action of which we are susceptible ; and by it we imitate the 
 Supreme Being, as far as is consistent with our subordinate 
 nature. It is to this that our great poet alludes, when speaking 
 of his employment, during a state of blindness, he says, 
 
 Then feed on thoughts, which voluntary move 
 
 Harmonious numbers. e Par. Lost, iii. 37. 
 
 c See Xenoph. Mem. 1. ii. c. 1. s. 21. fftiv, "to act morally," the better to dis- 
 
 The above species of action is thus de- tinguish it from Tromj/, a word of meaning 
 
 scribed by Simplicius : Tptrov Se rov trote'tv more extensive, signifying simply " to do," 
 
 yevos, rb eV T(f irpaffativ aTnjpifyiT/Tcu 8irep or " to make." 
 
 TOV \6yov ras Trepl ra alffO^ra Kal ffvvQtTa d Tovrov Se iro\v jiiv etrrt rb 0e?oy 9 
 
 Troi7}(Teis eiriTpoirevei Trpoaipecriv Kal f$ov\t]v, TTO\V Se Kal eV rais re^vcus, fj.ifj.ov/ui.evais 
 
 S6av re Kal ffKe-fyiv., Kal TO.S roia'UTas T}]V fyvffiv, Kal rb Trapa\enr6/j.vov UTT* 
 
 iToi^fffis Trapexdpevov. Simpl. ut supra, avrats (lege avrrjs) a.vairX'ripovffais. Simplic. 
 
 " The genus comprehended under the idea ut supra, " Of this species of acting the 
 
 of acting morally, is the third of this order ; Divinity has a large share ; a large share also 
 
 that genus which presides over the energies falls to arts, that imitate nature, and supply 
 
 of reason with respect to the concrete ob- what she has omitted." 
 jects of sense, (that is, which presides in e This highest mode of action (if it may 
 
 the affairs of common life,) and which be so called) is thus described by Simplicius 
 
 furnishes upon occasion deliberate choice, in the same comment, p. 80. 
 volition, opinion, inquiry, and other ener- Tb Trepl ruv VOT^TWV KOI a/j-epiffTcov 
 
 gies of the same character." Simpl. in ov7ia>v e7ri<r/co7rovyuei'o/> aTrAcus vo^fftaiv : 
 
 Praed. p. 80. B. edit. Bas. 1551. "That Avhich, with simple intellections, 
 
 We have in this place translated 7rpo<r- inquires concerning substances intelligible 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 327 
 
 The species of passion may be understood by their recipro- 
 cating for the most part with those of action. 
 
 Thus though the Divine Mind, by being pure and intellectual 
 energy, can have nothing passive in its transcendent theory ; f 
 yet the mind of man, which has intensions and remissions, is for 
 that reason necessarily passive in two important manners : either 
 as truth, real or apparent, demands its assent ; or as falsehood, 
 real or apparent, demands its dissent. 
 
 It is in consequence of this passivity of the human mind, 
 which I choose to call passivity intellectual, that it becomes 
 susceptible of discipline and institution, and thus finds itself 
 adorned (according as it is cultivated) with the various tribes 
 both of arts and sciences. g 
 
 As the reason of man is acted upon by the appearances of 
 truth and falsehood, so are the appetites of man (and not only 
 of man, but of brutes also) acted upon by the approach of plea- 
 sure and pain. h This therefore may be called sensual passivity, 
 in opposition to the rational above described. It is to this Davus 
 alludes in Horace, 
 
 Etenim fateor, me dixerit ille 
 Duci ventre levem : nasum nidore supinor, 
 Imbecillus, iners, &c. Hor. Sat. ii. 7. 37. 
 
 The moulding this passivity of the human mind into as much 
 of the fair and honest as it is capable of receiving, when it is 
 applied to nations, is called politics ; w r hen to families, eco- 
 nomics ; when to individuals, ethics ; * and is in general the 
 foundation of moral principles and conduct. 
 
 and indivisible ; that is, substances, which, Simplicius tells us, that Archytas has 
 
 having no parts, cannot, like body, be in- omitted the other species, (that which we 
 
 finitely divided. have mentioned first, and which respects 
 
 Archytas has enumerated these species bodies inanimate,) because he did not con- 
 
 of energy or action, but in a different sider it as a species purely active, nor as 
 
 manner, beginning with the last of them arising from any internal and sensitive 
 
 first, and so proceeding inversely, till he principle of motion. And yet, perhaps, in 
 
 come to the first that is mentioned here, an introductory treatise, it can hardly be 
 
 and this he omits. His words are worthy of considered as introduced improperly, though 
 
 perusal : Tas 8e evepyeias SiaQopal rpfts' it must be allowed at the same time to want 
 
 rb ,uei/ yap ri tffnv auras tV rw Oeupev, this requisite. 
 
 oiov aa-rpovofjLfV rb 8e eV r$ Trotey, oiov We observe, by the way, that this dis- 
 
 vyid^ev, rfKraivfV rb 8e eV rq irpdo~o~fv, tinction of actions is called by logicians 
 
 olov ffrpa.ra.yGV Kal TroAiTeuerrflar yiyvfrat actio transiens, and actio immanens, which 
 
 Se a fj.ev tvepyeia Kal avev Siavolas, oiov eV corresponds in grammar to verbs transitive 
 
 r<ns a\6yots uois. TeviKdarara 8e avrd. on one side, and verbs neuter and middle 
 
 Archyt. apud Simpl. in Praed. p. 80. on the other. See Hermes, 1. i. c. 9. 
 
 " There are three distinctions of action or f See chapter on Qualities, p. 296. 
 
 energy : one sort of it consists in contem- Vid. Arrian. Epict. 1. iii. c. 3. 
 
 plating, as when we study the stars; h AerSe-nfleWt Kal rb <paiv6/u.fj/ov aya6bv 
 
 another in making, as when we heal a ayaOov -^P- v *X* lv -> Ka ' T0 ^u' (paiv6/j.evov 
 
 disease, or exercise the art of a carpenter ; yap 4<rriv ayaQov : " We ought to suppose, 
 
 another [not in making, but] in acting, as that both good apparent and pleasure supply 
 
 when we lead an army, or administer a the place of good (real) ; for pleasure is 
 
 commonwealth. There is, too, a fourth good apparent." Arist. de Animal. Motu, 
 
 energy, where there is no use of reasoning, p. 1 54. edit. Sylb. 
 
 as in animals irrational. These are the { Nicephorus Blemmiclcs adopts this di- 
 
 forms of action the most general and coin- vision from the Peripatetic school : Tb 5e 
 
 prehensive." irpa,K.nKbv $iaipe?Ta.i els 
 
328 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 The passivity peculiar to brutes may be seen in the various 
 purposes to which we direct their several powers : some to 
 plough our lands ; others to carry us ; a third species to hunt for 
 us, &c. k 
 
 The passivity of insensitive bodies, whether vegetable or not, 
 is equally conspicuous in the various ends to which we apply 
 them. The earth we plough ; over the sea we sail ; out of the 
 forest we build our ships, &c. This insensitive passivity, though 
 it submit to the action of other bodies upon it, yet always 
 follows the peculiar nature of the being to which it belongs ; 
 so that the effects often differ, where the active power is the 
 same. 
 
 Limus ut hie durescit, et haec ut cera liquescit, 
 
 Uno eodemque igni. Virg. Eel. viii. 80. 
 
 Lastly, all bodies that act by attraction, are themselves reci- 
 procally acted upon, as modern philosophers have clearly de- 
 monstrated. 
 
 As to action and passion in general, it may be observed, that 
 the great and diversified mixture of them which runs through 
 the world, and is conspicuous in every part of it, has a necessary 
 reference (as all other mixtures have) to principles more simple, 
 out of which it is compounded. Pure activity we may suppose 
 mind ; and pure passivity, matter. As mind is capable of acting 
 whatever is possible, so is matter of having, whatever is possible, 
 acted upon it. The former is the source of all forms, distinctions, 
 and beauty ; the latter is the receptacle. In the Supreme Mind 
 there is nothing passive; in the lowest matter there is nothing 
 active; 1 while all between is a mixture of both, where in dif- 
 ferent parts the different principles are prevalent, and from this 
 prevalence give the being its proper character. 
 
 If we call man a composite of soul and body, as a rational 
 being, he has a motion of his own ; as a sensitive being, he has 
 a motion in common with brutes ; as a being merely corporeal, 
 
 Tro\iTiK.6v Kal yOiKbs /J.GV fffn (f)i\6ffo- and passivity completive : corruptive, as 
 
 , 6 ra favrov tfO-r] Kal a\\ov pv6fj.i^iv when any being is consumed by fire ; com- 
 
 s' olKovo/aiKbs Se, 6 Kal olKov '6\ov pletive, as when a being either learns, or is 
 
 e/c7rai8eue/ KaX&s fTTKTTafj.ei'os" 6 Se ye acted upon, either by its intellect or its 
 
 ir6\iv 3) Kal Tr6\is 5iedycav Kal Sta- senses. Tov iraff^iv Se rb /j.U eVrt 00op- 
 
 Kvftfpv&v api(TTcas, Tro\iriK6s : " The prac- TiKbv, &s rb KaieffOat' rb Se re\fu>TiKbv, us 
 
 tical part of philosophy is divided into moral, rb fj.av6dveu', Kal yivaxTKeiv, Kal alcrdd- 
 
 economical, and political. It is the moral veffdai. Nic. Blem. Ep. Log. 158. 
 
 philosopher, who is able to adjust his own k See page 22. See also, as to the pas- 
 
 manners, and those of any other individual : sivity of bodies inanimate, page 21. 
 
 the economical, who knows how to instruct * See pages 280, 281. 
 
 well a whole family ; and he who in the Thus Archytas in Simplicius : Ta KaOapa 
 
 best manner conducts and governs a city, ycvrj rov iroislv Kal ird(rx lv * v T0 *s Q-PX r l~ 
 
 or cities, this philosopher is the political ytK(ardrois rov JAW iroittv cv T 9eco, TOV 
 
 one." Blem. Epitoin. Logic, p. 37. Se irdarx^iv eV rp v\y : " The pure and 
 
 As we have been speaking just before of simple genera of 'acting, and being acted 
 
 passivity, it is proper to remark, that the upon, exist in the primary and most original 
 
 same writer, from the same philosophy, of beings ; acting, in God ; the being acted 
 
 takes notice of two species of it, a better upon, in matter." Simplic. in Praed. p. 84. B. 
 
 species and a worse; passivity corruptive, edit. Basil. 1551. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 329 
 
 a motion in common with all bodies whatever. A dog has only 
 the second and third of these motions, and a stone only the 
 last. Thus is the stone least active, the man most so, and the 
 brute between both. 
 
 The modes are different under which beings act upon one 
 another. 
 
 Some (as the whole tribe of corporeal masses) only act, be- 
 cause they are acted upon, and that too by something external, 
 and perfectly distinct from themselves. It is thus the nail acts 
 upon the timber, because the hammer acts upon the nail ; and 
 were not the hammer to drive, the nail would never penetrate. 
 
 Now such motion as this is but a species of passivity, because 
 though the beings, which possess it, have an original power to 
 receive motion, they by no means possess an original power to 
 impart it. And hence it follows, that if something did not exist 
 more intrinsically active than themselves, they would never act, 
 and there would be no motion at all. 
 
 Action of this kind, (if it deserve the name,) is the action of 
 beings, which, though moveable, are not intrinsically motive, 
 that is, causes of motion. 
 
 Another mode of action may be found in the following in- 
 stances. A lamb acts upon the senses of a wolf that sensation 
 acts upon his appetite that appetite acts upon his corporeal 
 organs. By the action of these organs he runs, he seizes, and he 
 devours the lamb. 
 
 A child is seen by its mother likely to fall from a precipice. 
 The sensation acts upon her parental affections these affections 
 act upon her corporeal organs. By the action of these organs 
 she runs, she seizes, and she saves her child. 
 
 The instances we are going to allege, appear to be more 
 blended with deliberation and thought. The splendour of the 
 Roman empire acted upon the imagination of Caesar that 
 imagination acted upon his desire of sovereign power that 
 desire acted upon the faculties of his mind and body. By the 
 energy of these faculties he passed the Rubicon, conquered 
 Pompey, enslaved Rome, and obtained the wished-for empire. 
 
 Again ; the domination of Caesar acted upon the imagination 
 of Brutus that imagination acted upon his love for the republic 
 that love for the republic acted upon his corporeal organs. 
 His hand in consequence plunged a dagger into Caesar, and, for 
 a time, the republic, which he loved, was restored. 
 
 In all these instances the corporeal organs act, like the corpo- 
 real masses before mentioned, because they are first acted upon. 
 But then they are not acted upon, as those are, by other 
 external bodies, but by internal appetites, affections, and de- 
 sires, all which, as well as the organs, are parts of one and the 
 same being. Such being therefore is not, like beings of the first 
 order, in a manner passive and only moveable ; but, as it pos- 
 
330 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 sesses within itself the power of imparting motion, as well as of 
 receiving it, the action is that of a being, not only moveable, but 
 intrinsically motive. 
 
 We may go further, if we please, and suggest a third mode of 
 action, the action of the first mover ; that being, which, though 
 motive, is itself perfectly immoveable. 
 
 In a series of agents, where each of them imparts motion, 
 which it has previously received, were such agents two, or were 
 they ten, or were they a million, no motion could ever begin, 
 were there not something at their head totally different from 
 them all ; something purely impassive ; something, which can 
 move, without being moved ; in other words, which can impart 
 motion to every thing else, and remain itself immoveable. 
 
 It is to this character that Boethius alludes, in his truly 
 sublime address to the Author of the Universe : 
 
 Qui tempus ab aevo 
 Ire jubes, stabilisque manens das cuncta moveri. m 
 
 Considering action, therefore, and the being acted upon with 
 a view to motion and the being moved, we may say that the 
 Peripatetic system (for it is hence we derive these speculations) 
 contemplated all beings in three views ; either as moveable, but 
 not motive ; or as both moveable and motive ; or, lastly, as motive 
 alone, but not moveable. 11 
 
 More is said upon this subject in the subsequent theory con- 
 cerning motion. 
 
 We shall only add, that, in the above modes of acting, when 
 bodies act upon bodies, the action for the greater part is re- 
 ciprocal. While the oar impels the wave, the wave resists the 
 oar ; while the axe hews the timber, the timber blunts the axe ; 
 while the earth attracts the moon, the moon attracts the earth. 
 And hence the theory of action and re-action, p so accurately 
 scrutinized in modern philosophy. 
 
 m Tb opeKrbv Kal rb vorjrbv Kive?, ov moves, and the organs which are moved, 
 Kivov^vov : " The desirable and the intelli- appear to be both of them vitally united in 
 gible move, without being moved." Arist. one and the same subject, see below, chap. 
 Metaph. p. 202. edit. Sylb. See below, xvii. Concerning the necessity of some- 
 chap, xvii. thing, different from body, to put body in 
 
 The Latin quotation is from the Consola- motion, Ibid. Concerning causative mo- 
 tion of Boethius, and is a part of those hex- tion, Ibid. Concerning immobility, Ibid. 
 ameters, which, for harmony of numbers and Hermes, p. 220, note c. 
 and sublimity of sentiment, are perhaps not P Of this doctrine we have the following 
 inferior to any in the Latin language : account. Pdnov Se rov yiiei/ \veo~6ai ras 
 O ! qui perpetua mundum, &c. Kivf)(TGis, on. rb iroiovv Kal Travel v^b rov 
 
 n This doctrine is expressed by the Sta- iraa")(ovros' oTov rb ru.vov afj.@\vvTai \nrb 
 
 girite, but in an inverted order. Tb /JL\V TOV Tu.vo/nevov, Kal rb Qepjj.ouvov ^tr^erat 
 
 Trpwroi/, ov Kivovu.vov^ Kive'i' f) S 5 opeis Kal virb Oepu.aii'ou.evov, Kal o\us rb KIVOVV (ea> 
 
 rb opfKTiKbv Kivovjj.evov^ Kivti' rb Se re- rov irp&rov) avriKivelrai riva K.(vj](nv' oTov 
 
 tevratov rS>v Kivovu.4viav OVK avayKti Ktveiv wOovv avTiaOe'iTai TTWS, Kal avri0\t/3erat rb 
 
 ouSeV. De Animal. Motu, p. 154. edit. Oxi&ov : "The cause why motions are 
 
 Sylb. stopped, is, that the acting power is also 
 
 Concerning that motion, which does not acted upon by that upon which it acts ; for 
 
 arise from the collision of one body with example, the cutting power is blunted by 
 
 another body, but where the power which that which is cut ; and the warming power 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 331 
 
 If we contemplate the world, as well the vegetable as the 
 animal, we shall perceive action and passion diffused through 
 every part. 
 
 And yet it must be observed both of action and of passion, 
 (such at least as those we see around us,) that they are neither 
 of them perpetual in any one particular instance. Corn only 
 nourishes, and hemlock only poisons, when they meet a proper 
 body on which to operate : the musician does not always 
 perform, nor is the ear always affected by sounds : the painter 
 does not always paint, nor is the eye always affected by colours. 
 ' And hence the rise of that notable thing called power ; that 
 dormant capacity, into which both action and passion, when 
 they cease, retreat ; and out of which, when they return, as from 
 their source they flow. 
 
 There is nothing which appears so nearly to approach non- 
 entity as this singular thing called power ; yet is there nothing, 
 in fact, so truly different from it. 
 
 Of nonentity there are no attributes, no affections ; but every 
 power possesses a specific and a limited character, which not 
 only distinguishes it from nonenity, but from every other power. 
 
 Thus, among the active powers, the smith, when asleep, has 
 still those powers which make him a smith ; the shipwright, 
 when asleep, has still those powers which make him a ship- 
 wright. The powers distinguish both from the rest of mankind, 
 who, purely from not having them, are neither smiths nor ship- 
 wrights. 
 
 The same powers help to distinguish the same artists from one 
 another ; for the powers, though invisible, are incommutable ; 
 nor can those of the shipwright enable him to forge an anchor, 
 or those of the smith enable him to construct a ship. 
 
 If we pass from active to passive powers, we shall find these, 
 after the same manner, to be limited in every subject, and dif- 
 ferent in every species. Timber has the capacity of becoming a 
 ship, but not an axe ; iron, on the contrary, of becoming an axe, 
 but not a ship. q And though different agents, by operating on 
 the same patient, may produce different effects, (as the ship- 
 wright makes timber 'into a ship, while the carpenter forms it 
 into a house;) yet still must each effect correspond with the 
 passive capacities ; or else, where these fail, there is nothing to 
 be done. 
 
 Were the case otherwise, were not the passive powers essen- 
 tially requisite as well as the active, there would be no reason 
 why any thing might not be made out of any thing. ^ 
 
 Far distant, therefore, from nonenity are passive powers, 
 
 is cooled by that which is warmed ; and, in re-impelled ; and the compressing power, 
 
 general, the moving principle (excepting the after a manner re-compressed." ^ Aristot. de 
 
 supreme and first) is reciprocally moved Animal. Gener. 1. iv. p. 280. edit. Sylb. 
 
 itself under some motion or other ; the im- 1 See page 267 ; also p. 292, 293. 
 pelling power, for instance, is after a manner 
 
332 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 however latent : so far, indeed, that where they differ essentially 
 from one another, they often lead to effects perfectly contrary, 
 though the agent which operates be individually the same : 
 
 Limus ut hie durescit, et haec ut cera liquescit, 
 
 Uno eodemque igni, &c. Virg. ut sup. p. 270. 
 
 It is from this theory we perceive the reason of that ancient 
 axiom, Quicquid recipitur, recipitur secundum modum recipientis; 
 than which nothing can be more true, when properly under- 
 stood. 
 
 As to the active powers, there is an important distinction be- 
 tween those called rational, and the irrational. The subordinate 
 are mostly confined to the producing one contrary out of two. 
 Fire can only warm, but cannot cool ; ice can only cool, but 
 cannot warm. But the rational powers imply both contraries 
 at once, and give to their possessor the alternative of producing 
 either. The musician has the power both of melody and dis- 
 sonance ; the physician, the power both of healing and making 
 sick; the magistrate, the power of deciding both justly and 
 unjustly. 
 
 The reason of this is, that rational power alone is founded in 
 science, and it is always one and the same science which re- 
 cognises contraries ; that which teaches us harmony, teaches us 
 discord ; that which informs us what is health, informs us what 
 is disease ; that which discerns truth, discerns also falsehood. 
 Hence, therefore, it is, that as every science may be called 
 double in its powers of knowledge/ so all action founded on 
 science may be called double in its powers of acting. 8 A noble 
 privilege this to man, if well employed ; a truly unfortunate one, 
 if abused ; since by this he alone, of all sublunary beings, is pro- 
 perly entitled either to praise or dispraise. 
 
 With respect to powers in general, there is this to be ob- 
 served : so important are they to the constitution of many 
 beings, that often, though latent, they are more regarded than 
 
 r '\Kavbv yap Odrepov fiepos rrjs eW/- aXnov. Atriov Se, Sri \6yos fffrlv rj eVi- 
 
 rifixrecas, eatrrrf re Kpiffiv, KOI rb ai/riKfi- (TTTJ/XTJ, 6 8e \dyos 6 avrbs 77X0? rb irpciy- 
 
 fuevov' Kal yap rep eufle? Kal avrb Kal rb fta, Kal rrjv (TTepycriv : " Of powers, some 
 
 KajjmvXov -yiv^ffKo^v, Kpir^s yap a/j.<poiv will be found irrational, others are attended 
 
 6 nav&v' rb 5e KapTrvhov, otid' kavrov ouVe with reason : and as to those which are at- 
 
 TOV eufle'os : " One of the' two parts in the tended with reason, the same powers will 
 
 contrariety is sufficient to judge both itself extend to things contrary : but as to the 
 
 and its opposite. It is thus that by the irrational, one power will extend only to 
 
 straight we come to know both the straight one contrary : what is hot, for example, 
 
 and the crooked, for the straight rule of the will only conduce to heating ; but the art 
 
 artist is a judge of both. But the crooked, of medicine will become the cause both of 
 
 on the other side, is no judge either of it- disease and of health. The cause is, that 
 
 self, or of the straight." Arist. de An. i. this medicinal science is reason, and the 
 
 5. same reason discovers both the thing and 
 
 8 Kal T>V Svvd/j.fWT/ at fj.'kv tffovrai a\o- its privation." Arist. Metaph. p. 143. edit, 
 
 yoi, at Se //era \6yov Kal at (iV /j-era Sylb. 
 
 \6yov Tru(rai ra>v tvavritov at aural, at Se See also p. 68, and note _/*; and p. 294, 
 
 &\oyoi, /ut'a fv6s' olov rb 8ep/j.bv rov 0ep- especially in note t. 
 in.a.iviiv [Aovov, TI Se' larpiKrj voirov al vyifias 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 333 
 
 the strongest apparent attributes. Thus it is from their medi- 
 cinal powers only that we value the several species of drugs; 
 and from their generative powers only that we value the several 
 species of seed, while little regard is paid to their sensible, that 
 is, their apparent qualities, further than as they help to indicate 
 those invisible powers. 
 
 The just opposite to power is energy, which, as its etymology 
 shews, 1 implies the existing in deed or act, as opposed to that 
 existence which only implies possibility. 
 
 And here it is worth observing, that every thing existing in 
 power is necessarily roused into energy by something, which 
 itself existed previously in energy." Events and incidents never 
 stand still; some agents or other are perpetually energizing, 
 though all, perhaps, by turns have their respites and relaxations, 
 as many of them, at least, as are of the subordinate tribe. It 
 happens, indeed, in the world, as in a ship upon a voyage. 
 Every hand at a proper season has his hours of rest, and yet 
 the duty never ceases, the business of the ship is never at a 
 stand ; those that wake, rousing those that sleep, and being in 
 their turn roused again themselves. 
 
 But another way to shew that energy is of necessity previous 
 to power, consists in admitting the contrary hypothesis. 
 
 Let us suppose, for example, a man placed in a part of space, 
 where there was, and ever had been, eternal silence ; or other- 
 wise in a part where there was, and ever had been, eternal dark- 
 ness ; could such a one ever actually either have heard or seen, 
 however exquisite his powers both of hearing and seeing? And 
 why not? Because to the evocation of one of these powers, 
 there is a necessity of actual sound ; to that of the other, of 
 actual light ; so that had not these energies existed previously, 
 his powers must have remained dormant through the period of 
 their existence. Suppose, therefore, all energies of all kinds to 
 stop ; how could they ever revive ? Were they all once sunk 
 into one universal sleep, where should we find a waking cause, 
 to rouse them from their slumbers ? x 
 
 * 'Ev tpytf, " In act, in deed." See a musical artist, there being always some first 
 
 sketch of the difference between act and (or prior) being, which gives the motion. 
 
 power, p. 7. Now that which gives this motion is itself 
 
 "It was a doctrine of the Peripatetic already in energy." Aristot. Metaph. p. 
 
 school, OTI TrpoTtpov fvcpyfio. 8vvd/j.f(t>s 151. edit. Sylb. 
 
 tffn : " that energy is prior to power :" "Oo~a <pvo~fi yiyveTai $ Texvrj, uirb vep- 
 
 Arist. Metaph. p. 150. 152. ocl yap t/c yela OVTOS ytyveTai e/c TOV SvvdfJLft TOIOV- 
 
 TOV Svvdfj.fi OVTOS yiyvzTai Tb tvepyeia %v TOV : " Whatever things are made either 
 
 virb evepyeia OVTOS' olov avOpwiros e av- by nature or by art, are made out of 
 
 Bpcairov, U.OV(TIK^S virb /J.OVO-IKOV, del KIVOVV- something, having a capacity to become the 
 
 r6s TIVOS irpcaTov TO Se KIVOVV evepyela thing produced, and that through the ope- 
 
 ^817 eo~Tiv : "that which exists in energy ration of something, which already exists 
 
 is always formed out of that which exists in energy." De Animal. Gener. p. 204. 
 
 in power, by something which exists (al- edit. Sylb. 
 
 ready), in energy; for example, man is x It is hence that Aristotle, speaking ac- 
 
 formed by man, the musical artist by the cording to the principles of his philosophy, 
 
334 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 And what then are the inferences from this speculation, that 
 power necessarily arises from previous energy ? One is, that all 
 those doctrines about order springing from disorder, beauty from 
 confusion ; of night and chaos being the oldest of beings ; in 
 general, of the perfect and actual arising from the imperfect and 
 potential ; however they may be true as to the material cause of 
 things, yet are they far from being true with respect to their 
 real and essential origin. There is nothing, in fact, more certain, 
 than that the actual and perfect are previous to their contraries; 
 else there could never have been in the universe any thing 
 actual or perfect. 
 
 Another inference is, that the most minute and contemptible 
 energy, now actually existing, necessarily proves the existence 
 of an eternal energy, to which, as to its cause, it is ultimately 
 referable. And what can such eternal energy be, but some- 
 thing whose very essence is that energy ; y something, which 
 knows no remissions, like subordinate energies, no occasional 
 retirings into power and dead capacity, but is ever the same 
 immutable and perfect ? Without such a principle the universe 
 could never have begun ; or when once begun, could never have 
 been continued. And what shall we call this principle ? Shall 
 we call it body or mind I The best way to answer this, will be 
 to search within ourselves, where we may discover, if we attend, 
 a portion of either being, together with the several attributes 
 appertaining to each. 
 
 And so much for the two arrangements or predicaments of 
 action and passion. 
 
 says of things eternal, unalterable, and ne- yap vov evepyeia, fay' 'E/ce/os Se, f) eve'p- 
 
 cessary, that is, things ever in energy el yeia: " The energy of mind or intellect, is 
 
 ravra ^ fa ovdfv &i/ i?/, "if these were life: and He (the Supreme Being) is that 
 
 not, there could be nothing." Metaph. 153, energy." Metaph. p. 203. See also Am- 
 
 ut supra. It is a pertinent question, stated mon. in Lib. de Interpretat. p. 198. B. &c. 
 
 by the same author, in another part of the where the arrangement of beings is deeply 
 
 same tract Tlus yap /aj/7j07]<reTai, et /iTjflej/ and philosophically discussed and exhibited. 
 
 fffrai frepyeia ainov ; ov yap tfye v\t] 'E|TJS 8e rovrois 7rt5e/aj f}ov\6/J.evos, 
 
 KivT)ffei avr)] eaur^i/ : " How can things K. r. A. 
 
 ever be set in motion, if there be no cause It is agreeably to this reasoning we are 
 
 (previously) existing in energy ? Mere told, ToO %p6vov del TrpoXa/j.ftdj'ei tvepyeia 
 
 matter itself cannot move itself." Ibid. 201. crepa irpb erepos, ecas rrjs rov del KIVOVVTOS 
 
 And soon before, in the same page, 'EvSe'xe- irpArus : " that one energy in point of time 
 
 rai yap rb Svvd/j.i %v /j.^ elvai' Set" apa always precedes another, till we arrive at 
 
 fivat etpxV roiavTTjv, ?is f) ov<ria evepyeia : the energy of that Being, which eternally 
 
 " It may happen, that the thing, which gives motion in the first instance." Metaph. 
 
 exists in power only, may not exist at all : 0. 77'. p. 152. edit. Sylb. 
 there must, therefore, be (in the universe) Which is as much as to affirm, (in other 
 
 such a sort of principle, as that the very words,) that there is a gradual ascent of 
 
 essence of it should be energy." active efficient principles, one above another, 
 
 y See the note preceding. The founder up to that one active Principle which is 
 
 of the Peripatetic sect, speaking of the original and supreme. 
 Deity, uses the following expressions : ^ 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 335 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CONCERNING WHEN AND WHERE. CONCERNING TIME AND PLACE, AND 
 THEIR DEFINITION. WHEN AND WHERE, HOW DISTINGUISHED FROM 
 TIME AND PLACE, HOW CONNECTED WITH THEM. DESCRIPTIONS OF 
 WHEN AND WHERE - THEIR UTILITY AND IMPORTANCE IN HUMAN 
 LIFE VARIOUS TERMS DENOTING THESE TWO PREDICAMENTS OTHERS 
 DENOTING THEM NOT, YET MADE TO DENOTE THEM. WHEN AND 
 WHERE, THEIR EXTENSIVE INFLUENCE - PLAUSIBLE TOPICS - CON- 
 CURRING CAUSES. OPPORTUNITY, WHAT. CHANCE, WHAT IT IS NOT, 
 WHAT IT IS. FATE, PROVIDENCE. COOPERATING CAUSES. SUPREME 
 INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 WE have said already, that time and place agree, as they Loth 
 belong to quantity continuous. 2 So essential is this character, 
 that could either of them be separated, as we separate a piece of 
 timber, there would then be intervals without time, and dis- 
 tances without place. Thus far then they agree, while in this 
 they differ, that a million of different things may exist in one 
 instant of time, but never more than one thing at once can 
 occupy one place. 
 
 And hence the nature of place may be called distributive, 
 while that of time may be called accumulative. Hence, too, as 
 they agree in some respects, and differ in others, they are neces- 
 sarily not simple, but compound ideas, both belonging to one 
 genus, and each distinguished by specific differences. Having a 
 genus and a difference, they become capable of definition, since 
 it is on these two requisites that all definition is founded. 3 
 
 Time, therefore, is continuity, successive in itself, and accumu- 
 lative of its proper subjects ; place is continuity, co-existent in 
 itself, and distributive of its proper subjects. 
 
 We have said thus much about these two beings, because 
 when and where, though distinct from both, b are necessarily con- 
 nected with them, and cannot well be understood without refer- 
 ence to this connection. 
 
 Men, human affairs, and universally all sensible and corporeal 
 beings, as none of them are infinite either in duration or extent, 
 must have something of course to limit and circumscribe them. 
 Now place circumscribes their extent, and time their duration ; 
 and hence the necessary connection of things corporeal with 
 these two ; and not only of things themselves, but of all their 
 
 * See before, p. 303, 304. dpio-pol e yevovs Kal 
 
 a Omnis definitio constat genere et dif- Sia^opwi', rovrfffri ru>v fiSoiroiwv. Amm. 
 
 ferentia. Fell, 218. Termini vero essen- in quinque voces, p. 67. 
 
 tiales (definitionis scil.) genus et diffe- b How they are distinct, see below, par- 
 
 rentia. Sanderson,!, i. c. 17. See also ticularly in note c?, also p. 337. 
 
 Wallisii Logic. 1. i. c. 23. Of /j.fv yap 
 
336 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 motions, of all their accidents ; in short, of all they are able to do, 
 and of all they are able to suffer. 
 
 For example, certain persons are to meet for a certain 
 purpose. They must be informed of the time and place, or their 
 meeting would not be practicable. First, then, for the time : 
 
 When shall we three meet again, 
 
 In thunder, lightening, or in rain ? Shaksp. Macbeth. 
 
 The answer to this question connects their meeting with a 
 certain time ; and in the relation between these two, we behold 
 the rise of the predicament, when : 
 
 When the battle's lost and won, 
 When the hurly burly's done. c 
 
 Again : 
 
 Where's the place ? 
 
 The answer to this question connects their meeting with a 
 certain place ; and in the relation between these two, we see the 
 rise of the predicament, where : 
 
 Upon the heath, 
 There we go to meet Macbeth.' 1 
 
 Let us take another example. Virgil, we are informed, 
 wrote his Georgics at Naples. By Naples, in this instance, is 
 the place of Virgil circumscribed, which might else have been at 
 Rome, at Mantua, &c. The connection therefore of Virgil with 
 this city gives us an answer to the question, where ? 
 
 Again, he wrote them, we are told, while Caesar Augustus 
 was on his Oriental expedition. Here the time of this expedi- 
 tion circumscribes the time of writing, which might else have 
 been (for aught we know) during the wars with Brutus, with 
 Antony, &c. This relative connection gives an answer to the 
 question, when? 
 
 Dura Caesar ad altum 
 
 Fulminat Euphraten bello, victorque volentes 
 Per populos dat jura, viamque affectat Olympo : 
 Illo Virgilium me tempore dulcis alebat 
 Parthenope, studiis florentem ignobilis oti. Georg. iv. sub. fin. 
 
 c Ou jueVrot ofrre r$ XP& V( ? Tavrbv rb cular time : then there arises a different 
 
 wore, aAA' efrre/> &pa, Iv (rx*ffi TT? Trpbs predicament, that of when, a predicament 
 
 rbv xptvov ' " Nor is when the same with different from that of quantity." Simplic. 
 
 time ; but if any thing, it consists in the in Praed. p. 88. ejusd. edit. 
 
 relation which it bears to time." Simpl. in d 5 AAA 5 Sxrirfp eVl TOV xP vov &\Xo fj.ev 
 
 Praed. p. 87. B. ed. Bas. 1551. And again : $v 6 xp ov s, &\\o 8e Tb Kara xp^vov, % 
 
 "OTO.V 5e ri irpay^o, erepov ~bv TOV xpovov, XP" OV T *' OVTUS a\\o /xez/ 6 T^TTOS, #AAo 
 
 Kal oi>x ws pfpos XP OVOV A.a/ij3ai>o / uej/o', 5e rb Kara r6irov, $ r6irov rt: " For as in 
 
 xp& vov i Ka ^ ^'" TOVTO 4v time, time itself is one thing, and that 
 
 &a"jrep r) v 2aAo/i/t vav- which is according to time, or something 
 
 e Xporqp' r6re &\\ri KOTTJ- belonging to it, is another thing ; so also is 
 
 yopia yiyverai, f} TOV Trore, ^AA.7/ ov<ra place one thing, and that which is according 
 
 jrapa rb iroff6v: " But when any particular to place, or something belonging to it, 
 
 thing, which is assumed from time, and another thing." Simpl. in Praed. ut sup. 
 
 which is not assumed as any part of time, Ubi non est locus, sed esse in loco. 
 
 has a relation to time, and for this reason Quando non est tempus, sed esse in tern- 
 
 is in time ; as, for example, the sea-fight at pore. Fell, p. 104, 107. 
 Salamis, which happened at such a parti- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 337 
 
 These elegant lines, which we so justly admire, are in fact 
 nothing more than the common date of an epistle ; as if the 
 author, having finished his work, had subjoined Naples, such a 
 month, such a year: so great, even in trivial matters, is the 
 force of numbers, and sublime ideas. 
 
 Hence, then, we perceive the nature both of when and of 
 where. When is not mere time, nor is it beings and events ; but 
 it is beings and events, as they stand related to time. Again, 
 where is not properly place, nor is it beings and events ; but it is 
 beings and events, as they stand related to place. 6 If therefore 
 the when only be given, and not the where, then might the thing 
 have happened either here, or at the antipodes : and, by parity 
 of reasoning, if the where only be given, and not the when, then 
 might the event have happened, either yesterday, or before the 
 flood. It is then only comes precision, when we view the two 
 united/ 
 
 And hence, by the way, the utility and praise of those two 
 subordinate accomplishments (for sciences I cannot call them) 
 geography and chronology. By acquainting us with the rela- 
 tions borne by illustrious persons and great events to the dif- 
 ferent portions both of time and of place, they afford us proper 
 means to contemplate human affairs ; to view the general order 
 and concatenation of events, and our own connection with this 
 order, as members of the same universe. 
 
 In general it may be observed, that whatever is an answer 
 to the question where, belongs to the genus or predicament of 
 where ; and whatever is an answer to the question wJien, belongs 
 in like manner to the predicament of when. When did such a 
 thing happen? Now; this instant; to-day; yesterday; a century 
 ago ; in such a year of our Lord ; such a year of the Hegira ; 
 such a year of Rome ; such an Olympiad, &c. To these may be 
 added such terms in the past as lately, formerly, long ago, &c.; 
 and such also in the future as immediately, soon, hereafter* &c. 
 Again: where did such a thing happen? Here; there; in England; 
 in Europe; in China; in the moon; in the sun, &c. To these may 
 be added such terms as near, far off, above, below, &c. 
 
 All these terms, by thus answering these questions, serve to 
 indicate the relation of some being or event, either to time or to 
 
 e The force of this arrangement or pre- o\rjv TT;J/ yevecrti/, Kal TOIS Ktvovfj-fvois T^V 
 
 dicament where, is finely contrasted with fffrjv xp*' iav (rvfj.^a\\6p.fva : " And thus it 
 
 the predicament of quantity, in that laconic is that when and where are a sort of brothers 
 
 apopthegm of Agis. " The Lacedaemonians one to another, affording equally a common 
 
 (said he) do not ask how many the ene- perfection to all things that are generated, 
 
 mies are, but where they are :" OVK e(/>r? and contributing an utility of equal value 
 
 Se TOVS Aa,Ke8aifj.oviovs tp(ara.v ir6(roi curl*' to all things that are in motion. Simplic. 
 
 ol TroAe'jUtoi, aA.A& TTOV elffiv. Plut. Lacon. in Praed. p. 87. ed. Basil. 1551.* 
 Apophth. p. 215. D. edit. Xyland. s See many of these terms elegantly and 
 
 f OUT us 8e Kal rb irov Kal T& Trore accurately explained in Aristotle's Physics, 
 
 TTOJS eVri irpbs tfAAr/Aa, KOIV^V 1. iv. c. 13. The terms alluded to are vvv, 
 
 rrjv ffvrrfatUUf irpbs TTOTC, ^17, apri, ird\ai, QalQvys, K.T. \, 
 
 z 
 
338 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 place ; and though some of them do it with greater precision, 
 and some with less, yet did they not all do it in some degree, 
 they could not belong to these two predicaments. - 
 
 We cannot assert the same of such terms as an inch, a foot, 
 or a cubit ; a day, a month, or a year. The reason is, they in- 
 dicate no relation of time or place to particular things, but only 
 measure out definite portions in these two infinite natures. 
 
 With regard to the human body, not only the whole fills its 
 proper place, but so, too, does every limb. Hence, as its par- 
 ticular place is a measure to each limb, so is this limb in its turn 
 made a measure to that place, in order to define a like portion 
 of it, existing elsewhere. 11 And hence the origin of such measures 
 as an inch, a foot, a cubit, and the like, which are all of them 
 deduced from certain limbs in the human body. 
 
 But though the limbs of man were tolerably adequate to 
 measure place, yet were his motions by no means adequate to 
 the mensuration of time, derived (as they appear) from such a 
 number of appetites; from such a variety of fancies and con- 
 tradictory opinions. Here, therefore, were mankind obliged to 
 quit themselves, and to recur to motions more orderly than their 
 own ; to the real motion of the moon, to the apparent motions 
 of the sun, in order to obtain such orderly measures as those of 
 days, and months, and years. 
 
 And thus, from the nature and origin of these terms, we may 
 perceive how they are distinguished from the predicaments of 
 where and when. 
 
 There is (if I may use the expression) an enlarged when, such 
 as to-day, during this month, this year, this century; and a precise 
 when,^ the indivisible instant in which the event happened. So 
 also is there an enlarged where, as in London, in England, in 
 Europe, &c.; and & precise where, that is to say, the exact place 
 which each individual fills. 1 
 
 Now as every man exists in such a precise where, and during 
 such a precise when, so is it with reference to these two relations 
 of his own, that he recognises the when and the where of all other 
 beings. When lived Charles the Great ? Almost three hundred 
 years before the first crusade. Though this answer tells us the 
 distance between Charles and that expedition, yet are we still 
 uninformed as to the time when he lived, unless we have some- 
 thing given us to connect him with ourselves. And when, we de- 
 mand, happened the first crusade ? About seven hundred years 
 ago. Here we have the temporal relation between ourselves and 
 
 h This is, indeed, a common property to See before, the quotation given in note 
 
 all mensuration, that the measurer and the p, page 254. EeVrTjs is there rendered a 
 
 thing measured should reciprocate ; so that "quart," not as if this last represented that 
 
 while the gallon measures the wine, the Greek measure, but as it was a measure 
 
 wine should measure the gallon ; while familiar to an English reader, 
 
 the ell measures the silk, the silk should * See Hermes, p. 151, note, 
 measure the ell. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 33d 
 
 that event ; so that having previously learned the like relation 
 between that event and Charles the Great, we of course recognise 
 the time when that prince existed ; that is to say, the temporal 
 relation between our own existence and his. The same, too, 
 happens in ascertaining the place where. 
 
 And hence it follows, that such measures of time and place as 
 a year, a century, a foot, a furlong, though they belong not of 
 themselves to the present predicaments or arrangements, may 
 yet be made a part of them by being properly associated. Such 
 they become, when we say a furlong hence, a century since, a foot 
 below, a year after. The reason is, they are brought by such 
 association to define relative existence, in doing which the very 
 essence of these predicaments consists. 
 
 And now a word as to the force of these two predicaments, 
 their influence in the world, and more particularly in human 
 affairs. 
 
 Caesar, when he was assassinated, fell at the feet of Pompey's 
 statue. The celebrated Hampden received his death's wound 
 upon that field where he had first executed the ordinance for 
 levying troops to serve the parliament. k From a royal ban- 
 queting house, built by himself in prosperity, was an unfortunate 
 prince led to an unjust execution. In each of these instances, 
 the place where is a plausible topic ; a topic equally suited either 
 to raise compassion, or, if we would sophisticate more harshly, 1 
 to insinuate judgments, divine vengeance, &c. But to quit 
 topical arguments, which, in fact, demonstrate nothing: 
 
 It was by an unfortunate fall so near the conclusion of the 
 race, that the swift-footed Salius lost the prize to young Eu- 
 ryalus." 1 It was by being attacked when asleep, and overpowered 
 with liquor, that the gigantic Poly ph erne fell a sacrifice to 
 Ulysses. 11 It was by living in an age when a capricious audience 
 ruled, that the elegant Menander so often yielded to Philemon, 
 his inferior by the confession of all succeeding ages. "The 
 race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor yet 
 favour to men of skill ; but time and chance happeneth to them 
 all."? 
 
 The same concurring causes, which acted in these cases like 
 adversaries, can become in others the most powerful allies. Jo? 
 yu-ot TTOU area, "Give me where to stand, 11 was a well-known saying 
 of the famous Archimedes. He wanted but a place where to fix 
 his machine, and he thought himself able to move even the 
 world. q Shakspeare tells us, 
 
 k Clarendon's History, book vii. gratiaque, et factionibus saepenumero vince- 
 
 1 Luke xiii. 4. batur. 
 
 m jEneid. v. 286, &c. P Ecclesiastes ix. 11. 
 
 n Odyss. ix. sub. fin. 1 See the Life of Archimedes, in Ri- 
 
 Vid. Quinctil. 1. x. c. 1. A. Cell, valtus's edition of his works. Paris, 1615. 
 
 1. xvii. c. 4. who says of him, Ambitu, folio. 
 
340 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 There is a tide in the aft'airs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune : 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows. Julius Caesar, act iv. sc. 5. 
 
 When Horace sent a messenger with some of his works to Au- 
 gustus, his charge was to deliver them if Augustus was in health ; 
 and not only so, but in good humour ; and not only so, but in a 
 humour to call for them : 
 
 Si validus, si laetus erit, si denique poscet. 
 
 Hor. Epist. 1. ii. ep. 13. 
 
 Such a stress did this polite author lay on the propriety of the 
 when. Virgil mentions finely the 
 
 Mollissima fandi 
 Tempora. ^neid. iv. 293. 
 
 He makes, too. his Fury suspend her powers of mischief, till she 
 could catch a lucky moment to make her influence more ex- 
 tensive : 
 
 At sseva e spectilis tempus dea nacta nocendi, 
 
 Tartarean! intendit voccm, &c. JSneid. vii. 511. 
 
 And hence we may collect a just idea of the term opportunity. 
 It is not merely time, concurring with events, for time attends 
 them all, be they prosperous or adverse ; but it is time, con- 
 curring favourably ; it is time, cooperating as an auxiliary cause/ 
 
 Time (it is said) and chance happeneth to all. And what is 
 this chance ? Is it the chance mentioned by Milton as residing 
 at the court of Chaos ? s Or is it the same which some philosophers 
 suppose to have framed the world, and to have maintained in it 
 ever since no inconsiderable sway ? If such chance be the strict 
 opposite to a rational principle, it is hard to conceive how it 
 should have supplied its place, and without the least ingenuity 
 have produced a work so ingenious. It is hard, also, to conceive, 
 how without a reason that should exist, which it requires so 
 much reason (even in part only) to comprehend. 1 There is, how- 
 ever, another sort of chance, which, under the name of fortune, 
 we find described as follows : " a cause not manifest to human 
 reasoning;" not a cause devoid of reason, but a cause which 
 human reason wants the means to investigate." 
 
 r According to the Stagirite, good passes 8 Paradise Lost, book ii. 965. 
 through all the predicaments, and, as it l Hanc igitur in Stellis constantiam, hanc 
 
 stops at each, assumes a different denomina- tantam tam variis cursibus in omni aeterni- 
 
 tion. In substance, it is mind and deity; tate convenientiam temporum, non possum 
 
 in quality, it is that which is just ; in intelligere sine mente, ratione, consilio. Cic. 
 
 quantity, that which is exact, and according de Nat. Deor. ii. 21. Dubitant de mundo, 
 
 to measure ; and in the predicament when, ex quo et oriuntur et fiunt omnia, casune 
 
 it is opportunity; eV 8e T Tnfre, 6 ttaipds' ipse sit effectus aut necessitate aliqua, an 
 
 that is to say, good or favourable, acceding ratione ac mente divina : et Archimedem 
 
 to the time when, and characterizing it, arbitrantur plus valuisse in imitandis sphaerae 
 
 gives it by such accession the name of op- conversionibus, quam naturam in efficiendis. 
 
 portunity. Aristot. Ethic. Eudem. p. 86. Cic. de Nat. Deor. ii. 34. 
 edit. Sylb. Locum autem actionis, oppor- u Ao/ce? p.tv alrla T] rvxh &5rj\os 5e av- 
 
 tunitatem temporis esse dicunt ; tempus au- Optairiirr) Siavoia. Arist. Phys. ii. 4. p. 33. 
 
 tern actionis opportunum Greece evitaipia, edit. Sylb. Instead of Siavol^ they used 
 
 Latine appellatur occasio. Cic. dc Offic. i. 40. afterwards the term Xoyi<rp.$. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 341 
 
 We may learn from experience, that whatever opening there 
 may be left for human freedom, (and enough is there left, both 
 for merit and demerit,) it is not so uncontrolled as in the least 
 to affect the universe. It is not in our power to interrupt the 
 course of nature ; nor can we, like the giants of old, heap moun- 
 tain upon mountain. There is an irreversible order of things, to 
 which we necessarily submit ; an indissoluble concatenation of 
 successive causes with their effects, by which both the being and 
 the well-being of this whole are maintained. 
 
 This divine order or concatenation has different denomina- 
 tions : referred to the Supreme Being as to its author, we call it 
 fate ; referred to his foresight for the good of all, we call it pro- 
 
 It is this which mingles itself with all our actions and de- 
 signs ; which cooperates with the pilot, the husbandman, and 
 the merchant ; nor with these alone, but with all of every de- 
 gree, from the meanest peasant, up to the mightiest monarch. 
 If it cooperate favourably, they succeed; if otherwise, they fail. 
 And hence the supposed efficacy of time and place, so often of 
 such importance in this cooperation. It is hence, " the race is 
 not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong," &c. 
 
 A pilot sails, with intention to reach a certain port. All 
 that the skill of a good navigator can suggest, is done ; yet he 
 sails at a time when hurricanes arise, and, instead of gaining the 
 destined port, is dashed upon the rocks. A farmer with proper 
 industry manures and sows his fields ; yet the seasons destroy 
 his harvest, and (according to his own phrase) " the times fight 
 against him." A merchant travels, for the sake of gain, to a 
 distant country, and there contracts a pestilential disease, which 
 carries him off. 
 
 These incidents, thus connected with time and place, are re- 
 ferred in common language to chance, as to their cause ; and so 
 indeed they may, as far as chance implies a cause, which human 
 reasoning was not able either to foresee or obviate. But if we 
 go further, and suppose it a cause, where there is, in fact, no 
 reason at all ; in such case we do nothing less than deify chance, 
 committing the affairs of the world to the blindest of guides, in- 
 stead of that One, All-good, All-powerful, Divine Intelligence, 
 which, in the same undivided instant, both sees and hears all 
 things. y 
 
 And so much for the two genera or arrangements of when and 
 
 x Three terms are here employed, chance^ servient to the cause of Providence, and 
 
 fate, and providence ; the two first of which by making them wholly dependent on the 
 
 have been often improperly asserted, the supreme intelligent principle, to make them 
 
 last has been often hardily denied, and weaken the system of Atheism, rather than 
 
 all this to favour the Atheistic system. contribute to its support. 
 
 The author of these notes has enclea- ? See Epicharmus, quoted in note a, p. 
 
 voured to give such meanings to the terms 282. 
 chance and fate, as may render them sub- 
 
342 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CONCERNING POSITION OR SITUATION. WHAT IT IS, AND HOW DE- 
 DUCED HOW IT EXISTS IN BEINGS INANIMATE IN VEGETABLES 
 
 IN MAN ANIMAL PROGRESSION. WORKS OF ART. ATTITUDES 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS OF ATTITUDE FROM POETS FROM ACTORS FROM 
 
 ORATORS. ITS EFFICACY, WHENCE. POSITION, AMONG THE ELE- 
 MENTS OF DEMOCRITUS ITS INFLUENCE AND IMPORTANCE IN THE 
 
 NATURAL WORLD IN THE INTELLECTUAL. 
 
 THE arrangement or predicament of position or situation has a 
 near affinity with that of place. They are both of the relative 
 order, and are both conversant, when taken strictly, about cor- 
 poreal substances only. They differ, however, inasmuch as the 
 simple possession of space constitutes place ,- the manner of pos- 
 sessing it, position, or situation. 2 
 
 Now the manner, in which a body possesses space, has respect 
 to certain relations, which exist, some within, and some without 
 it ; relations, which arise from its parts, its whole, its immediate 
 place, and the place surrounding it. 
 
 We shall explain what we assert, (which perhaps may appear 
 obscure,) by beginning from bodies the most simple, and passing 
 from these to others, more complex and diversified. 
 
 The simplest and most perfectly similar of all bodies is the 
 sphere. 3 If, therefore, we take a sphere, and place it upon the 
 ground, the part furthest from the earttTs centre we call its top; 
 that the nearest, its bottom ; and all lying between we call its 
 
 z Differt situs ab uli in hoc, quod vhi " We are not to understand the genus of 
 
 est locatio totius, sittis est ordinatio partium lying, or position, by taking into our dis- 
 
 in loco. Ubi est simpliciter esse in loco ; cussion either the body lying, or the place 
 
 situs secundum partium ordinationem. Fell, in which it lies, but singly and solely by 
 
 p. 104. taking into our account the peculiar mode 
 
 Ad situm omnem requiritur triplex ha- of site in the genus of lying, as it runs 
 
 bitudo, quse conjuncta constituit situm ; through all those ranks of beings, which 
 
 habitude partium alicujus totius inter se ; are formed by nature to be supported some 
 
 partium alicujus totius ad ipsum totum ; of them by others, or to be seated some 
 
 partium et totius ad locum. Sanderson, p. of them upon others ; for it is this connec- 
 
 49. 1. i. c. 14. tion between things that are seated, and 
 
 Praedicamentum situs (/celo-flat) respicit things that afford the seat, which makes 
 
 positionem rei, turn respectu partium suarum the primary and the strictest description of 
 
 inter se, turn respectu loci, aliarumque re- lying, or position." Simpl. in Prsed. p. 85. 
 
 rum. Wallis, 1. i. c. 13. edit. Basil. 1551. 
 
 O#re ovv rb Kfifj-evov ffu>/j.a, o#re rbv a The sphere, and other solid figures, 
 
 rdirov, ev $ /cetrat, rfj Siavota irepi\a/j.fid- soon after mentioned in this chapter, are, 
 
 vovra, 8e? votiv rb KfTffdai, ^vt\v 8e rfyv for the greatest part, well known. He, 
 
 ircas Qecriv ev r$ -yevei rov /celcrflat however, who wishes for ocular inspection, 
 
 Kara irdvra ra ovra, ova may find them all (the sphere alone ex- 
 
 erepa iKff krspwv avex ea '^ ai > % cepted) among the diagrams of the eleventh 
 
 O erepo eV rots erepois' f) and twelfth books of Euclid, to which books 
 
 yap roictSe ffv/jnrhoK?) ru>v *vi$pvij.4v<av Kal we refer him, as they are easy to be had, 
 
 TJV r^v '&pav irapfx6vr<0v Kvpnordrri under various editions. 
 &TTI rov KflffOai 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 343 
 
 middle. These distinctions in the sphere regard external objects 
 only, because the sphere, being everywhere similar, contributes 
 nothing to them itself. If we roll it, therefore, along, the dis- 
 tinctions are not lost ; only, while the motion continues, they 
 perpetually vary, and that merely with reference to local dis- 
 tinctions, existing without. 
 
 And hence it follows, that the sphere, though it have place, 
 yet according to these reasonings has in strictness no position, 
 because it has no peculiar parts deducible from its own figure, 
 which parts can be called top or bottom, as contradistinguished 
 one to another. 
 
 What is true of the sphere, may be asserted almost as truly 
 of the five Platonic bodies, the equilateral pyramid, the cube, 
 the octoedron, &c., and that, because they are not only regular, 
 but because their several faces are every way similar. 
 
 What is true of these bodies, is true also of their opposites, 
 the bodies I mean, which are not only dissimilar, but universally 
 irregular. Fragments of rock, and hillocks of sand, have neither 
 top nor bottom, but what is merely casual ; and therefore, though 
 of necessity they exist in place by being bodies, yet, as they 
 have no internal local distinctions under the meaning here 
 adopted, it of course follows they cannot properly have position. 
 
 But if we pass to those bodies which are neither irregular, 
 like the broken rock, because they have order and proportion ; 
 nor yet every way similar, like the sphere, because they have 
 extensions that are unequal, (such, for example, as the cylinder, 
 or the parallelipopedon ;) here we shall find the very bodies, 
 from their own attributes, to concur with the world around, 
 both in acquiring to themselves position, as well as in diversi- 
 fying it. 
 
 The cylinder, for example, extends further one way than 
 another, and therefore possesses within itself three such parts, 
 as two extremes, and one mean. If we so place it, therefore, 
 that one of these extremes (no matter which) shall be most 
 remote from the earth^s centre, and the other most near ; in such 
 case, by this manner of blending external and internal relations, 
 the cylinder is said to stand. If we remove in part the higher 
 extreme from its perpendicular, and thus differently blend rela- 
 tions, the cylinder is said to incline. And if we pursue this in- 
 clination, till the two extremes of top and bottom become 
 horizontal, then it is said to lie. The motion which leads from 
 standing to lying, we call falling ; that from lying to standing, 
 we call rising. Every* one of these affections may well happen 
 to the cylinder, because its peculiar figure, taken with its peculiar 
 place, cooperates to the production of the positions here de- 
 scribed. 
 
 It is not so with those bodies already mentioned, where these 
 internal characters are not distinguished. The sphere and the 
 
344 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 cube neither fall nor rise, because they neither stand nor lie more 
 at one time than another. 
 
 But suppose we go further : suppose to one extreme of this 
 cylinder we add a new part, that is a capital ; to the other ex- 
 treme another part, that is a base : the two extremes of the 
 cylinder would no longer in such case remain indiscriminate, but 
 the characters of top and bottom would become distinguished 
 and ascertained, even in the figure itself, without looking to 
 things external. 
 
 The consequences of these new characters are new modes of 
 position. A pillar (for such we must now suppose it) is not 
 only capable, like the simple cylinder, of standing and of lying, 
 but inasmuch as two of its parts, that is to say, its extremes, 
 are essentially distinguished, if it rest on its base, it stands up- 
 right ; if on its capital, it stands inverted. 
 
 Let us carry our suppositions further, and by a metamorphosis, 
 like one of Ovid's, transform this pillar into a tree. Let the 
 capital sprout into branches, the shaft become a trunk, and the 
 base strike into roots. Here then in a vegetable subject we 
 behold the same distinctions ; a top, a bottom, and a middle of 
 its own. leading as before to the same diversities of position. 
 
 If we still pursue the metamorphosis, and transform the tree 
 into a man, making its branches into a head, its trunk into a 
 body, and its roots into feet, we shall discover also in an animal 
 subject the same distinctions as before ; and the subject will in 
 consequence be capable of lying, as well as of standing ; of 
 standing upright, as well as inverted. 
 
 But this is not all. Man is not only an extended substance, 
 like the column, or the tree, but over and above, as an animal, 
 he is by nature locomotive. Now the part of him in progression, 
 which leads the way, we denominate his fore part, or front ; the 
 opposite, his hinder part, or rear ; and the two parts upon each 
 side, his right and his left. 
 
 And thus has man, in consequence of his animal frame, over 
 and above the former distinctions of top and bottom, (both of 
 them common to the other subjects already described,) four 
 additional distinctions peculiar to him as an animal, the distinc- 
 tions of front and rear, of right and left, which four are wholly 
 unknown both to the column and to the tree. 
 
 While he is under the position of standing, these four dis- 
 tinctions have little force, but when he happens to lie, then is 
 their efficacy seen, and each of them leads to a new and different 
 position. If his front, while he is lying, be nearest to the earth, 
 then is he said to lie prone ; if his hinder part, or rear, then to 
 lie supine ; if neither of these, then it is either on his right, or 
 on his left ; which positions are unknown either to the pillar or 
 the tree. 
 
 Thus, besides the standing positions of upright and inverted, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 345 
 
 lias man, in consequence of his frame, four other positions, 
 which appertain to him, as he lies; so that his frame taken 
 together, as one perfect whole, is susceptible of six different and 
 specific positions, which have reference to the six different and 
 specific extensions of his body. b 
 
 Fables tell us, that the triangular island Sicily was thrown 
 upon the Giant Typhoeus. Under one promontory lay his right 
 arm ; under another, his left ; under a third, his legs ; under 
 Mount vEtna, his head ; under the whole island his body, having 
 his breast upwards, his back downwards. These positions refer 
 to the several extensions above described. 
 
 Vasta giganteis ingesta est insula membris 
 
 Trinacris, et magnis subjectum molibus urget 
 
 ^Ethereas ausum sperare Typhoea sedes. 
 
 Nititur ille quideni, pugnatque resurgere saepe ; 
 
 Dextra sed Ausonio maims est subjecta Peloro ; 
 
 Laeva, Pachyne, tibi : Lilybaeo crura premuntur ; 
 
 Degravat JEtna caput : sub qua resupinus arenas 
 
 Ejectat, flammamque fero vomit ore Typhoeus. Ovid. Metam. v. 346. 
 
 But not to anticipate with regard to poets, of whom we shall 
 say more hereafter. In a cube there are six faces, capable of 
 denoting as many positions; and yet there is this important 
 difference between the cube and the man : the faces of the cube 
 being all of them similar, its positions, being only nominal, can 
 only refer to things without, and every face can alike concur to 
 the forming of the same position. But the parts analogous to 
 these in man being all of them dissimilar, his positions, being 
 real, are by no means thus commutable ; but if the head be up- 
 permost, then, and then only, is he, by position, upright ; if his 
 back be uppermost, then, and then only, is he, by position, 
 prone ; nor can he possibly be called either prone or upright, 
 were any other part to exist in the same place, excepting the 
 two here mentioned. 
 
 From what has been alleged, we see the true origin of position 
 or situation. " It arises from the relation which the distinctions 
 of parts within bear to the distinctions of place without ; and it 
 varies, of course, as this relation is found to vary." The fewer 
 of these internal distinctions any being possesses, the less always 
 the number of its possible positions. As it possesses more, its 
 positions increase with them. 
 
 As to the progression of animals, peculiar to them as animals, 
 that progression (I mean) by which they move, not as mere 
 bodies, but as bodies possessed of instinct and sensation ; it is to 
 be observed, that this progression is formed by the help of joints 
 and muscles ; and that these, during their operation, form within 
 
 b See these different extensions, which of Animals, we read, exet 5' 6 avOpca-rros Kal 
 
 Aristotle calls " distances," SiotrroVeis, fully rb avw Kal rb KOTCO, Kal TO efi-rrpoffOcv Kal 
 
 discussed in his treatise De Animalium in- TO oiriffOia, Kal 5eta /cat apiffrtpd. Hist. 
 
 gressu, p. 129. edit. Sylb. In his History Animal, p. 17. edit. Sylb. 
 
346 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 the animal body a variety of angles and flexures. Now hence 
 arises a fresh multitude of characteristic positions. There is 
 one position, under which a bird flies ; another, under which a 
 horse gallops ; a third, under which a man walks, &c. 
 
 These latter positions differ from those already described, be- 
 cause they depend not on a simple relation of the whole body to 
 things without, but on a diversified relation of its different parts 
 one to another. The painter well knows the force of these 
 positions, since it is by these he superinduces motion upon im- 
 moveable canvas ; so that from the position, which we see, we 
 infer the progression, which we see not. c 
 
 And this naturally leads us to consider the power of position 
 or situation in works of art. Among the common utensils of 
 life, such as chairs, beds, tables, &c., there is a position which is 
 proper, and another which is absurd ; a position by which they 
 attain their end, and another which renders them useless. Some 
 derive their very essence (if I may use the phrase) from their 
 situation : for example, the lintel, from being over the door ; 
 the threshold, from being under it. d We pass from these to 
 productions more elegant. 
 
 It is the knowledge of these various positions peculiar to 
 animal bodies, and to the human above the rest, (commonly 
 known by the name of attitudes,) which constitutes so eminent 
 a part in the character of a perfect painter. To the statuary, if 
 possible, it is a more important science still, because he has no 
 helps, like the painter, from colour, light, and shade. 
 
 Instances in support of this assertion (if it needs supporting 
 by instances) may be alleged innumerable, both from pictures 
 and from statues. 
 
 Painting gives us the the attitudes of St. Paul and the 
 sorcerer Elymas, in the cartoon of Raphael ; of Apollo and the 
 dancing Hours, in the Aurora of Guido ; of the Sleeping Christ, 
 his mother, and St. John, in the Silence of Caracci ; of many and 
 diversified holy families, in the works of Carlo Maratti, Sec. 
 
 From attitudes in painting, we pass to those in sculpture ; to 
 that of the Medicean Venus, the Farnesian Hercules, the Niobe, 
 the Laocoon, the Wrestlers, the Dying Gladiator, 6 &c. 
 
 c See page 29, &c. given by Lysippus to the statue of Alex- 
 
 d To 5e Of<rei [Aeyerat,] olov ovSbs KOI ander the Great. That prince had a certain 
 
 inrepdvpoV ravra yap r$ /ceurflat TTCDS extension of neck, which made him gently 
 
 Sicupfpei : " Other substances are denomi- recline it upon his left shoulder. When 
 
 nated from their position, as the threshold his figure was cast in brass by Lysippus, 
 
 and the lintel ; for these differ by the the artist ingeniously contrived to convert 
 
 peculiar manner of their being situated." this natural defect into an attitude of mag- 
 
 And soon after, OvSbs ydp eVrtj/, ori OVTCDS nificence. His head, being reclined, was 
 
 /cerrar Kal rb eli/ai, rb OVTCDS avrb KeiffQai made, with a sort of insolent look, to con- 
 
 a"r)fj.aivi : " For it is a threshold, because it template the heavens, as if things below 
 
 is so situated ; and its existence indicates were already at his command. And hence 
 
 its being situated after this manner." the meaning of that celebrated epigram, in 
 
 Metaph. H. c. 6. p. 135. edit. Sylb. which this work of brass is supposed to 
 
 e To these attitudes may be added that address Jupiter in the following words : 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 347 
 
 It is easy, when we are describing these beauties, to be 
 diffuse in our expressions, and to exclaim, as we describe, How 
 charming ! How exquisite ! &c. But the observation is just, 
 as well as obvious : 
 
 Segnius inritant animos demissa per aurem, 
 
 Quam quse sunt oculis commissa fidelibus. Hor. Art. Poet. 180. 
 
 He, therefore, who would comprehend attitude in works such 
 as these, must either visit the originals, or else contemplate 
 them (as he may easily do) in models, drawings, and books of 
 sculpture and painting/ 
 
 We shall find less difficulty in the works of poets, because 
 these address us in words, and convey to us their ideas not 
 through our language but their own. It is thus Virgil gives us 
 an attitude of sitting in desperation : 
 
 Sedet, seternumque sedebit 
 Infelix Theseus. JEn. vi. 517. 
 
 Shakspeare, of sitting in despondence : 
 
 She sat, like patience on a monument 
 
 Smiling at grief. Twelfth Night, act ii. sc. 6. 
 
 Milton, of conjugal affection : 
 
 He, on his side 
 
 Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love 
 Hung over her, enamour'd. Par. Lost, v. 11. 
 
 Ovid makes Thescelus, as he elevated a javelin, to be mira- 
 culously petrified in the very attitude of aiming : 
 
 Utque manu jaculum fatale parabat 
 Mittere, in hoc hsesit signum de mannore gestu. Metam. v. 182. 
 
 More formidable is a similar attitude at Milton's Lazar-house : 
 
 Over them triumphant Death his dart 
 Shook, but delay'd to strike. Par. Lost, xi. 491. 
 
 There are attitudes less tremendous, that mark reverence and 
 humiliation. 
 
 Thus Shakspeare : 
 
 These crouchings, and these lowly courtesies 
 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men. Jul. Caesar, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 The lying, or being extended on some surface, is an attitude 
 in most instances so connected with death, that death is often 
 denoted by that attitude alone. 
 
 Thus Nestor, in Homer, speaking of the Greek commanders 
 slain before Troy : 
 
 AvSdffovri 8' eotKfv 6 x^eos, fls Am f Those who dwell in the neighbourhood 
 
 \V(T<r(av, where these notes were written, may find 
 
 Tav far e/iol ride/j.ai' Zev, <rv S 3 *O\V/JL- excellent examples of attitude at Wilton 
 
 irov ex 6 - house, (lord Pembroke's,) among the statues 
 
 The brass looks up to Jove, and seems to and basso-relievos there preserved ; in par- 
 
 cry, ticular, the Cupid bending his Bow; the 
 
 This earth is mine ; do thou possess the sky. Faun, who, as he stands, turns his body, 
 
 Plut. de Vita et For. Alex. p. 335. edit, and looks backwards ; the figures in the 
 
 Xyland. See also Brodsei Epigram. Gr. 1. Marriage-vase ; the Amazon fighting, the 
 
 iv. p. 454. edit. Franc. 1600, where the lines basso-relievos of Meleager, of Niobe, of 
 
 here cited are introduced by two others. Ceres and Triptolemus, &c. 
 
348 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 ''Evda S" Hireira KareKTaQev '6<r<roi &pt(noi, 
 
 "EvOa pev Aias Kemu dp^i'os, evOa 8' ' 
 
 ''EvQa. Se TLarpoKXos, OedQiv jUTjcrrcop d 
 
 *Ev6a 8' e>bs $l\os vl6s. Odys. T. 108. 
 
 " There fell the bravest of the Grecian chiefs ; 
 
 There lies great Ajax ; there Achilles lies ; 
 
 There, too, Patroclus, knowing as a god ; 
 
 There my own much-lov'd son." & 
 
 Thus Shakspeare : 
 
 ! mighty Caesar, dost thou lie so low ? 
 
 Are all thy triumphs, glories, conquests, spoils, 
 
 Shrunk to this little measure ? Jul. Cses. act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 Sleep, whom the poets deify, appears under a similar position : 
 
 Cubat ipse Deus, membris languore solutis. Ovid. Metain. xi. 612. 
 
 It was perhaps from this resemblance in position, joined to 
 that other, the cessation of the sensitive powers, that Sleep and 
 Death were by the poets called brothers, 11 and that the former 
 upon many occasions served to represent the latter. 1 
 
 If we pass from poets to actors, j (by actors, I mean those of 
 dramatic compositions,) we shall find that attitudes and posi- 
 tions make at least a moiety of their merit ; so that though they 
 are to speak, it is certain, as well as to act, yet it is from acting, 
 not from speaking, that they take their denomination. 
 
 Nor are just positions without their use to that real actor 
 upon the stage of life, I mean the orator. Demosthenes, in 
 whom rhetoric attained its last perfection, was at first so un- 
 successful, that he was in a state of despair, till Satyrus, a 
 celebrated tragedian, shewed him the amazing force of action, 
 by the different manners of repeating certain passages out of 
 Euripides and Sophocles. k 
 
 And whence is it that positions derive this wondrous efficacy ? 
 It is, in fact, because the body is an organ to the soul ; an instru- 
 ment, whose gestures correspond to every affection, and are 
 
 s SeealsoHom.il. 2.20. and Mr. Clarke's It seems indeed to have been a custom 
 
 note, where he quotes Quinctilian. with all nations, in instances of this sort, 
 
 h See page 132. to mitigate the harshness of the thing sig- 
 
 * When sleep represents death, it is com- nified, by the mildness of the terms that 
 
 monly marked with some strong epithet : signify it : a well-known figure, called, in 
 
 by Homer it is called a brazen sleep ; by books of rhetoric, Euphemismus. 
 
 Virgil, an iron sleep ; by Horace, simply a J See Cic. de Orat. iii. 56, 57, 58, 59. 
 
 long sleep ; which idea the poet Moschus edit. Pearce ; where it is worth remarking, 
 
 heightens by calling it not only a long (c. 59.) so much stress is laid on the 
 
 sleep, but a sleep without an end ; a sleep management of the countenance, and of the 
 
 out of which we cannot be awaked. eyes in particular, that we are informed the 
 
 EuSo/xes ev /j.d\a ^.aKpbv, arfpfj-ova, VT}- old men of that age did not greatly praise 
 
 yperov virvov. even Roscius himself, when he appeared in 
 
 See Horn. Iliad. A. 241. Virg. JEn. x. 745. his mask Quo melius nostri illi senes, qui 
 
 Hor. Od. l.iii. II. 36. Mosch. Idyl. iii. 105. personatum ne Roscium quidem magnopere 
 
 Even in prose-writers, when we read of laudabant ; animi est enim omnis actio ; et 
 
 persons being dead, we sometimes read that imago animi vultus est, indices oculi. 
 
 " they are fallen asleep," or that " they slept k Plutarch. Demosthen. p. 849. edit. Xy- 
 
 with their fathers." 1 Cor. xv. 6 ; 2 Chron. land. 
 ix. 31. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 349 
 
 diversified by nature herself, as those affections are found to 
 vary. Words move only those who understand the language ; 
 and even, where the language is understood, acute sentiments 
 often escape the comprehension of unacute hearers. But action, 
 spontaneously indicating the motions of the soul, is a language 
 which not only the vulgar, but even the stranger comprehends. 
 Every one knows the external gestures and signs by which, 
 without teaching, both himself and others indicate their several 
 affections; so that seeing the same signs recur, he readily 
 knows their meaning, inasmuch as nature herself supplies the 
 place of an interpreter. But to pass from these speculations to 
 others more general. 
 
 The primary elements of Democritus were atoms and a void. 
 As for the variety and the specific differences, which he found 
 to exist in things, he deduced them out of his atoms ; first by 
 figure, as A, for example, differs from N ; next by order, as AN, 
 for example, differs from NA ; and lastly by position, as Z, for 
 example, differs from N, these letters in figure being in a manner 
 the same. 1 
 
 Thus position, according to this philosopher, stands among 
 the principles of the universe. 
 
 A high rank this, and yet perhaps not an undeserved one, if, 
 by attending to particulars, we contemplate its extensive influ- 
 ence. For not to mention the force of position in the different 
 parts of every animal ; not to mention the admirable situation 
 even of subordinate subjects ; the grateful variety of lands and 
 waters, of mountains and plains ; what shall we say to the posi- 
 tion of the heavens above, and of the earth beneath ; of the sun 
 himself in the centre, and the several planets moving round him? 
 If we carry our hypothesis further, and suppose (as has been 
 well conjectured) that the solar system itself has a proper posi- 
 tion respecting the fixed stars ; and that they, presiding in other 
 systems, maintain a certain position respecting the system of the 
 sun ; we shall have reason so to esteem the importance of this 
 genus, that perhaps upon its permanence depends the perma- 
 nence of the world. 
 
 Nor need we be surprised, though it be properly an attribute 
 of things corporeal, if we discover the traces of it even in beings 
 incorporeal. If the sensible world be an effect, of which the 
 cause is a sovereign mind, all that we discover in effects we may 
 fairly look for in their causes, since here its prior existence is in 
 a manner necessary. 1 " 
 
 Thus our own minds are not only the place and region of our 
 
 1 What others called <7%7}^a, *' figure," Philoponus, in his comment, informs us, 
 
 Democritus called fivcr/j.6s : ra|ts, " order," that these strange words were \ceis 'A/S- 
 
 he called SiaO-fiyri : and fletm, " situation," Sept/col, "Abderic words ;" words used in 
 
 or " position," he called rpowf). See Ari- Abdera, the city to which Democritus be- 
 
 stot. Metaph. p. 11. 134. edit. Sylb. See longed. 
 also Lib. de Gen. et Corrupt. 1. i. c. 2. where in See p. 228, &c. 
 
350 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 ideas," but with respect to these ideas, such is the influence of 
 position, that upon this in a manner depends our whole percep- 
 tion of truth. Let us, for example, invert the terms of a simple 
 proposition, and instead of saying, that "every man is an 
 animal," say that " every animal is a man ;" and what becomes 
 of the truth which such proposition contained? Let us derange 
 in any theorem the propositions themselves, confounding them 
 in their order, blending them promiscuously, putting the first 
 last, and the last first ; and what becomes of the truth which 
 such theorem was to demonstrate? It is lost, till the proposi- 
 tions recover their natural situation. 
 
 Tantum series, juncturaque pollet. Hor. 
 
 Democritus, whom we have just mentioned, in order to shew 
 the importance of arrangement in natural subjects, and the 
 amazing differences that arise, where the change is most minute, 
 ingeniously remarks, that out of the same letters are formed 
 tragedy and comedy. We may affirm as confidently, that out 
 of the same terms are formed truth and falsehood.? 
 
 The efficacy, indeed, of this intellectual position is so great, 
 that through it not only the wise know, but the unwise become 
 informed. It is by the strength of this alone that all teaching 
 is performed ; all learning acquired ; that the simple and unin- 
 structed are led from truths acknowledged to truths unknown, q 
 and thus ascend by due degrees to the sublimest parts of science. 
 What then shall we say to that stupendous position, to that 
 marvellous arrangement, existing within the Divine Mind ; 
 where the whole of being is ever present in perfect order; and 
 to which no single truth is ever latent or unrevealed? r 
 
 If we would comprehend the dignity of position in this its 
 
 n Kal eu 5rj of \eyovTes rty fywx^v elvai to them, the principle or beginning of know- 
 
 elS&v : " Well, therefore, do they ledge is different from what it is according 
 
 conceive, who say that the soul is the to the order of nature. Hence the follow- 
 
 region of forms, or ideas." Arist. de An. ing observation: 'H Se (apx??) '6Qsv kv 
 
 iii. 4. p. 57. edit. Sylb. See before, p. 277, /caAAtora fKaffrov yevoiro" otov Kal fjLaO-f)- 
 
 note o, and p. 281. ffeus, OVK a-n-b rod Trpcarov Kal TTJS rov 
 
 'E/c rSiv avrwv yap rpaywdia ylverai, Trpdy^aros apxys eviore apKreov, aAA' &6ev 
 Kal KcanySia ypa/JL/j-drcav. De Gen. et Cor- pavr" 1 ~av p.aQoi : " There is another species 
 rupt. 1. i. c. 2. p. 4. edit. Sylb. of beginning, and that is the point from 
 
 P Simple terms are to be found in the which any thing may be done after the best 
 
 several predicaments or arrangements here manner ; for example, in the affair of learn- 
 
 treated, being the first part of logic. ing any thing, we are sometimes not to 
 
 From different arrangements of these terms begin from what is first, and which is the 
 
 arise propositions ; and from different ar- principle or beginning of the thing itself, 
 
 rangements of propositions arise syllogisms, but we are to begin from that point whence 
 
 Propositions are the object of the second any one may learn the most easily." Me- 
 
 part of logic ; syllogisms, of the third. taph. 1. iv. c. 1. 
 
 There is no going further, for the most In the Meno of Plato there is a striking 
 
 enlarged speculations are but syllogisms re- example of an arrangement of truths, which 
 
 peated. Such, then, in a logical and intel- lead an uninstructed youth to the know- 
 
 lectual view, is the force and extent of the ledge of a fine and important theorem in 
 
 predicament of position or situation here geometry. See the dialogue of that name 
 
 treated. in Plato, and Sydenham's elegant and ac- 
 
 1 There is an order or arrangement pecu- curate translation, enriched with diagrams. 
 liar to learners ; and of course, with respect r See before, p. 281, 296, &c. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 351 
 
 archetypal form, let us view it at the same instant with some- 
 thing its perfect contrary : let us compare it, for example, to the 
 sick man/'s dream, or to that chaos of ideas which fills the mind 
 of one delirious. As we can find few situations more unfor- 
 tunate than these latter ; so we can conceive no one more re- 
 spectahle, or divine, than the former. 
 
 And so much for the genus or arrangement of position, which 
 arises from the genus or arrangement of where, as this from 
 the genus or arrangement of relation, both position and where 
 being in their nature relatives. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CONCERNING HABIT, OR RATHER THE BEING HABITED. ITS DESCRIPTION. 
 ITS PRINCIPAL SPECIES DEDUCED AND ILLUSTRATED. ITS PRIVATION. 
 CONCLUSION OF THE SECOND OR MIDDLE PART OF THE TREATISE. 
 
 THE genus of habit, or rather of being habited, is of so little 
 importance, when compared to the other predicaments, that 
 perhaps it might be omitted, were it not in deference to an- 
 cient authority. 3 
 
 Though it have respect both to habits which are worn, and 
 to persons who wear them, yet is it not recognised either in the 
 one or the other, but is a relation, which arises from the two 
 taken together. 1 
 
 Now as every such habit, as well as every such wearer, are 
 both of them substances, the relation must necessarily be a rela- 
 tion existing between substances. It cannot, therefore, be the 
 relation existing between mind and its habits, (such as virtue or 
 science,) nor that between body and its habits, (such as agility 
 or health,)" for these habits are not substances, but inherent at- 
 tributes. 
 
 Again ; it cannot be the relation existing between a man and 
 his possessions ; for though these are both of them substances, 
 and though a possessor may be said to have an estate, he cannot 
 be said to have it upon him ; he does not wear it. x 
 
 The authority alluded to is that of the substantia ; res habita fere est forma arti- 
 
 Pythagoreans and Peripatetics. ficialis de quarta specie qualitatis ; appli- 
 
 1 Quod non ita intelligendum est, ac si catio hujus ad illud est habitus hujus prae- 
 
 res ipsse, quae sic habentur, sint hujus prse- dicamenti. Lib. i. c. 14. 
 
 dicamenti (puta vestitus ipsi, &c.) quae ad ll Simplicius, when he gives the reason, 
 
 alia praedicumenta spectant, sed habitio why habit and the body habited cannot co- 
 
 haruni, seu ipsum haberc, rb ex flt/ faOra. exist, as substance and its attributes co- 
 
 Wallis. Logic. 1. i. c. 14. Soon after he exist, says, avptyvri yap ravrd &TTI, /cal 
 
 explains liabitio^ and informs us it means, avrb e/ceo-o : " for these attributes are con- 
 
 Vestitum esse, tunicatum esse, togatum natural, [that is, grow with the being,] and 
 
 esse, corona cingi, calceo indui, c. are the being itself." Simplic. in Prted. p. 93. 
 
 Sanderson in his Logic explains the pre- x Aib ovSe T& /cTTj^uaro, ^ avSpd-rroSa, 
 
 dicament as follows : Corpus habens est t) <f>i\ovs, $) Trarepas, $) vteTs Kara TOVTO rb 
 
352 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 The being habited therefore is, in its strictest sense, something 
 less than the first relation, that between a substance and its 
 attributes ; something more than the second relation, that (I 
 mean) between a possessor and his possessions^ 
 
 It is to be hoped that these reasonings on a subject so trite 
 will be pardoned for their brevity. They are to shew, not what 
 the relation is, but what it is not. 
 
 If it be demanded, And what then is it ? The answer must 
 be, It is a relation existing after a peculiar manner ; when an 
 artificial substance is superinduced upon a natural one, 2 and be- 
 comes contiguous to it, though it be not united in vital con- 
 tinuity. 
 
 Such was the very armour he had on, 
 When he th' ambitious Norway combated. 
 
 Hamlet, act i. sc. 1. 
 
 The primary end of being habited seems to have been pro- 
 tection ; and that either by way of defence against the in- 
 clemencies of nature, as in the case of common apparel ; or by 
 way of defence against insults, as in the case of helmets, breast- 
 plates, coats of mail, &c. 
 
 Further than this : as habits were various, both in their ma- 
 terials and shapes; and, as among the number of those who 
 wore them, some were superior to the rest by their dignity and 
 office : hence it was found expedient, that many of these superior 
 ranks should be marked by the distinctions of peculiar habits ; 
 so that this established another end of being habited, over and 
 above protection, an end which gave robes to peers, uniforms to 
 admirals, &c. 
 
 Further still : some regard, when either of the sexes habited 
 themselves, was had to decency, some to beauty and adventitious 
 ornament ; of which last we may be more sensible, if we con- 
 template the elegant draperies of the Grecian statues, or those in 
 the capital pictures of the great Italian masters, and compare 
 these truly graceful and simple forms to the tasteless and ever 
 mutable ones of ourselves and our neighbours. a 
 
 yevos ex cw/ \ey6/j.0a, 5i6ri OVK ev Trepi- <ie?s o^crat, Kal OVK eTn/mjTOi: "The having 
 
 fletret ravrd eo"Tt, Kairoi KT^/j-ara ovra : any thing on, appears to be a sort of medium 
 
 "For which reason we are not said, in the between possessing, and the being habitually 
 
 sense of this genus, to have possessions, or disposed. As far as it is had, after the 
 
 slaves, or friends, or fathers, or children ; same manner as whiteness is had, [or any 
 
 for these none of them are said to exist in inherent attribute,] it is distinguished from 
 
 their being thrown round us, or super- possessions without, with which we are not 
 
 induced, although they are all [in some said to be enveloped or clothed. As far as 
 
 sense or other] our possessions." Simplic. it is corporeal, and from without, it is dis- 
 
 ut supra. tinguished from [inherent attributes or] 
 
 y Kat 6oiK6 [Meffov TTOJS flvai rb %x* lv -> r v habits which belong to us, as things con- 
 
 K/cTTJ(T0ai, Kal TOV Kct,6' e|tj/ SiaKeiffOai' rj natural, and not as things adventitious." 
 
 fj.ev yap exercct, us f) Aeu/coTTjs. xwpi&Tai Simplic. ut supra. 
 
 et7r& Tuav eca6ev KTTJ/AOT&JJ/, a ov Trept/cei^efla' z See the preceding notes in this chapter, 
 
 77 Se vu>[j.a.TiK.6v effri Kal e0e;/, ^capi^erai particularly the second. 
 aTrb rwv eej', of (rv/j.pef3r)Ka<nv ^cui/, ffv/j.- a The same simplicity which contributes 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 853 
 
 As there are many sorts of habit which have respect to this 
 last end, I mean to beauty or adventitious ornament, so when 
 a man is found to cultivate this end to an excess, it constitutes 
 the character which we call a fop. b Nay, even the conveniencies 
 of dress, when too minutely studied, degenerate into an ef- 
 feminacy, which carries with it a reproach. It was hence that 
 Turnus upbraided the Trojans for wearing a covering over their 
 hands, and for tying their caps on with strings ; that is to say, 
 in modern language, for using gloves and chinstays. 
 
 Et tunicas manicas, et habent redimicula mitrae. JEn. ix. 616. 
 
 We have already mentioned the use of habit as to distinction. 
 In almost all countries something of this hath taken place, to 
 distinguish the noble from the ignoble, the scholar from the me- 
 chanic ; to mark the sacerdotal, the military, the juridical, &c. 
 It is to the fallibility which sometimes attends this method of 
 distinguishing, that we owe those proverbial sayings, " the cloak 
 makes not the philosopher; the cowl makes not the monk." c 
 
 It is in a sense less strict and precise, that we take the word 
 habit i when we say of the plains, they are clothed with grass ; of 
 the mountains, they are clothed with wood ; d and more remotely 
 still, when we apply the notion of habit to the mind: "having 
 on the breast-plate of righteousness," "taking the shield of faith," 6 
 &c. 
 
 In the language of poetry there is sometimes much elegance 
 derived from this arrangement ; as, for example, when the morn, 
 at day-break, is said to be clad with " russet mantle ;" or when 
 the moon, in diffusing her pallid light, is said " to throw o^er the 
 dusk her silver mantle ;" f or when the psalmist says, on a greater 
 
 to the decoration of our persons, contributes by the name of Vappa; which Baxter in- 
 
 also to the decoration of nature. geniously explains, Quod insano surnptu sto- 
 
 The following anecdote, communicated lidas sequeretur delicias. Non hujuscemodi 
 
 to me by the late lord Lyttleton, appears homunciones fopps dicimus ; an et hoc a 
 
 to be worth preserving. When sir John vappa, quserant alii. 
 
 Vanbrugh had finished Blenheim-house, the Vappa meant originally, the juice of the 
 
 then duchess of Marlborough asked him grape in a state of perfect insipidity, when 
 
 for the plan of a garden. Sir John told it was neither wine nor vinegar. Vappa 
 
 her, he could give no plan himself, and he proprie dicitur, quod nee vinum, nee acetum 
 
 feared she might apply to others as incapable est. Vet. Scholiast in Horat. Satir. 1. i. s. 2. 
 
 as he was, naming certain gardeners of the v. 13. 
 
 time, that are now unknown. "But," con- c Pallium non facit philosophum Cu- 
 
 tinued he, " if your grace would have a cullus non facit monachum. 
 garden truly elegant, you must apply for a d Thus Cicero : Spatia frugifera atque 
 
 plan to the best painters of landscape." immensa camporum, vestitusque densissimos 
 
 So happily did this ingenious man pro- montium, pecudum pastus, &c. De Nat. 
 
 diet (as it were) a taste, which, taking its Deor. ii. 64, p. 253. edit. Davis. And before, 
 
 rise not many years after from Kent, has in the same treatise, he speaks of the earth 
 
 been since completed by Brown, and no- as Vestita floribus, herbis, arboribus, fru- 
 
 where with greater beauty and magnificence gibus, &c. ii. 39. p. 195. Yet all this, we 
 
 than on the very spot of which we are must remember, is but metaphorical, 
 now writing, I mean Blenheim. e Ephesians, vi. 14. 16. 
 
 b Horace, in the first satire of his first f Hamlet, act i. sc. 1. Paradise Lost, 
 
 book, calls the wild and extravagant Naevius iv. 608. 
 
 2 A 
 
354 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 subject, " them deckest thyself with light, as it were with a gar- 
 ment." 8 
 
 Though from all these instances we may perceive the force of 
 this genus, yet another still remains, I mean the force of its 
 privation. Nakedness is found to heighten other circumstances 
 of distress : 
 
 Nudus in ignota, Palinure, jacebis arena. JEn. v. 871. 
 
 Though the sense be metaphorical, yet Shakspeare avails him- 
 self of the same privation in the pathetic speech which he gives 
 to Wolsey: 
 
 ! Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me na/ced to my enemies. Henry VIII. act iii. sc. 6. 
 
 The same privation has its effect, also, in a way more comic 
 and contemptuous. It is thus Aristophanes talks about phi- 
 losophers : 
 
 Tovs wxpi&i'Ta.S) robs avviro^rovs Xtyeis. Ne^>. 103. 
 
 " You mean those pallid, those barefooted fellows." 
 
 It is thus the author of the Dunciad describes friars : 
 
 Linsey-woolsey brothers, 
 Grave mummers, sleeveless some, and shirtless others. 
 
 Dunciad. iii. 113. 
 
 In some instances, such partial privations of habit become an 
 indication of reverence. Thus Moses, when on holy ground, was 
 ordered to stand barefooted ; h and among Europeans it is a mark 
 of respect to appear bareheaded. 
 
 And so much for the genus or predicament of habit, which we 
 divide into species from its different ends of protection, distinction, 
 decency, and ornament, to all of which is alike opposed their con- 
 trary, privation. So much also for the ten universal arrange- 
 ments, genera, or predicaments, with the discussion of which we 
 conclude the second, or middle part of this treatise. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CONCERNING THE APPENDAGES TO THE UNIVERSAL GENERA OR AR- 
 RANGEMENTS ; THAT IS TO SAY, CONCERNING OPPOSITES, PRIOR, 
 SUBSEQUENT, TOGETHER OR AT ONCE, AND MOTION, USUALLY CALLED 
 
 POST-PREDICAMENTS THE MODES OR SPECIES OF ALL THESE (MOTION 
 
 EXCEPTED) DEDUCED, AND ILLUSTRATED PREPARATION FOR THE 
 
 THEORY OF MOTION. 
 
 HAVING now gone through each of the predicaments or philoso- 
 phical arrangements, and considered its character, and distin- 
 
 * Psalm civ. 2. h Exod. iii. 5. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 355 
 
 guishing attributes, there remains nothing further to complete 
 the theory, but an explication of certain terms, which have oc- 
 casionally occurred ; and which, from their subsequent place, 
 and subsequent contemplation, have been called by the Latin 
 logicians post-predicaments, 1 and form the third, or last part of 
 this treatise. 
 
 Thus, for example, things have been sometimes mentioned in 
 the former part of this work, as opposed to one another ; and 
 hence it becomes expedient to consider the doctrine of opposites.^ 
 
 At other times, things have been treated as being some prior, 
 some subsequent, and others existing together or at once p and 
 hence it becomes expedient to examine these several terms, and 
 to investigate the different meanings, of which each of them is 
 susceptible. 
 
 Lastly ; motion, in its various species, is so widely diffused 
 through some of the most important genera already treated, that 
 it cannot be omitted in a speculation, where the professed end is 
 to scrutinize universals. 
 
 It appears, therefore, that there still remain, as subjects of our 
 inquiry, opposites, prior and subsequent, co-existent or at once, and 
 last of all, motion. 
 
 Now in the first place, as to opposites, the reader must be re- 
 minded, that, having already spoken of them in a former treatise," 1 
 we omit them here, and refer to that. 
 
 The doctrine of prior and subsequent follows : " and these 
 perhaps may appear to be sufficiently discussed, if we enumerate 
 and explain the following modes. 
 
 The most obvious mode of priority is the temporal, according 
 
 1 See page 258, 259. rbv -xjp&vov, "according to time ;" the pri- 
 
 k See before, c. vii. and c. viii. p. 300. ority, depending on the quantity of time 
 
 See also Arist. Praed. Tlepl ruv 'AVTIKCI- being larger with respect to the subject, 
 
 n4v<av, p. 47. edit. Sylb. which is called older, or more ancient, ru 
 
 1 See before, p. 382. 316. See Arist. yap rbv ^p6vov TrAetco elvai Kal iraXadrepov 
 
 Praedic. Tltpl Tou"A^a. p. 54. edit. Sylb. Kal Trpea-^vrepov \4yerai. Praed. p. 53. 
 
 m Seep. 189, note a, in which note are edit. Sylb. 
 
 enumerated " relatives," ra irp6s n ; " con- Ammonius, in commenting this passage, 
 
 traries," ra evavria ; " contradictories," ra observes an elegance in the Greek tongue, 
 
 Kara, airofpainv KOL Karafyacriv. There is peculiar to itself: TraXaiArepov, he tells us, 
 
 is one species omitted, ra Ka0' ill-iv Kal is applied indiscriminately to beings animal 
 
 a-Tcprja-iv, "things opposed in the way of and inanimate ; irpffffivrepov is applied 
 
 habit and privation ;" such as sight and only to the animal genus. Simplicius on 
 
 blindness. the same occasion makes the same observa- 
 
 This privation differs from that men- tion, in Pragd. p. 106. 
 
 tioned already in the third chapter of this The last author has also the following 
 
 treatise, because the privation there is the remark concerning the different modes of 
 
 road to natural productions ; the privation temporal priority : ra 5e Kara. xp^ v v irp6- 
 
 here admits no progress, nor any return to repa, eVt fjikv rwv yevofj.evut' TO. iroppcarepov 
 
 the original habit, at least in a natural way. ovra rov vvv' eirl 8e r<av eo'o/tcrcwj', TO, *yyv- 
 
 See Ammon. p. 146 ; and of this work, repoi/: Simpl. in Praed. p. 106. B. "Things 
 
 p. 265. prior in time among the past are those the 
 
 n See Arist. Praed. Uepl rou Up6rpov, furthest from the present now ; among the 
 
 p. 53. edit. Sylb. future, are those the nearest to it." Simpl. 
 
 This mode Aristotle calls prior Kara in Loc. 
 
356 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 to which we say, that the Trojan wars were prior to the Punic, 
 and the battle of Marathon to that of Blenheim. 
 
 A second mode of priority is, when a thing is prior to some 
 other, because it does not reciprocate in the consequence of 
 existence. 1 ? 
 
 A few examples will illustrate the apparent difficulty of this 
 character. The number one according to this doctrine is prior 
 to the number two, because if there exist two, it is a necessary 
 consequence that there should be one ; but if there exist one, it 
 does not reciprocate, that there should be two. Thus every 
 genus is prior to any one of its various species ; because, if there 
 be such a species as man, or lion, there is necessarily such a 
 genus as animal ; but if there be such a genus as animal, there 
 is not necessarily such a species as man, or lion. 
 
 This mode of priority, which we call priority essential, will 
 be found of great importance in all logical disquisitions, and may 
 therefore perhaps merit some further attention. 
 
 According to this, that thing of any two or many things is 
 prior, which, by being taken away, annihilates the rest; or 
 which, if the rest are, must necessarily be. q 
 
 For example : if there were no theorems of science, to guide 
 the operations of art, there could be no art ; but if there were 
 no operations of art, there might still be theorems of science. 
 Therefore is science prior to art/ Again, if there were no such 
 things as syllogized truths, there could be no such sciences as 
 optics or astronomy. But, though neither of these, there might 
 notwithstanding be such things as truths syllogized. Therefore 
 is logic prior to these, and, by parity of reasoning, to every other 
 particular science. Again, if there were no such principles as 
 self-evident truths, there could be no such things as truths 
 syllogized. But, though no truths syllogized, there might still 
 be truths self-evident. Therefore the first philosophy, which 
 treats of these primary and original truths, being prior to logic, 
 is prior also to the tribe of sciences, as are these to the tribe of 
 arts ; so that of course the whole structure of logic, of sciences, 
 and of arts, may be said to rest upon this first philosophy, as 
 upon that only firm and solid base, against which the powers of 
 ignorance and sophistry can never totally prevail. 
 
 P The words in Aristotle are, rb /J.TI which is co-inferred, but does not co-infer ; 
 
 a.vri(rrpf<pov Kara r^v TOV elfcu O.KO\OV- that which co-annihilates, but is not co- 
 
 6r\(nv, Prsedic. p. 53. edit. Sylb. annihilated." $impl. in Praed. p. 106. 
 
 lie alleges the same instance from num- r Nihil cst enim, quod ad artem redigi 
 
 bers, which is given here. possit, nisi ille prius, qui ilia tenet, quorum 
 
 9 What is here said, is explained in artem instituere vult, habeat illam scientiam, 
 
 what immediately follows. Simplicius says, ut ex iis rebus, quarum ars nondum sit, 
 
 agreeably to the explanation here given, artem efficere possit. Cic. de Orat. i. 41. 
 
 KaXsiv Se sv&Qaffiv ot yecSrepot rb TOIOVTOV edit. Pearce, &c. p. 63. edit. Oxon. 
 irp6Tpoi/, ffwe-m^epS/j-fvov uez/, p/r] (rvveiri- This citation well proves a part of what 
 
 tyepov Se, Kal ffvvavaipovv p.tv, JJ.T] ffvvavai- is here asserted, viz. the necessary priority 
 
 pov/j.vov Se: "The latter logicians are ac- of some science to every art. 
 customed to call this mode of priority, that 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 357 
 
 There is a third mode of priority, seen in order and arrange- 
 ment. Thus in the demonstrative sciences, definitions and postu- 
 lates are prior to theorems and problems ; in grammar, syllables 
 are prior to words, and letters to syllables. It is thus in a well- 
 composed oration, the proeme is prior to the state and argument ; 
 and these last, to the peroration. 8 
 
 A fourth mode of priority, is that of honour and affection, 
 when we prefer objects, that we revere or love, to others that 
 less merit, or at least that we esteem less to merit our regard 
 and attention. 1 
 
 'AOavdrovs /*ei/ irpwTa Qeovs, v6/J.(f &s 
 
 Tt'^ua e7rei0' "Hpwas ayavovs' 
 
 Tovs re KaTax^oviovs (TejSe 8a.tfj.ovas, evvofta pffav' 
 
 Tovs re yovtis Tj'/xa, TOVS T' ayx'io~T' eKyeyacaTas, K. r. A.. 
 
 Pythag. aurea carmina. 
 
 " The gods immortal, as by law divine 
 They stand arrang'd, first honour : next revere 
 Th' illustrious heroes, and terrestrial race 
 Of genii, paying each the legal rites : 
 Honour thy parents next, and those of kin 
 The nearest," &c. 
 
 Hierocles, in his comment on these verses, commonly called 
 for their excellence the golden verses of Pythagoras, has largely 
 expatiated on this divine precedence and subordination. 
 
 Thus Horace, with respect to that priority of beings, founded 
 on the religion of his country : 
 
 Quid prius dicam solitis parentis 
 
 Laudibus, &c. 
 
 Proximos illi tamen occupavit 
 
 Pallas honores. Od. 1. i. 12. 
 
 He adopts priority, derived from the same principle, when he 
 speaks of the favourite topics which his genius led him to 
 cultivate : 
 
 Quid prius illustrem satiris, musaque pedestri? Sat. 1. ii. 6. v. 17. 
 
 The Stagirite, who records these various modes of priority, 
 observes on this fourth mode (and apparently with reason) that 
 it was in a manner the most alien and foreign of them all. 11 
 
 He mentions also a fifth mode, but he introduces it with a 
 sort of doubt. It should seem, x says he, besides the modes here 
 mentioned, there was another mode of priority even in things 
 reciprocating ; although, so far as they reciprocate, they may be 
 said to co-exist. 
 
 The fact is, if either of them in any sense can be called cause 
 
 s TpiTov 8e /caret Tiva Taiv rb irpoTepov Trap' avTo'is (pdffKfiv flvai. Arist. Praed. 
 
 A^ercu, KaOdirep eVl TWV TriffT7)iJ.>v Kal ibid, not translated for the reason before 
 
 TWV \6y<t)V ev T yap rats a.TroSeiKTiKa'is given. 
 
 fTno-T-fifj.ais, K. T. X. Arist. Praed. p. 53. " His words are, fffri 5 5$? /col GX&OV 
 
 edit. Sylb. This is not translated, being a\\orpict>raTOS TO>V rp6Truv ovros. Arist. 
 
 expressed in the text. Praed. ibid. p. 54. 
 
 1 "En Trapa TO etpj^ueW rb &f\Tiov /cot x A<f|eie S' kv Kal irapa TOVS flprjiJ.evovs 
 
 Tipuarfpov irpoTtpov TTJ (ftvfffi So/ceT' elca- erepos sivai TOV irpoTfpov Tp6iros' TUV yap 
 
 Bafft 8e Oi TroAAol TOVS 3vTi/j.oTepovs Kal avTi(rTpe<p6vT(av rJ> afTiov. K, r. A. Ibid. 
 
 fcoAAov ayaTTtafj-^vovs vir* avTwv, irpoTepovs p. 54. 
 
358 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 to the other, it may for that reason be called prior, if not in 
 time, at least in efficacy and power. 
 
 For example : the actual existence of a man reciprocates with 
 the proposition, which affirms him actually to exist. For if the 
 man actually exist, then is the proposition true ; and recipro- 
 cally, if the proposition be true, then does the man actually 
 exist. And yet, though these things in this manner reciprocate, 
 is not the proposition cause to the man's existence, but the 
 man's existence to that of the proposition ; since according as 
 the man either is or is not, in like manner we call the proposi- 
 tion either true or false. y 
 
 This last mode of priority we call causal priority, or the "being 
 prior by causality. 
 
 We must not however quit this speculation, without observ- 
 ing, that cause and effect do not always thus reciprocate, but 
 that, for the greater part, the cause is naturally prior. For 
 example : hunger and thirst are the natural causes of eating and 
 drinking ; and thus, by being their causes, are naturally prior 
 to them. Crimes, too, are the natural cause why punishments 
 are inflicted ; and therefore crimes, by parity of reason, are prior 
 to punishments. The sentiment, though obvious, is well ex- 
 pressed by Psetus Thrasea. Nam culpa quam psena tempore 
 prior est ; emendari, quam peccare, posterius est. z 
 
 Nor are crimes only prior to punishment, but so is judicial 
 process ; since to punish first, and then to hear, is what sir 
 Edward Coke chooses to call, (in a language somewhat strong,) 
 "the damnable and damned proceedings of the judge of hell r" 3 - 
 
 Castigatque, auditque dolos. ^Eneid. vi. 567. 
 
 And thus it appears there are five principal modes of priority ; 
 that is to say, the temporal, the essential, that of order, that of 
 precedence, and that of causality ; which five being known, the 
 modes of what is subsequent (its natural opposite) are easily 
 known also. 5 
 
 We are now to examine the modes of co-existence, or that of 
 being at once and together ; c and these modes have evidently 
 great connection with the preceding. 
 
 The most simple mode among these, as well as among the 
 modes of priority, is the temporal, perceived in things or events, 
 which exist during the same time. d 
 
 Una eurusque notusque ruunt. JEn. i. 89. 
 
 'O/j.ov Tr6\ein.6s re 5a/ita Kal Xolfios 'A^atous. Iliad. A. 61. 
 
 " War and the plague at once destroy the Greeks." 
 
 y The words of Aristotle are, T$ yap a-avrax^s &v Kai rb vvrepov \4yoiro. Sira- 
 
 flvat Tb irpay/jia ^ /*$/, aXrjOfys 6 \6yos 3) plic. ut supra, p. 106. B. 
 tyevSfc \4yerai. Ibid. p. 54. edit. Sylb. c Aristot. Prsed. p. 54. edit. Sylb. 
 
 z Tacit. Annal. xv. 20. d T lv f} yeveffis tv rca uvrtp 
 
 Coke's Institutes, vol. ii. p. 54, 55. Praedic. p. 54. edit. Sylb. 
 
 b Ar)Aoi> 5e %TI tiffax&s T& Trp&Tov, TO- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 359 
 
 Persons, in this manner co-existing, are called contemporaries: 
 such as Socrates and Alcibiades ; Virgil and Horace ; Shak- 
 speare and Johnson. 
 
 A second mode of co-existence is founded in nature and es- 
 sence, where two things necessarily reciprocate in consequence 
 of their existing, while neither of them, at the same time, is the 
 cause of existence to the other. e 
 
 It is in this sense that double and half are together or at once, 
 for they reciprocate ; if there be double, there must be half; 
 and if half, there must be double. They are also neither of 
 them the cause why the other exists. Double is no more the 
 cause of half, than half is of double. This last condition is re- 
 quisite, because if either of the two were essentially and truly a 
 cause to the other, it would pass, by virtue of its causality, from 
 co-existence to priority/ 
 
 There is a third mode of co-existence, seen in different species 
 of the same genus, when, upon dividing the genus, we view them 
 arranged together, contra-distinguished one to another. 5 
 
 It is thus the genus triangle, being divided into equilateral, 
 equicrural, and scalene, no one of these species appears to be by 
 nature prior, but all of them to exist at once in a state of contra- 
 distinction. The same may be said of the three animal species, 
 the aerial, aquatic, and terrestrial, when we divide, after the 
 same manner, the genus animal.* 1 
 
 And thus are the modes of co-existence, or together, either the 
 temporal, the essential, or the specific. 
 
 And here, should any one object to these distinctions, as either 
 too trivial or too scholastic for the purposes of a polite writer ; 
 we answer, that we no more wish an author to mention them, 
 when not professedly his subject, than we would have him dis- 
 sert, without a cause, upon nouns, pronouns, and the principles 
 of grammar. All we hope from these elementary doctrines, is 
 to see them in their effects ; to see them in the accuracy of the 
 composition, both as to reasoning and language. It is thus a 
 grazier, when he turns his oxen into some rich and fertile pas- 
 ture, never wishes to inspect what food they have devoured, but 
 to see a fair and ample bulk, the effect of food well digested. 
 Besides, when sophists assail us, and either exhibit one thing 
 for another, or two things for one and the same ; to what surer 
 weapon can we recur for defence, than to that of precise and 
 well-established distinction ? ' 
 
 c Thus expressed by Aristotle : *Wi Se f See before, p. 357, 8. 
 
 ajua, offa avriffrpeQei /j.ev Kara rfy rov Thus expressed by Aristotle^: Kol ra 
 
 clj/ar a.KO\ovQ-r}(riv, ^Sajuws Se atriov flare- e/f rov avrov yevovs aj/TtSi^p^/ueVa aAA^- 
 
 pov Oarepy rov elvai. Praed. p. 54. edit. \ois ajua rfj fyvafi \fyerai. Ibid.^ 55. 
 
 Sylb. h 'Aim5i77pf)(r0eu Se \eyfrai aAArjAots 
 
 By referring to the chapter on Relatives, ra Kara rtff avr^v SiaipfW olov rb 
 
 it is easy to perceive, whence this specula- irr-nvbv rw Tre^jS /cat TO? evvfipcp. Ibid. 55. 
 
 tion arises ; for in that chapter the same ex- ' Learning and science, or rather learned 
 
 ample is alleged as here, by way of illustra- and scientific terms, when introduced out 
 
 tion of the same doctrine. See before, p. 316. of season, become what we call pedantry. 
 
360 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 There remains to be treated the theory of motion ; in which, 
 without attempting to impeach or contradict any modern specu- 
 lations, we shall inquire, what was the opinion of the ancients 
 concerning it ; in what manner they attempted to catch its fugi- 
 tive nature ; and how they divided it by its effects into its sub- 
 ordinate species. 
 
 But this is a theory demanding a separate chapter, where 
 those, who question the doctrines, may perhaps amuse their 
 curiosity, while they peruse an attempt to exhibit the senti- 
 ments of antiquity upon so singular a subject ; a subject, in its 
 existence so obvious, in its real character so abstruse. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CONCERNING MOTION PHYSICAL. ITS VARIOUS SPECIES DEDUCED AND 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BLEND THEMSELVES WITH EACH OTHER, AND WHY 
 
 CONTRARIETY, OPPOSITION, REST. MOTION PHYSICAL AN OBJECT OF 
 
 ALL THE SENSES. COMMON OBJECTS OF SENSATION, HOW MANY. 
 MOTION, A THING NOT SIMPLE, BUT COMPLICATED WITH MANY 
 
 OTHER THINGS ITS DEFINITION OR DESCRIPTION TAKEN FROM THE 
 
 PERIPATETICS THE ACCOUNTS GIVEN OF IT BY PYTHAGORAS AND 
 
 PLATO ANALOGOUS TO THAT OF ARISTOTLE, AND WHY. 
 
 ALL motion is either physical, or not physical. As by motion 
 physical, I mean that which is obvious to the senses ; so by mo- 
 tion not physical, I mean that which, by being the object of no 
 sense, (as, for example, the succession of our thoughts and voli- 
 tions,) is the subject of after-contemplation, and knowable not 
 to the sensitive, but to the rational faculty. 
 
 This, therefore, will be the plan of our following inquiry. 
 
 In the present chapter, we shall consider motion merely phy- 
 sical, both in its several distinct species, and in its general or 
 common character. 
 
 In the next chapter, we shall inquire whether there be other 
 motion besides; and if such may be found, we shall then examine 
 how far it is distinguished from the physical, and how far it is 
 connected. 
 
 First, therefore, for the first. k 
 
 As the most obvious of all motions is the motion of body, so 
 
 The subject may have merit, the terms enough. 'Give me,' says he to the hosier, 
 
 be precise, and yet, notwithstanding, the 'stockings of matter continuous, not of 
 
 speaker be a pedant, if he talk without re- matter discrete.' " Menagiana, torn. ii. p. 64. 
 gard either to place or time. k In the order of nature, the genus pre- 
 
 The following story may perhaps illus- cedes its several species ; but in the order 
 
 trate this assertion : "A learned doctor at of human perception, the several species 
 
 Paris was once purchasing a pair of stock- precede their genus, which last is the order 
 
 ings, but unfortunately could find none adopted here. See Hermes, p. 119. 
 that were either strong enough, or thick 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 361 
 
 the most obvious motion of body is that by which it changes 
 from place to place, 1 itself remaining, or at least supposed to re- 
 main, both in one place and the other, precisely the same. It 
 is thus a bowl moves over a plane ; a bird through the air ; a 
 planet round the sun. This motion is properly motion local; 
 or, if we choose a single name, we may call it passage or transi- 
 tion. Its peculiar character, as opposed to any other motion, is 
 to affect no attribute of body, but merely that of local site. 
 
 Coeruleo per summa levis volat aequora curru, 
 Subsiclunt undas tumidumque sub axe tonanti 
 Sternitur aequor aquis ; fugiunt vasto sethere nimbi. ./En. v. 819. 
 
 Here the chariot flies, the waves subside, the clouds disperse, 
 all is in local motion. 
 
 There are other motions, which affect the more inherent at- 
 tributes. Thus, when a lump of clay is moulded from a cube 
 into a sphere, there is motion more than local ; for there is the 
 acquisition of a new figure. The same happens, when a man 
 from hot becomes cold, from ruddy becomes pale. Motion of 
 this species has respect to the genus of quality, and (if I may be 
 permitted to coin a word) may be called aliation. m 
 
 If thou be'st he ! but ! how fall'n, how chang'd 
 
 From him, who in the happy realms of light, 
 
 Cloth M with transcendent brightness, didst outshine 
 
 Myriads, tho' bright." Par. Lost, i. 84. 
 
 Here we behold qualities that are changed, a scene of aliation. 
 
 Another species of motion is seen in addition and detraction ; 
 as when we either add, or take away a gnomon from a square. 
 Here is no aliation, or change of quality, (for the figure, as a 
 square, remains the same in either case,) but the effect of such 
 motion is a change only in the quantity, as the square becomes 
 either smaller or larger. When quantity is enlarged, we call 
 the motion augmentation ; when it is lessened, we call it diminu- 
 tion. 
 
 Behold a wonder : they, but now who seem'd 
 
 In bigness to surpass earth's giant sons, 
 
 Now less than smallest dwarf's, in narrow room 
 
 Throng numberless. Par. Lost, i. 777. 
 
 Here we behold diminution. 
 
 Parva metu primo ; mox sese attollit in auras, 
 
 Ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubila condit.P ./En. iv. 176. 
 
 Here we behold augmentation. 
 
 All these motions have this in common, that they are changes 
 or roads from one attribute to another,* 1 while the substance re- 
 
 1 Called therefore in Greek, 77 Kara r6- " Augmentation," atffrffis : " diminu- 
 
 TTOV yuerajBoA};, and sometimes by a single tion," fte/oxm. Vid. Arist. ut sup. 
 
 word, fyopa. See Arist. Prsedic. p. 55. P See chap. ix. where the species of 
 
 edit. Sylb. and Ammon. in Loc. p. 171. B. quantity are enumerated. 
 
 m 'AAAoioxny, in barbarous Latin, alte- i Ov Kar^yopiai ezVij/, oAA 5 68bs els ras 
 
 ratio. Vid. Arist. ut supra. Karriyopias : " They (that is, these several 
 
 " See p. 300. species of motion) are not predicaments, 
 
362 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 mains the same, both in essence and in name. Thus the planet 
 Jupiter, which was a year ago in such a part of the heavens, 
 and is at present in another, though his attributes of place are 
 changed, is yet both in essence and in name still the same 
 planet. By parity of reason, it is the same individual man, 
 who, by change in quantity, from fleshy becomes emaciated/ 
 
 But there are other motions, which in their effects go further. 
 Thus, when the substance of a man becomes not only pallid and 
 emaciated, but its living principle is detached from that which 
 it enlivens, putrefaction and dissolution of the body ensue, and 
 it is no longer a change within the substance, but the very sub- 
 stance is lost both in essence and in name. 8 Such motion is 
 called corruption, dissolution, or dying. On the contrary, when 
 the seed of any species, whether animal or vegetable, by evolu- 
 tion, accretion, or other latent process of nature, produces a 
 certain being, which had no existence before ; it is a change, 
 like the former, that goes not merely to attributes, but by a 
 more efficacious operation to the very substance itself. Such 
 motion is called generation or birth. 
 
 The following difference subsists between these two latter 
 species and the former ; the former are no more than roads to 
 different modes of being ; the latter lead to being itself, and to 
 its opposite, non-being. 1 
 
 However separate and distinct these species of motion may 
 
 but a road to the predicaments." Ammon. cwr& rov Suj/cfytet ovros ets rb evepyetq ov : 
 in Prned. 171. "the road from non-being to being; that 
 r Speaking of these species of motion, is, from being in power to being in act:" 
 Ammonius says, Kiv?<rQai $ Kara Troo~bv, corruption or dissolution, on the contrary, 
 TI Kara iroibv, fy Kara rdirov, <pv\drrovra is called, 6Sbs airb rov ovros fls rb pr) 
 rb e| apxys ovcnutSes e?8os : " That things ov : " the road from being to non-being." 
 are moved and changed either in quantity, Ammon. in Praed. p. 172. 
 or in quality, or in place, still preserving The particle TTTI, prefixed in the quota- 
 [during these motions] their original es- tions to ^ ovros, and rb ov, is to dis- 
 sential form." Ammon. in Praed. p. 172. tinguish the non-being and being here men- 
 Here we find the phrase eftJos ou<no>5es, tioned from being and non-being absolute, 
 commonly called substantial form, but which II f} means " in a manner," " as it were," 
 we choose (as thinking it more accurate) to " after a sort." See below, p 365. 
 translate " essential." To explain: Let us, These motions, under the name of changes, 
 for example, call sphericality (if we may (^ueTa/3oAa!,) are well explained as follows, 
 employ such a word) the essential form to a "Orav [lev ovv Kara rb iroo~bv 77 rj /j.era- 
 bowl. Every one will admit that the bowl /3oA^ TT)S tvavriwo-ecas, aufro-is Kai </>0i<ny 
 may undergo many changes ; may become orav Se Kara r6irov, <popd, orav e Kara 
 white from black, hot from cold ; and (by irdBos, Kal rb TTOLOV a\\oi(affis' orav 5e 
 a more easy change than these) it may roll fj.r]5ev viro/j.fvp, ov Odrepov irdOos fy (Tv/j.- 
 from one place to another ; and yet not- /3e/3?j/cbs '6\cas, yV0~is' rb 8e, fyOopd : 
 withstanding it may still continue to be a " When therefore the change of the con- 
 bowl. But when its sphericality, that is trary attribute is according to the quantity, 
 to say, its e?8os overtures, its " essential it is augmentation or diminution ; when 
 form," departs, when (supposing its matter according to the place, it is local motion ; 
 to be clay) it is moulded from a sphere into when according to any affection or quality, 
 a cube, from that instant the bowl is no it is aliation. When nothing remains, of 
 more, it has no longer an existence either which the new production can be at all 
 in essence or in name. See before, p. 275. considered as an affection, or an attribute, 
 s See the note immediately preceding. it is then generation ; and the contrary, 
 1 Hence generation is called, 6ftbs airb dissolution." Arist. de Gen. et Corr. 1. i. c. 
 -oO Trr? A"? ovros els rb Trrj $v, rovreffriv 4. p. 14. edit. Sylb. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 363 
 
 be found, yet being all of the same genus, they naturally blend 
 themselves together. 
 
 Thus, though local motion may possibly exist without the 
 rest, yet it is impossible for the rest to exist without local 
 motion. Generation is the assemblage of parts; corruption, 
 the separation; so that here local motion is evident in either 
 case. It is the same in aliation ; the same in augmentation and 
 diminution. When fear renders a person pale, such change 
 could not be, did not his blood retreat locally from the surface 
 to within : and as for augmentation and its opposite, they are 
 no more than the bringing to, and the carrying off ; both which 
 in their very idea imply local motion. 
 
 The other species of motion are incidentally blended also. 
 He that increases in bulk, commonly increases with ruddiness ; 
 and he that lessens in bulk, commonly lessens with paleness. 
 There are both in the qualities and the quantities of the par- 
 ticles to be assembled, many changes necessarily previous to 
 generation or birth ; and many others, as necessarily previous 
 to corruption or death. u 
 
 And thus have we established six species of motion, which 
 we denominate physical, because they respect physical subjects. 
 They are to be found in four of the universal genera, or arrange- 
 ments ; one in the genus where, transition ; one in quality, 
 aliation ; two in quantity, augmentation and diminution ; two in 
 substance, generation and corruption. 
 
 In all these motions there is opposition or contrariety/ Where 
 two species are coupled in one genus, the two species themselves 
 are, in such case, contraries; as generation and corruption, 
 augmentation and diminution. Where the species stands single, 
 as local motion, or aliation, the contrarieties are more numerous, 
 and therefore perhaps not mentioned. In local motion we behold 
 backward and forward, rectilinear and curvilinear, centripetal 
 and centrifugal, &c. In aliation, or change of quality, we be- 
 hold blackening and whitening; straightening and bending; 
 strengthening and weakening; with many others, to which 
 names are wanting. Lastly, all motion whatever is contrary to 
 
 And now perhaps it may not be amiss to inquire, what 
 physical motion is. Some philosophers have found a short 
 
 11 See Aristot. Phys. 1. viii. c. 8: where "for that all the motions here enumerated 
 
 he shews at large, that local motion is are in place." 
 
 necessarily the primary motion, as running x See the chapter preceding, p. 355. 
 
 through the rest, and essential to them all ; y 'Ecrri 8e air\a>s rrj fiev Kiv^crei yp/j.ia 
 
 and where he likewise explains in what tvavrtov : " In strictness, the contrary to 
 
 manner the other species of motion neces- motion is rest." Arist. Pradic. c. xi. p. 5G. 
 
 sarily blend themselves with each other, edit. Sylb. 
 
 The chapter is too long to be here tran- The other modes of contrariety are ex- 
 scribed. In his tract De Anima, 1. i. c. 3. plained in the subsequent part of the 
 having spoken of the several species of chapter here quoted, which in some editions 
 motion, he adds, that motion infers place, is the fourteenth. 
 Trnffai yap at K^Q^iffai Kivr)ffeis 
 
364 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 method here, by telling us, it is a simple idea, and therefore 
 cannot he defined. Others, with more reason, have called it 
 hard to he defined ; z a circumstance not unusual with other 
 subjects equally obvious, there being" nothing more different 
 both in accuracy and truth, than that apprehension which is 
 adequate to the purposes of the vulgar, and that which ought 
 to satisfy the investigation of a philosopher. 
 
 In the first place, if we consider motion as an object of sensa- 
 tion, we shall discover it to be the object not of one sense, but 
 of all. In a ring of bells we hear it ; in a succession of savours 
 we taste it ; of odours, we smell it ; and that we feel or see it, 
 there needs no example. Thus is it distinguished from those 
 objects, that are peculiar to one sense alone ; as from colours, 
 which we only see, or from sounds, which we only hear. Simple 
 therefore as it is, it is not only an object of sensation, but stands 
 distinguished, as a common object, from other objects that are 
 peculiar. 
 
 And are there then (it may be demanded) no other objects of 
 the same character ? It is answered, there are ; as bulk and 
 figure, common objects to the sight and feeling; rest and 
 number, common objects, like motion, to every sense. a 
 
 And how (it is asked again) is motion distinguished from 
 these ? We reply, from rest, by contrariety ; from number, by 
 continuity; from bulk and figure, as the parts of motion are 
 never permanent, never co-exist. What speculations does this 
 idea, simple as it is called, open, even while we consider it no 
 further than as an object of sensation ? 
 
 But we must not stop here, even while we consider it as 
 physical. As such we shall find it connected with a body 
 which moves ; and as such, necessarily performed through space, 
 and in time ; so that these also, and their attributes of infinite 
 and continuous, must be added to its theory, as so many 
 necessary speculations. 
 
 We cannot therefore but observe, that if it be a simple idea, 
 it is strangely complicated with a multitude of others; 5 such 
 
 Aa/3et/ avrty (sell. Kivricriv) other subjects it is necessarily connected, 
 
 rt effriv: " It is hard to comprehend what such as continuous, infinite, place, time, &c., 
 
 it is:" so says the Stagirite, and gives his and where accordingly, after he has given 
 
 reasons, which we postpone for the present, us the opinions of his predecessors in phi- 
 
 that we may not anticipate. Phys. 1. iii. losophy concerning these subjects, he pro- 
 
 c. 2. p. 45. edit. Sylb. ceeds in due order to explain what he 
 
 a Koiva 8e, Kivrjffis, T/pe/tu'a, apiO/jtis, thinks himself. His words are, as they 
 
 (T^jua, jueyeflos" ra yap rotavra ov5e/j.ias here follow : Ao/ce? 8' r) Kivr\(ns zlvai rtav 
 
 <TTIV ?8ia (scil. alo-0r,(rcas :) "The common ffvvtx&v' T ^ & 'aireipov ^^aiverai evOvs eV 
 
 objects of sensation are motion, rest, num- TW 0-tu/exe? Sib /cat ro7s opi^o^vois TO 
 
 ber, figure, bulk : for these are peculiar to (Twe^ks-i ffvfj.fialvei Trpocr^pTjcrflai TroAAa/as 1 
 
 no one sense." Arist. de Anima, 1. ii. c. 6. r$ \6yca rta rov avfipov, cos et's fafipov 
 
 p. 34. These common objects are well Statperbv rb <rui/e%6S ov. Tlpbs 5e rovrois 
 
 worthy of attention in explaining the cii/ev r6irov, /cat /cefoD, /cat ^p6vov aSwarov 
 
 doctrine of the senses and sensation. Klvrjfftv flvai : " Motion appears to be in 
 
 b See the beginning of the third book of the number of things continuous : now in- 
 
 Aristotle's Physics, ch. i. where being about finite immediately shews itself in that which 
 
 to treat of motion, he shews with what is continuous ; for which reason, when they 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 365 
 
 as space, time, infinitude, continuity, together with body, and 
 its visible attributes both of quantity and of quality. But to 
 proceed in our speculation. 
 
 That there are things existing in act, in reality, in actuality, 
 (call it as you please,) we have the evidence both of our senses 
 and of our internal consciousness ; so that this is a matter of 
 fact, which \ve take for granted. That there also are things 
 which actually and really are not, is equally evident as the 
 former, and requires no proving. A Sphinx, for example, ac- 
 tually is not ; a Centaur, actually is not ; for these we may call 
 phantoms, in the language of Lucretius : 
 
 Quae neque sunt usquam, neque possunt esse profecto. 
 
 Lastly, every substance that actually is, by actually being that 
 thing, actually is not any other. A piece of brass, for example, 
 actually is not an oak ; an acorn, not a vine ; a grape-stone, not 
 a statue. 
 
 There is a difference however here ; I mean, a difference in 
 the last mode of actually not being ; for though the brass is no 
 more a statue than it is an oak, yet has it a capacity to become 
 the one, and none to become the other. The same may be said 
 of the acorn, with respect to the oak ; of the grape-stone, with 
 respect to the vine. Were it not for this definite nature of ca- 
 pacity, which as much distinguishes the invisible powers, as ac- 
 tuality distinguishes the visible attributes, there would be no 
 reason why an acorn should not produce a statue, as well as it 
 produces an oak ; or why any thing (to speak more generally) 
 should not be able to produce any thing. d 
 
 What, then, if there were no capacity existing in the universe? 
 Could there be generations, corruptions, growths, diminutions, 
 aliations, or change of place ? Impossible. But if these are all 
 the species of physical motion, it follows, that without capacity 
 there can be no such motions. 
 
 And is motion, then, for this reason, pure capacity, and that 
 only? Let us examine. A man, being in Salisbury, has a ca- 
 pacity of travelling to London. Is he, therefore, for merely pos- 
 sessing such capacity, upon the road thither ? He is not. Mo- 
 tion, therefore, though capacity, is not capacity alone : there 
 
 define continuous, they have often occasion taur, &c.) immediately preceding, and from 
 to employ Avithal the character of infinite, that strongest of all nonentities, the non- 
 inasmuch as continuity is that which is entity of impossibility, such as that the 
 divisible to infinite. Add to this, without diameter of the square should be common- 
 place, and vacuum, and time, it is impossible surable with its sides, or that the same 
 that motion should have existence." Physic, number should be both even and odd. See 
 1. iii. c. 1. before, p. 362. 
 
 c This last species of nonentity should d This distinction of rb eVreAex^a and 
 be carefully attended to, as the doctrine of rb Swdfj.fi, " of that which is in actuality, 
 motion wholly depends upon it, and as it is and that which is in power," is the basis of 
 so essentially distinguished both from the all the Peripatetic reasoning upon this sub- 
 fantastic nonentities (the Sphinx, the Cen- ject. See p. 333, &c. also p. 292, 3. 
 
366 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 must be some degree of actuality, or else motion can never exist. 
 Shall we, then, call it pure actuality ? We cannot assert that, 
 when we have made capacity one of its requisites. Besides, how 
 should motion be seen in pure actuality; an actuality which 
 never exists, till motion is at an end ? A man surely can no 
 more be called moving towards London, who is actually arrived 
 there, than he who, possessing the capacity of going thither, for- 
 bears to exert any of his motive powers. 
 
 If motion, therefore, be neither capacity alone, nor actuality 
 alone, and yet both (as it appears) are essential to it ; it is 
 in both we must look after it, as deriving its existence from 
 both. 
 
 Such, in fact, it will appear ; something more than dead ca- 
 pacity, something less than perfect actuality : capacity roused, 
 and striving to quit its latent character : not the capable brass, 
 nor yet the actual statue, but the capacity in energy; that is to 
 say, the brass in fusion, while it is becoming the statue, and is 
 not yet become. Thus, too, when a complexion is actually red, 
 we say not that it reddens ; much less do we assert so, while it 
 remains perfectly pale ; but as every pale complexion implies a 
 capacity to become red, it is in the energy of this capacity exists 
 the reddening, that is, the motion. 
 
 In the account of motion here given, we see the doctrine of 
 the Peripatetics. The more ancient sects of Pythagoreans and 
 Platonics, though they give different descriptions, seem to have 
 deduced them all from the same principles. Thus, because 
 whenever any thing is moved, it is some way or other diversified 
 either in quantity or in quality, or at least in place ; for this 
 reason they called motion diversity. Again, because while op- 
 posite forces are equal, then is motion suspended, and revives 
 not till inequality destroys the equilibrium ; for this reason they 
 called motion inequality. Again, because every thing which is 
 moving is not, in some certain attributes, either what it was or 
 what it will be ; for this reason they called motion nonentity,* 
 not nonentity absolute, but with a peculiar reference. 
 
 All these descriptions of motion naturally flow from one 
 source, and that is, from its indefinite and unascertainable ap- 
 pearance/ Now the reason why it so appears, is, as we have 
 said, because we cannot place it either in the simple capacity of 
 things, or in the simple actuality. The bow, for example, moves 
 not, because it may be bent ; nor because it is bent ; but the 
 motion lies between ; lies in an imperfect and obscure union of 
 the two together ; is the actuality (if I may so say) even of 
 
 e v EA.67oi' Se ol Tlvdaydpeioi TTJV Kivqffiv '6n a^piffr^v ri 5oe? slvai 
 
 e!vai ere/x^TTjTa, teal aviff^rrira., Kal rb p)) Phys. p. 45. edit. Sylb. : " The cause of 
 
 ov. Philop. in Physic, p. 144. For non- their placing motion among these things, 
 
 entity, see before, p. 365. is, that it appears to be something indefi- 
 
 f Afriov 5e TOV fis ravra riOzvai avrovs nite." 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 367 
 
 capacity itself; 8 imperfect and obscure, because such is capacity 
 to which it belongs. 
 
 And so much for motion physical, its different species, and its 
 general character. We are now to inquire concerning motion of 
 another kind. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CONCERNING MOTION NOT-PHYSICAL. THIS MEANS METAPHYSICAL, AND 
 WHY SO CALLED. SPONTANEITY WANT PERCEPTION, CONSCIOUS- 
 NESS, ANTICIPATION, PRECONCEPTION APPETITE, RESENTMENT, 
 
 REASON. MOTION PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL, HOW UNITED. 
 
 DISCORD AND HARMONY OP THE INTERNAL PRINCIPLES POWERS 
 
 VEGETATIVE, ANIMAL, RATIONAL IMMORTALITY. REST, ITS SEVE- 
 RAL SPECIES. MOTION, TO WHAT PERCEPTIVE BEINGS IT APPER- 
 TAINS ; TO WHAT NOT AND WHENCE THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 OUR contemplation hitherto may be called physical, because it 
 is about physical motions that the whole has been employed, 
 and it is from physical observations that the whole has been 
 deduced. But he who stops here, has but half finished his 
 work, if it be true that corporeal masses only move, because 
 they are moved; 11 and therefore cannot be considered as the 
 original source of motion. 
 
 8 We have just before styled it, the 
 energy of capacity ; here, the actuality of 
 capacity. These expressions are difficult, 
 unless we attend to the manner in which 
 they are used. The original Greek ex- 
 presses the sentiment thus: 'H rov Swd- 
 p.ei <OVTOS evTeA/xeta, rj TOIOVTOV, Klvrjcris 
 eariv : " The energy of what exists in 
 power, considered as so existing, is mo- 
 tion." Arist. Physic. 43. edit. Sylb. And 
 soon after, p. 45, ToD Se SoKeTv a6piffrov 
 elvai T^V Kivf}<riv ctiriov '6n otfre els ^iiva^iv 
 TUV el/row, otfre els evepyeiav fffn Oeivat 
 avrty air\a>s' ovre yap rb Svvarbv elvai 
 Troffbv Kiveirai e avajKys, ovre rb eVep- 
 yeia Troff6v ^re nlv^ffis evepyeia p.ev ns 
 sivai So/ce?, dreA^/s Se' atriov 8' on are\es 
 rb Svvarbv o5 ecrriv evepyeia Kivriais' Kal 
 5ia TOVTO S-f) xaAeTrbc avrty XaBelv T( 
 effTiV fy yap els artpricnv avayKalov 0e?wi, 
 ^ ets SvvafjLiv, T) els tvepyeiav airXriv' rov- 
 TWV 8' ovQev (paiverai evSexdfj.evov \et- 
 irerai roivvv & elp-rj^evos Tp6iros, evepyeiav 
 p.ev riva elvai, Toiavnjv 8' evepyeiav, o'iav 
 e^TTOjuev, %aA7rr;i' p.ev tSeTv, 6J/5exo/ifcV?}j/ 8' 
 elvai. Arist. Phys. 1. iii. c. 2. : " The rea- 
 son why motion appears to be indefinite, is, 
 that there is no placing it simply, either in 
 the capacity of things, or in their energy : 
 for neither is that necessarily moved which 
 
 is capable of becoming a certain quantity ; 
 nor that which is a certain quantity in 
 energy and act. Indeed, the motion itself 
 appears to be a certain sort of energy, but 
 then it is an imperfect one ; and the reason 
 of this is, the capacity itself is imperfect, of 
 which it is the energy. Hence, therefore, 
 it becomes hard to comprehend its nature : 
 for it is necessary to place it either in pri- 
 vation, or in capacity, or else in simple 
 energy, and yet no one of these appears to 
 be possible. The manner, therefore, which 
 we have mentioned, is the only one re- 
 maining, which is, that it should be a pe- 
 culiar sort of energy, and that such a one 
 as we have described ; hard to discern, and 
 yet possible to exist." Page 45, ut supra, 
 edit. Sylb. 
 
 h T& KIVOVV <>u<n/cco9, Kivnr6v' TTO.V yap 
 rb TOIOVTOV KiJ/e?, Kivovfj.evov Kal avro : 
 "That which gives motion physically, is 
 itself moveable: for every thing which 
 gives motion in this manner, is moved also 
 itself." And soon after, TOVTO Se iroiel dil-ei' 
 &ffre afjia Kal Trac^ei : " This (namely, the 
 giving motion) it does by contact ; so that 
 at the same time (while it acts) it is acting 
 upon." Aristot. Physic. 1. iii. c. 1. p. 44, 
 45. edit. Sylb. 
 
368 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 When a boy carries about with him an insect in a box, we 
 call not this motion the insect's motion as an animal, because a 
 nut or a pebble would have moved in like manner. 4 When the 
 same boy, piercing a wing of this insect, makes it describe a 
 circular motion round a pin or needle, even this cannot well be 
 called the insect's motion ; for its motion, as an animal, is not, 
 like a planet, round a centre. So far however the motion differs 
 from that in the box, that by being a mixed motion, the centri- 
 fugal part is the animal's own, the centripetal is extraneous. 
 But if ever the wing detach itself, and the fortunate insect fly 
 off ; at that instant the mixture of extraneous is no more, and 
 the motion thenceforward becomes properly and purely animal. 
 
 And what is it which gives the motion this proper and pure 
 character? It is spontaneity j that pure and innate impulse 
 arising from the animal itself, by which alone its flight is then 
 produced and conducted. 
 
 And thus, while we pass from flying to innate and spontaneous 
 impulse, that is to say, in other words, from flying to its cause, 
 we pass also insensibly from motion physical to metaphysical; 
 for metaphysics are properly conversant about primary and 
 internal causes. We call not such impulse metaphysical, as if 
 it were //-era rrjv (f>vcri,Kr)v Kivricriv, " something subsequent to 
 natural motion," that is, to flying, (for this would set effect before 
 cause, a preposterous order indeed ;) but we call it metaphysical, 14 
 because though truly prior in itself, it is subsequent in man's 
 contemplation, whose road of science is naturally upward, that 
 is, from effect to cause, from sensible to intelligible. 1 
 
 Spontaneous impulse m is to the insect the cause of flying ; so 
 it is to the dolphin, of swimming ; to the man, of walking. But 
 what is the cause of this impulse itself? And why do animals 
 possess it, more than stocks or stones 1 
 
 * 'Eotae 877 rb Piaiov elvai, ov e&9tv 77 the first philosophy, for it is a subject be- 
 
 apxT), /j.Tjo'ev cru/^aAAo^eVou rov /3mcr0eV- longing to theology, and to that speculation 
 
 TOS : " That seems to be forced, or com- which is metaphysical, that is to say, sub- 
 
 pelled, of which the principle or moving sequent to matters physical, or rather indeed 
 
 cause is from without, while the being com- it is a subject prior to matters physical, in- 
 
 pelled contributes nothing from itself." asmuch as those things with regard to us 
 
 Ethic. Nic. 1. iii. c. 1. p. 37. edit. Sylb. are subsequent, which are by nature prior." 
 
 J Tb eKovffiov o"6fifv &v e?j/o, ov 7} Philop. in Aristot. de Gen. et Corr. p. 12. 
 
 upXH & a\>T$: "That should seem to be edit. Aid. Venet, 1527. 
 spontaneous, of which the principle or 1 Sec Hermes, p. 119. See also p. 26, 
 
 moving cause is in the being itself." Eth. note ; and of the present treatise, p. 350, 
 
 Nic. 1. iii. c. 1. p. 38. edit. Sylb. note. 
 
 k Philoponus, in a very few words, well m 'Op/j.-f). Diog. Laert. vii. 85. Una 
 
 explains the term metaphysical. Speaking pars in appetitu posita est. Cic. de Offic. 
 
 of the first and supreme cause of all things, i. 28. Appetitionesque, quas illi 6p/j.as vo- 
 
 he adds, Tlepl /xei/ ovv e/ce/vou eiVe?f, TTJS cant, obedientes efficere rationi. De Offic. 
 
 irpcarrjs effrt <f>i\oao<pia.s' Oeo\oy(a yap ii. 5. Animalia, qua? habent suos impetus 
 
 oiKfiov, KOL\ rfj ^tera ra fyvffiKo. Trpay/j.aTia. et rerum appetitus. Ejusd. ii. 3. Naturalem 
 
 p.a\\Dv Se Trpo ra>v fyvaiKuv, irpus rjfj.as yap enim appetitionem, quam vocant op^v^ 
 
 varTfpa TO. rfj <pv(rei irporepa: "To speak itemque, &c. De Fin. iv. 14. Seneca uses 
 
 concerning this principle, is the business of the words, spontaneos motus. Epist. cxxi. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 369 
 
 To solve this question, we must first remark, that every 
 animal, however exquisite in its frame, is nevertheless far from 
 being perfect, being still the part of a greater and more perfect 
 whole," to which it is connected by many necessary wants. 
 
 One of these, for example, is common to all animals, that of 
 food or aliment. Suppose then this want were not to be 
 gratified, what would be the consequence \ The animal would 
 perish. And how has Providence obviated this danger ? It has 
 given to every animal, however base, however young, not only 
 a consciousness of this want, but an obscure sensation of some 
 distinction in things without ; and a preconception or anticipa- 
 tion in favour of that aliment which it is to prefer, from an 
 inward feeling of its proper constitution. It is thus without 
 either teaching or experience, but merely from an innate feeling 
 of what is conducive to their proper being, that infants are able 
 to distinguish milk from vinegar ; and silk- worms the leaf of a 
 mulberry from that of a laurel or an ash. p Now the consequence 
 
 " Ipsc autem homo nullo modo perfectus, 
 sed est qusedam particula perfect!. Cic. de 
 Nat. Deor. ii. 14. See chap. x. and the end 
 of the present chapter. 
 
 What is applied by Cicero in the above 
 passage to man, may with equal propriety 
 be applied to all other animals, and needs 
 no proving. It was a fundamental doc- 
 trine of the Stoics. 
 
 TIp&Tov oiKelov ftvai iravrl <f>y T^V 
 airrov (rvcnaaiv, Kal TT]V ravrf]s crvi/et- 
 Srjffiv: "The thing primarily intimate to 
 every animal, is its own constitution, and 
 a consciousness of it." Diog. Laert. vii. 
 85. 
 
 P Simul atque natum sit animal ipsum 
 sibi conciliari, et commendari ad se conser- 
 vandum et suum statum, et ad ea, quse 
 conservantia sunt ejus status, diligenda ; 
 alienari autem ab interitu, iisque rebus, 
 quoe interitum videantur adferre. Cic. de 
 Fin. iii. 5. 
 
 Thus Seneca : Omnibus (sc. animalibus) 
 constitutionis suae sensus est, et inde mem- 
 brorum tarn expedita tractatio. Epist. cxxi. 
 Soon after: Constitutionem suam [animal] 
 crasse intelligit, summatim, et obscure. And 
 again : Ante omnia est mei cura : hoc ani- 
 malibus inest cunctis: nee inseritur, sed 
 innascitur. And soon after, speaking of 
 the terror which some animals feel in their 
 earliest state, when they first behold a 
 hawk, or a cat, he adds Apparet illis inesse 
 scientiam nocituri, non experimento col- 
 lectam ; nam, antequam possint experiri, 
 cavent. 
 
 Even the ferocious tribes of animals, 
 when their powers become mature, are 
 shewn how to employ them, by an innate, 
 internal instinct. 
 
 Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit, unde, nisi 
 intus 
 
 Monstratum. 
 
 As to innate ideas, there is certainly 
 nothing so true, (and it requires no great 
 logic to prove,) that, if by innate ideas be 
 meant innate propositions, there never were, 
 nor ever can be, any such things existing. 
 But this no ways tends to subvert that 
 innate distinction of things into eligible 
 and ineligible, according as they are suit- 
 able to every nature, or not suitable ; a 
 distinction which every being appears to 
 recognise from its very birth. 
 
 Hence the author above quoted, in the 
 same epistle: Tenera quoque animalia, a 
 materno utero, vel quoquo modo effusa, 
 quid sit infestum ipsis protinus norunt, et 
 mortifera devitant. 
 
 And it is upon this reasoning we may 
 venture to affirm, that every such being in 
 its earliest moments perceives itself to be an 
 animal, though it may not be philosophically 
 informed what an animal really is: Quid 
 sit animal, nescit ; animal esse se sentit. 
 Ibid. 
 
 Whatever others, in ancient, or even in 
 modern days, may have thought concerning 
 this subject, that philosopher surely can be 
 hardly suspected of favouring innate ideas, 
 who held the human soul, or rather its in- 
 tellective part, " from its comprehending all 
 things to be for that very reason something 
 pure and unmixed," eirelirdvra roeTjdjUfyr} 
 flv ai and this, because [in any compound] 
 "that which is alien, by shewing itself 
 along with other objects impedes and ob- 
 structs " Trapep.<$>aiv6nevov yap K<a\vei rb 
 o.\\6rpiov, Kal aisTttypdrTei. " That there- 
 fore the human intellect in its nature was 
 2B 
 
370 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 of this consciousness, of these preconceptions or anticipations, is 
 a spontaneous impulse ; for it is in these that such impulse finds 
 an adequate efficient cause. But if we include all these under 
 the common name of perception^- we shall then find that per- 
 
 nothing else than mere capacity, or the 
 being capable" Sxrre ^8' avrov elvai 
 <pi>(Tiv viva yUTjSe/ifaz/, aAA* fy TOUTTJJ', OTI 
 SVVO.TOV " that in consequence it was not 
 any simple one of the whole tribe of beings, 
 before it comprehended aud understood it " 
 6 &pa Ka\ovfj.tfos TTJS I//U%TJS vovs ovSev 
 fffriv tvepyeiq ruv OVTWV, irplv voelv 
 "that it was not therefore probable it 
 should be blended with the body, for that 
 then it would become vested with some 
 corporeal quality, and be either hot or cold, 
 and have some corporeal organ, as the 
 sensitive faculty has ; whereas now it has 
 none" Sib ovSf /ie/u%0at etf\oyov avrbv rq> 
 ffci>/jt.aTi' TTOLOS yap av TIS yiyvoiro, Oep/j.bs 
 f) tyv%pbs KO.V opyav6v TI eftj, Sxrirep ry 
 ala'6'r)TiK(p' vvv 8e ouSev eVrt. He con- 
 cludes, at last, his reasonings with telling 
 us, " that the intellect, as he had said be- 
 fore, was in capacity, after a certain man- 
 ner, the several objects intelligible ; but 
 was in actuality no one of them, until it 
 first comprehended it ; and that it was the 
 same with the mind, or human understand- 
 ing, [in its original state,] as with a rasa 
 tabula, or writing tablet, in which nothing 
 as yet had been actually written " Sib 
 TrpSrepov, OTI SvvdjAei TTCDS eVrt ra 
 6 vovs, dAA' et/T(\ex f ' ia ovSev, irplv 
 
 /*}] vofj' Se? 8' ovT(DS, wffirfp eV ypap.- 
 /j.T]SfV vTrdpxei eVreAexeta 76- 
 , OTrep crv/j-Paivei eVl TOV vov. 
 Aristot. de Anima, 1. iii. iv. 
 
 As to the simile of rasa tabula, or (to 
 speak in a language more modern and fa- 
 miliar) that of a sheet of fair writing paper, 
 though it be sufficiently evident of itself, it 
 may be illustrated in the following manner. 
 
 The human intellect is pure unmixed, 
 untainted capacity, as a sheet of fair writ- 
 ing paper is pure unmixed, untainted 
 whiteness. The pure unmixed character 
 of this intellectual capacity renders it fit 
 for every object of comprehension, as the 
 pure unmixed character of the paper makes 
 it adequate to every species of writing. 
 The paper would not be adequate to this 
 purpose, were it previously scraAvled over 
 with syllables or letters. As far only as it 
 is clear, it is capable ; and if we suppose it 
 perfectly clear, then is it perfectly capable. 
 The same sort of reasoning is applicable to 
 the human understanding. 
 
 Such we take to be the sentiments of this 
 ancient sage on this important subject. 
 
 The sentiments and subject, being both 
 of them curious, will (it is hoped) be an 
 
 apology for this digression. 
 
 By it we think it appears, that it was a 
 received opinion among the ancients, that 
 instincts both in man and beast were ori- 
 ginal, and founded in nature. That Ari- 
 stotle held the same, appears not only from 
 his History of Animals, but from the fol- 
 lowing remarkable passage in his Politics 
 relative to man. There, speaking of the 
 social state, or state of society, he says, 
 (pvffei /j.ev ovv f) 6p/iir) eV iraffiv cirl T^\V 
 ToiavTriv Koivwviav, " that the tendency 
 to such a society was by nature in all men." 
 Pol. p. 4. edit. Sylb. 
 
 We think also it further appears, that 
 whatever Aristotle thought of instincts 
 residing in the lower faculties of man, in- 
 stincts respecting the purposes of common 
 life and society, yet, as to the supreme and 
 intellective part, this he held in its original 
 state to be wholly pure and unmixed, and 
 only fitted, by that purity, for general and 
 universal comprehension. He seems (like 
 the rpst) to have justly distinguished be- 
 tween innate instincts, and innate proposi- 
 tions. 
 
 <i This word, perception, is of the most 
 extensive meaning, and not only includes 
 intellection, but sensation also, and that of 
 the lowest degree. What is here called 
 perception, is by Aristotle called knowledge. 
 rvoaffeas TIVOS TTCCJ/TO (sell. J"* T ^X OW9 '* 
 TO. IJL\V irXftovos, ra 8' tXarrovos, TO. 8e 
 Trdfj-irav fj-iKpcis, at(r6r)o-iv yap H^avo-iv' f) 8' 
 a5f<r07jo"is, yvtaffis TIS. TOUTTJS 8e rb rifj.iou 
 Kal &Tifj.oi> TroAu Sia<pepei O~KOTTOVO~I irpbs 
 t\>pt)Vi}aiv, Kal Trpbs rb rwv w\ivxwv yevos. 
 Tlpbs /JLCJ/ yap q>p6vf)o~iv tao~irp ovStv elvai 
 So/ceT rt> Koivwve'iv a(pr)s Kal yevfffoas povov' 
 jrpbs Se avaiffQitio'ia.v, jQeATiorw. 'Ayairri- 
 "rbv yap av S6%p Tb TOUTTJS TV^IV TT)S 
 yv(f>(Tws, aAAa /J.TJ /ce?(T0c reBvecbs Kal /XT/ 
 ov : " All animals share a degree of know- 
 ledge ; some of them, a greater ; others of 
 them, a less ; and some of them, an exceed- 
 ingly small degree ; for they have all of 
 them sensation, and sensation is a sort of 
 knowledge. But the value and the no- 
 value of sensation is widely different, when 
 we compare it with rational comprehension 
 on the one side, and with the race of beings 
 inanimate on the other. With regard to 
 rational comprehension, the mere partaking 
 of taste and touch alone appears to be as 
 nothing ; but with regard to pure insensi- 
 bility, it is something most excellent. For 
 [when compared to beings insensible] it 
 may surely appear a blessed event, to be 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 371 
 
 ception is the proper cause of spontaneous impulse ; that it is so 
 the animal impels itself, because it is so that it perceives; it 
 does not so perceive, because it is so impelled/ 
 
 The impulse hitherto spoken of is of earliest date, commencing 
 in a manner with the animal itself; and, as it merely respects 
 the body and bodily pleasure, is distinguished from other im- 
 pulses by the name of appetite. 5 
 
 As animals advance, the scene of perception enlarges, and the 
 number of spontaneous impulses increase, of course, with it. Yet 
 while pleasure corporeal continues the sole object, and there ap- 
 pears no danger, either in acquiring or preserving it, the impulse 
 is still an appetite, varying only in its name, as the pleasure, to 
 which it is referred, varies in the species. 
 
 Yet, besides these preconceptions, the sources of simple appe- 
 tite, there are also preconceptions of offering violence, and others 
 of resisting danger, and these naturally call forth another power, 
 I mean the power of anger.* Few animals, when young, feel 
 any such preconceptions ; but the more ferocious and savage are 
 sure to find them at maturity; and the irascible impulses soon 
 spontaneously attend, prompting the lion to employ his fangs, 
 the vulture his talons, the boar his tusk, and every other animal 
 of prey his proper and natural preparations. 
 
 All these spontaneous impulses, as well of anger as of appe- 
 tite, are equally included under the common name of irrational," 
 being called by this name, because they have nothing to do with 
 reason. 
 
 But when reason becomes strong enough to view its proper 
 objects ; that sight, to which no being here but man alone is 
 equal ; when the moral and the intelligible rise before his mental 
 eye, and he beholds the fair forms of good and of truth ; then, 
 too, arise impulses of a far more noble kind, those to friendship, 
 to society, to virtue, and to science/ 
 
 possessed of this knowledge, and not [re- agendarum ordinem, et, ut ita dicam, con- 
 
 sembling them] to lie as dead and a non- cordiara ; multo earn pluris aestimavit, quam 
 
 entity." Aristot. de Animal. Gener. lib. i. omnia ilia, quae primum dilexerat : atque 
 
 sub. fin. p. ] 97. edit. Sylb. ita cogitatione et ratione conlegit, ut statu- 
 
 r 'Opey6/j.e6a on So/m, fj.a\\ov f) So/ce?, eret in eo conlocatum summum illud hominis 
 
 Si6ri opfy6fj.eOa. Arist. Metaph. A. '. p. "per se laudandum et expetendum bonum. 
 
 203. edit. Sylb. Cic. de Fin. iii. 6. 
 
 s 'EiriQvfj.ia. Unicuique setati sua constitutio est : alia 
 
 1 &vfj.6s. infanti, alia puero, alia seni: omnes enim 
 
 " "A.\oyos, as well as \oyiKbs and \6yos, constitution! conciliantur, in qua sunt. In- 
 
 are terms too well known to need more than fans sine dentibus est: huic constitution! 
 
 to be mentioned. suae conciliatur. Enati sunt dentes : huic, 
 
 x This progression from the lower to &c. Sen. Epist. cxxi. The whole epistle 
 
 the superior faculties is well described by is worth perusal, in particular what follows : 
 
 Cicero. Ergo infans ei constitution! suae conciliatur, 
 
 Prima est enim conciliatio hominis ad ea, quae tune infanti est, non quae futura juveni 
 
 quae sunt sccundum naturam : simul autem est. Neque enim, si aliquid illi majus in 
 
 cepit intelligentiam, vel notionem potius quo transeat, restat ; non hoc quoque, in 
 
 (quam adpellant evvoiav illi) viditque rerum quo nascitur, secundum naturam est. 
 
 2 B 2 
 
372 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 And thus is man not only a microcosm in the structure of his 
 body, but in the system, too, of his impulses, including all of 
 them within him, from the basest to the most sublime. y He in- 
 cludes them all, as being possessed of all perception ; and per- 
 
 See also his elegant application of this 
 doctrine to the different stages of that well- 
 known vegetable, corn, from its first ap- 
 pearance above the ground, to its state of 
 maturity. Nam et ilia herba, quse in sege- 
 tem, &c. Epist. p. 603. edit. Varior. 
 
 See also how elegantly Cicero applies 
 the same doctrine to the vine, where to the 
 vegetative powers he first supposes sense 
 superadded ; and then to sense, reason ; 
 each superaddition still increasing in value, 
 though not robbing the former powers of 
 their due regard and attention: Et nunc 
 quidem, quod earn tuetur, ut de viti potissi- 
 mum loquar, est id, &c. De Fin. v. 14. 
 
 See the Dialogue concerning Happiness, 
 part ii. and the notes, p. 72, &c. 
 
 The number and subordination of the 
 animating powers are well distinguished in 
 the following extracts. 
 
 Tuv Se Swd/jLewv TTJS tyvxrjs al AexfleTcrat 
 roTs fJLfV evwdpxov(n iracrai {itaQdirep ejf- 
 rdis Se rives avrwv, evlois Se fj.ia 
 j' Svvd/J.eis Se eliro^ev dpeirriKbv, alff- 
 ^ ope/CTt/cby, KivyriKov KOTO. r6irov, 
 SiavoyriKoV virapxei Se roTs p.ev tyvrols rb 
 QpeirriKov fj.6vov, erepois Se rb avro re Kal 
 rb al<r&i]riK6v' el Se rb alffQ-^riKbv, Kal rb 
 opfKTiK6v' opeis fj.fi> yap eiuOv/j.ia, Kal 6v- 
 fjibs Kal ftov\T](ns' TO. Se <wa irdvra fjilav 
 *X* 1 rcav aio-Qycreuv, rty a(p-fjv' $ Se a?<r- 
 
 OTfJfflS UTTCtp^ft, rOVrii) TjSoff) re Kttl AU7T?7, 
 
 Kal r) tiridvuia, rov yap rjSeos opeis evrlv 
 avrr] : " With regard to the powers of the 
 soul that have been enumerated, to some 
 beings they appertain all of them ; to others, 
 only some of them ; and to others, only one 
 of them. The powers we have mentioned 
 are the nutritive, the sensitive, the power 
 of desire, of local motion, of ratiocination. 
 Now to plants there appertains only the 
 nutritive power ; to other beings both this 
 and the sensitive : but if the sensitive, then 
 the power of desire ; for appetite, and re- 
 sentment, and volition, (the three great 
 leading powers,) are each of them a species 
 of desire, and all animals have at least one 
 of the senses, I mean the sense of touch. 
 Now to the being which possesses sensation, 
 to this appertain also pleasure and pain, and 
 that which is pleasurable and painful. But 
 if these, then appetite ; for appetite is the 
 desire of that which is pleasurable." Arist. 
 de Anim. 1. ii. c. 3. 
 
 And soon after : "Avev fj.ev 70^ rov 6peir- 
 riKov rb alaBifjriKbv OVK fan' rov Se alff- 
 b BpetrriKbv ev rots <f>v- 
 
 rots. Hd\iv 5e, avtv fj.sv rov airrtKov 
 a\\cav cu(T07)crej> ouSe^ito uTrapx 
 avev rwv a\\wv uzrap^ei' iroAAa yap rS>v 
 tycav ovre otyiv ovre aKOT]V Uxovffiv, ovre 
 o(r^.7js oAcos oXaQvicriv' Kal rcav alffQt]riKu>v 
 ra jj,fv *x* 1 r ^ Kara r6irov Kivr)riKbv, ra 5" 
 OVK fX fl ' TeAeuroIbl' 5e Kal rb eAa^iO'TOi', 
 \oyia /j.bv Kal Sidvoiaf ols /uef yap inrapx^t 
 \oyiff/JLbs rSov (pOapruv, rovrois Kal ra \oiira 
 jrdvra' ols 5e e/ceiz/aiz/ e/caa'Toi', ou Tracrt Ao- 
 yifffj.bs aAAa rots /uev ou5e {pavraffia, ra 
 Se ravrrj fj.6vov ^wcrt : " Without the nu- 
 tritive power there is no sensitive ; but 
 then the nutritive is separated from the 
 sensitive in plants. Again : without touch 
 there can be none of the other sensations, 
 but there may be touch without any of the 
 rest ; for thus are there many animals whicli 
 have neither sight, nor hearing, nor even a 
 sensation of smells. Further still : of the 
 sensitive beings some possess the locomotive 
 power, and others possess it not : the last 
 order of beings, and those the fewest in 
 number, are those which possess the powers 
 of reasoning and discussion ; and among 
 the mortal and perishable beings, those who 
 possess these powers possess all the remain- 
 ing species ; but those who possess any one 
 of these powers in particular, do not all of 
 them therefore possess the reasoning power, 
 but some of them Avant even the power of 
 fancy or imagination ; others of them con- 
 duct themselves, and live by that [inferior 
 power] alone." Arist. de Anim. 1. ii. c. 3. 
 p. 28. edit. Sylb. See before, p. 280, note t. 
 
 It must be here observed, that plants are 
 said to live, (0 I/ ?) though not to be animals, 
 (eoa) : the character of animal being de- 
 rived from the power of sensation, of which 
 plants are supposed destitute ; while that 
 of life appertains to them, because they 
 grow, and produce each of them seed after 
 their kind. 
 
 These different powers, as they stand 
 united in one subject, may be better com- 
 prehended by marking their clear and dis- 
 tinct character, when they exist apart, in 
 different subjects. 
 
 y The preceding speculations have respect 
 to the threefold division of the soul, adopted 
 by the Pythagoreans and Platonics, by 
 which they made it to be rational, irascible, 
 and concupiscible ; and called its three fa- 
 culties Ao7os, 6vu.bs, and eiriQvp.ia, "reason, 
 anger, and concupiscence," or appetite. See 
 Diog. Laert. iii. 90. Plato's Republic is 
 founded on this division. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 373 
 
 eeption we have now found to be the cause of all spontaneous 
 impulse. 
 
 We must remember, however, that it is not perception simply 
 which causes such impulse, but it is perception of want within, 
 and of adeauate good without ; and that as this good is some- 
 times an object of sense, sometimes of intellect, sometimes a mis- 
 taken good, at other times a real one, (inasmuch as sensation is 
 fallible, and reason may be deceived,) so the whole amounts to 
 this: "the cause of spontaneous impulse is the perception of ab- 
 sent good, and that either sensible or intelligible, either real or 
 apparent."* 
 
 After this manner we perceive one of the most important 
 unions ; the union of those two capital motions, the physical 
 and the metaphysical. The soul perceives those goods which it 
 is conscious that the animal wants. Hence an impulse to obtain 
 them by employing the organs of the body; and this, as far as 
 the soul only is concerned, we call motion metaphysical. Hence 
 the bodily organs actually are employed, and this we call motion 
 physical. Perception leads the way ; spontaneous impulse fol- 
 lows ; and the body supplies the place of an instrument or tool. a 
 
 As every animal motion has a view to good, so, if it miss that 
 good, the motion ceases, and the animal is left discontented : 
 if it obtain it, the animal is happy, but then, too, the motion 
 ceases; for the end is obtained to which the motion tended. 
 And thus is all animal motion in its nature finite, as it has a be- 
 ginning and an end ; as it begins from the want of good, and 
 ends in its acquisition. 1 " Hence, too, as it ends where it begins, 
 it bears an analogy to motion circular, where we run a complete 
 round, by returning to the point whence we began. 
 
 It is no un entertaining speculation to attend to these internal 
 motions, as they arise from the different prevalence of their 
 different internal causes. Within the soul of man there are 
 passions, and a principle of reason : sometimes the internal mo- 
 
 z See Treatise on Happiness, and notes pares those feelings ; that desire is prepared 
 
 on the same, page 90, and 108. by some fancy or appearance ; and this 
 
 a OVTWS ,uei> ovv CTT! rb KiveiffQai Kal last arises either through intellection or 
 
 Trpdrreiv ra ooa op/uuffi, rrjs p.ev eVxarTjs sensation." Ejusd. c. viii. p. 157. edit. Sylb. 
 
 alrias rov KiveivQai 6pe'ecos oi/Vrjs, ravrrjs If it be asked, why nothing has been said 
 
 Se yivofj.evijs 3) 8Y aiffOrjo-ews, $ 8ia (pau- concerning aversion and evil, as well as 
 
 raffias Kal vo^creajs : "And thus it is that concerning volition and good; the answer 
 
 animals proceed to move themselves and is, that to fly evil is to seek good ; and to 
 
 act, a desire being the last and immediate escape evil is to obtain good ; so that in 
 
 cause of their moving, and this desire being the present inquiry they are both included, 
 
 occasioned either by sensation, or else by b Udi/ra yap ra &a Kal Kivei Kal KIVCI- 
 
 imagination and intellection." Arist. de rat eVewa rivos' oSare TOUT' ecmi/ avro"ts 
 
 Animal. Motu, c. vii. p. 155. edit. Sylb. irdff-rjs Kivr)(Tfcas Trepas, rb ov ei/ewa: "All 
 
 Ta peit yap opyaviKa ^ue'prj irapaffKevdfci animals both move, and are moved for the 
 
 e7nT?j8eia>s ra TrdOri, r) Se opeis ra TTO^TJ, sake of something ; so that this something, 
 
 TV Se op^iv i) (pavraffia' aur-rj 5e yiyvtrai that is to say, the final cause, is the bound 
 
 $1 Sia vo4)ffe(as, % 8t' euV0^<ros: "The cor- or limit of all their motion." Arist. de Ani- 
 
 poreal feelings prepare in a proper manner mal. Mot. c. 6. p. 153. edit. Sylb. 
 the organic parts of the body ; desire pre- 
 
374 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 tion arises from many passions at once, and the soul is like a sea 
 when agitated by contrary winds. 
 
 ./Estuat ingens 
 Imo in corde pudor, mixtoque insania luctu. JEn. x. 870. 
 
 Here the motion is tempestuous, and reason, during the storm, 
 appears to be overwhelmed. At other times she interposes, but 
 without success ; and in such case the motion is equally turbid 
 and irregular. Thus Medea, when she is about to murder her 
 children : 
 
 Kal fAavddvu /te^, ofa $pa,v /j.e\\ca /ca/ca' 
 
 v/jis 5e Kptirruv TWV efj-fav /Sot/Aet^uarwj/. c Euripid. Med. 1078. 
 
 " I know the mischiefs, that I soon shall act, 
 But passion overrules ray better thoughts." 
 
 There are times, too, when reason acts with greater success, and 
 when the motion becomes of course more placid and serene. 
 But whenever she is so far able to establish her authority, as to 
 have the passions obey her uniformly without murmuring or op- 
 position, then follows that orderly, that fair and equal motion, 
 by which the Stoics represented even happiness itself, and ele- 
 gantly called it "the well-flowing of life." d 
 
 Besides, the well-flowing here mentioned, which is of a kind 
 purely moral, there is another highly valuable, which is of 
 a kind purely intellectual. It is under this motion, that the 
 man of speculation passes, through the road of syllogism, from 
 the simplest truths to the most complicated theorems. 
 
 And here it may be remarked, that as pure and original truth 
 is the object of our most excellent volition, (it being all that we 
 seek, considered as beings intelligent,) so is it as strictly and 
 properly the object of our most excellent perception ; there being 
 no perceptive power, but our intellect alone, that can reach it. 
 It is here, then, we behold the meaning of an ancient and im- 
 portant doctrine, that " the primary objects of perception and of 
 volition are the same." 6 It is hence, also, we may learn, that 
 not only all good is truth, (as there can be none such without a 
 reason, from which it is so denominated,) but also that all truth 
 is good, as it is the sole pursuit of the contemplative, the natural 
 object of their wants, equally as honours are to the ambitious, 
 or as banquets to the luxurious. 1 
 
 c Arrian. Epict. 1. i. c. 28. p. 144. edit. When a theorem of Archimedes moves 
 
 Upton. within us a desire to understand it ; or 
 
 d Etfpoia ftiov. See Diog. Laert. vii. 88. when, being understood, it raises within 
 
 Hinc intellecta est ilia beata vita, secundo us our necessary assent : we do not con- 
 
 defluens cursu. Senec. Epist. 120. See ceive the theorem itself to be moved, either 
 
 also p. 325. by the desire or by the assent, as the 
 
 e Tb dpeKrbv Kal rb vof\Tbv KIVSI, ov horses are moved that give motion to the 
 
 Ku>ov(j.vof rovrcav 5e TO. irpuTa., ra aijra: waggon, or the waggon moved that gives 
 
 " The desirable and the intelligible move, motion to its load. 
 
 without being moved ; and of these two f Though we seldom hear of goods in 
 
 genera those objects, that are highest and our common intercourse with mankind, but 
 
 first, are the same." Arist. Metaph. A. '. what have reference to the body, or at best 
 
 p. 202. edit. Sylb. to the lower affections ; yet has the highest 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 375 
 
 Having said thus much concerning perception, and that 
 highest species of animal impulse, I mean volition, it must not 
 be forgot, that there are other internal motions of a very dif- 
 ferent character, where both perception and spontaneous im- 
 pulse are in a manner unconcerned. 
 
 Within every animal there is an innate and active power, 
 which ceases not its work, when sense and appetite are asleep ; 
 which, without any conscious cooperation of the animal itself, 
 carries it from an embryo or seed to the maturity of its proper 
 form. Now so far this power may be called a principle of mo- 
 tion. At maturity it stops, (for were the progress infinite, 
 there could be no maturity at all,) and so far it may be called 
 a principle of cessation or rest. 8 From this point of rest it de- 
 serts the being gradually, and in consequence of such desertion 
 the being gradually decays. 
 
 Subeunt morbi, tristisque senectus ; 
 Et labor, et duras rapit inclcmentia mortis. Georg. iii. 67. 
 
 As the local motion of animals is derived from sense, and 
 spontaneous impulse ; so from the principle, just described, are 
 derived their other motions : from its activity, their generation, 
 their augmentation, and changes to better ; from its cessation, 
 their change to worse, their diminution, and, lastly, death. 11 It 
 is this is that internal principle which descends from animals 
 even to vegetables ; and which, as these last possess no other, is 
 commonly called vegetative life, though sometimes it is denoted 
 by the more obvious name of nature. 1 
 
 faculty of the soul a peculiar good, as much possesses within itself a principle of mo- 
 
 as the other faculties have from the intel- tion and of rest." De An. ii. 1. p. 23. 
 
 lectual possession of which good it seeks edit. Sylb. 
 felicity and peace. It is by this principle that the niagni- 
 
 " I loved her," (says the wise man, tude of the thistle, the oak, the bee, the 
 
 speaking of wisdom ; and what is wisdom, elephant, and every other natural produc- 
 
 but the most exalted truth ?) " I loved her tion, whether animal or vegetable, is to a 
 
 above health and beauty, and chose to have certain degree circumscribed and limited ; 
 
 her instead of light : for the light that and when that limit either fails or exceeds 
 
 cometh from her never goeth out." Wisd. in a conspicuous manner, the being becomes 
 
 vii. 10. a monster. See page 65, note c. 
 
 s Speaking of the difference between the b See before, p. 361, 2. 
 operation of the elements and mere matter, ' See the definition of nature, among the 
 
 and that of nature, and an internal prin- notes, p. 6. 
 
 ciple, the Stagirite observes Tcav 8e (pixrei The vegetative life here mentioned is 
 
 ffvveaT&Ttav -jrepas eVrl /cat \6yos peyedovs sometimes called ^vxv $tm/o x ?, sometimes 
 
 Kal av^-fjfffcas' ravra 8e ^VXTJS, aAA' ov OpfirriK^^ and at other times dpfirTitcbv^ 
 
 TTvpbs, Kal \6yov /x.aAAoi' 3) v\r)s : " As to " the nutritive principle ;" that principle 
 
 things which derive their constitution from which, passing through plants as well as 
 
 nature, there is a bound and proportion in animals, never ceases to nourish and sup- 
 
 their magnitude and growth ; and these port them, through the period of their exist- 
 
 proceed from their soul, not from the ele- ence : 'Ael yap eVe^et 77 (pvriK^ ^VXTI 
 
 ment of fire ; and are caused rather by Kal /xaAAof eV TOIS virvois, evOa al \onral 
 
 reason, than by matter." De An. ii. 4. p. TTJS \|/ux^s Swd.fi.eis i)ptfi.ov<n' r^re yovv 
 
 30. edit. Sylb. And, not long before, de- /^oAttrra at irfyfis : "The vegetative soul 
 
 scribing -a physical or natural substance, he energizes at all times, and more during 
 
 makes it to be something e%o/Tos apxfyv sleep, when the other powers are at rest ; 
 
 tfivr}(rfws Kal (Trdfffws eV OVT< "which and therefore it is then mostly are per- 
 
376 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 We must remember, however, that while we speak of motion 
 here, we mean the invisible cause, not the visible effects; for 
 these are purely physical, and belong to another speculation. 
 After the same manner are we to speak of those other motive 
 powers, the powers of magnetism and electricity ; the visible 
 motions, which they produce, being of a species merely physical, 
 but the cause of these motions lying itself totally concealed. 
 Whether, then, we suppose it a species of inferior life, and say 
 with Thales, that the magnet and the amber are animated ; k or 
 whether we content ourselves with calling it an internal active 
 quality, (occult we must not call it, for that is now forbidden,) 
 we may safely pronounce it a quality, which, though we are 
 sure of its existence, is not otherwise comprehensible, than by 
 reference to its effects ; as we know Homer, who is out of sight, 
 by his Iliad, which lies before us. 
 
 There is yet another motive principle, far greater in local 
 extent than all yet mentioned ; I mean that, by which not only 
 every atom of this our earth has its proper tendency, but by 
 which even planets, satellites, and comets describe their orbits. 
 
 Astronomers will inform us as to the force of motion here, 
 and how much on its due order depends this immense uni- 
 verse. 
 
 The best of ancient philosophers, when they saw so many in- 
 ferior motions not to be performed without counsel or design, 
 could not think of imputing such superior ones to the efficacy of 
 blind chance ; and, therefore, whatever they might conceive of 
 the immediate cause, (call it gravitation, or attraction, or by any 
 other name,) they justly supposed the primary cause to be a 
 principle of intellection : 
 
 Totam infusa per artus 
 Mem agitat molem. JEn. vi. 727. 
 
 They indeed so far considered mind to be the source of all 
 motion, that it was through its motive powers that they dis- 
 tinguished it from body ; which last was no more than a passive 
 subject, possessing nothing motive within itself, but deriving all 
 its motions from something else. 
 
 formed the digestions." Philop. in Arist. iron, (ifaxV ex l > '^ rt r ^ v (rtS-npov /aye?,) 
 
 de An. 1. ii. Tb epyov rb avrov iroie? rb may be found in Arist. de An. 1. i. c. 2. 
 
 OpeirTiKbv p.6piov tv TO> KaOevSeiv p.a\\ov p. 7. 
 
 ^ eV ry fypyyopevat,' rpf(perat yap Kcd Philoponus, in his comment on this pas- 
 
 av^dverai r6re /j.a\\ov us ovSev irpocr$e6- sage, gives us from Thales the following 
 
 /uez/a irpbs ravra rrjs cdffOijfffots : " The sentiment, which, though not immediately 
 
 nutritive part of the soul performs its work to our purpose, we have transcribed for its 
 
 in sleeping more than in waking ; for then, importance : %\ryi/, us 77 Trp6voia fifXP 1 
 
 more than at any other time, are animals rSiv ta"x& r(av 5i7j/cei, Kal ovSev avrfyv Xav- 
 
 nourished and enlarged in bulk, as they Odvei, ot8e rb ^d^icrrov : " He used to 
 
 have no need of sensation for these pur- say, that Providence extends to the lowest 
 
 poses." Aristot. de Somno, cap. 1. sub. fin. of all beings, and that nothing is hid from 
 
 See before, p. 279. it, no not even that which is most minute." 
 
 k This opinion of Thales concerning the See before, p. 287. 
 magnet's having a soul, because it moved 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 377 
 
 It was hence, too, that they inferred the immortality of the 
 soul. They reasoned thus : " Vital motion may forsake the 
 hody, because to the body it is not an essential ; and in such 
 case the body is said to die. But vital motion cannot forsake 
 the soul, because to the soul it is an essential, and it is not pos- 
 sible that any thing should be forsaken by itself." l But this by 
 way of digression. 
 
 As to the rise and duration of motion, the founder of the 
 Peripatetic sect thus states the question. " Was motion (says 
 he) ever generated without existing before ; and is it ever again 
 so destroyed, that there is nothing moved; or was it neither 
 generated, nor is destroyed, but ever was, and will be ; some- 
 thing appertaining to beings, which is immortal and unceasing ; 
 a kind of life, as it were, to all things that exist by the power 
 of nature?" 111 
 
 Those who meditate an answer to these queries, will remember 
 that motion is coeval with the universe, since we learn that, in 
 its first and earliest era, "the Spirit of God moved upon the 
 face of the waters." 11 They will remember, too, that motion is 
 as old as time, and their co-existence so necessary, it is not pos- 
 sible to suppose the one, without supposing the other. 
 
 And thus, having before considered physical motion, have we 
 now considered what may be called metaphysical, or (if I may 
 use the expression) causative motion ; including under this name 
 every animating power, whether rational or irrational, which, 
 though different from body acts upon body, causing it to live, 
 to grow, and move itself and other bodies. These animating 
 powers are only known from their effects, as the painter's art is 
 known from his pictures. And hence, as it is the effect which 
 leads us to recognise the cause, hence these animating powers, 
 though prior in existence to physical effects, are necessarily sub- 
 sequent in human contemplation, and are thence, and thence 
 only, called metaphysical. 
 
 1 Quod autem motum adfert alicui, quod- Quinctilian has brought the argument 
 
 que ipsum agitatur alicunde, quando finem into the form of a syllogism : Quicquid ex 
 
 habet motus, vivendi finem habeat necesse seipso movetur, immortale est : anima au- 
 
 est. Solum igitur, quod seipsum movet, tern ex seipsa movetur : immortalis igitur 
 
 quia nunquam deseritur a se, nunquam ne est anima. Inst. Orat. v. 14. 
 
 moveri quidem desinit. Quinetiam, &c. m H.6repov Se yeyovf TTOTC /cfo?7<m, owe 
 
 Cic. Tuscul. Disp. i. 23. ovaa irpdrepov, Kal (jtOetperat iraXiv ovrws, 
 
 The whole passage, which is rather too C&CTTC KivcwOcu /.ojSeV fj ofa-f ^tyevfro, 
 
 long to transcribe, is the translation of an otfre <0efy>eTai, aAA' oel fa Kal e<rrat, /cal 
 
 argument taken from Plato's Phaedrus : Tb rovr aQdvarov Kal airavarov inrdpx fi ro ? s 
 
 Se #AAo KIVOVV, Kal for' &\\ov KIVOV/J.VOV, ovffiv, olov o>7j ris ov<ra TOLS (pvfffi ffvv- 
 
 K. r. A. Plat. edit. Ficini. p. 1221. B. etrr&ffi iracriv ; Arist. Phys. 1. viii. c. 1. 
 
 See Macrobius in Somn. Scipionis, c. 13. p. 144. edit. Sylb. 
 
 Cicero has used the same argument, in n Genesis, chap. i. 
 
 his tract de Senectutc : Cumque semper See p. 368. As to the character and 
 
 agitetur animus, nee principium motus ha- subordination of the several animating 
 
 beat, quia se ipse moveat, ne finem quidem powers, see before, p. 372, and so on to 
 
 habiturum esse motus, quia nunquam se p. 377, as well in the text as in the notes, 
 
 ipse sit relicturus. Cap. 21. See also chap. vi. 
 
378 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 And now, having done with motion, we must take some notice 
 of rest. 
 
 The most obvious species of rest is that opposed to the most 
 obvious species of motion ; such, for example, as the cessation of 
 gales, after they have been fresh and blowing : 
 
 Ingrato celeres obruit otio 
 
 Ventos. Herat. Od. 1. i. 1G. 
 
 The cessation of billows, after they had been loud and tem- 
 pestuous : 
 
 Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace.P Par. Lost, vii. 216. 
 
 But it is expedient to be more particular. The two instances 
 of rest, that we have alleged, are of motion purely local. So is 
 it, when the flight of an arrow is spent ; when a bowl, that has 
 been running, stops. But rest is also connected with the other 
 species of motion. The cessation of growth is maturity ; of the 
 vital energies, is death. 
 
 So, too, with respect to the higher faculties of the soul, sense 
 and reason. The rest of the sensitive powers, after the labours 
 of the day, is sleep : 
 
 Dulcis et alta quies, placidseque simillima morti.i JEn. vi. 522. 
 
 The rest of the passions, after having been agitated, is composure 
 and equanimity; the rest of the deliberative and reasoning powers, 
 after sedulous investigation, is the discovery of the thing sought, 
 or rather the acquiescence in truth discovered, either real or ap- 
 parent, either practical or speculative. 
 
 And hence, in the last mode of rest, or acquiescence, the rise 
 of our English phrase, / am fixed ; and of the Latin phrase, 
 Stat : 
 
 Stat conferre manum. r JEn. xii. 678. 
 
 Hence science in Greek is called cV^m}/*?;, every theorem being, 
 as it were, a resting place, at which the man of science stops. 5 
 
 P Both these species of rest are denoted See Platon. Syrap. p. 1190. edit. Fie. 
 
 in English by the common name of calm. See also the learned arid ingenious transla- 
 
 The Greeks, with their usual precision, tion of Mr. Sydenham, p. 118. 
 
 have given a different name to each: the i See before, Hermes, p. 132, and of this 
 
 first, that is, the " wind-calm," they call treatise, p. 348. 
 
 j/Tjj/e/iio, and define it ^uejUio eV 7rA^0et r The incomparable Sanctius, in his Mi- 
 
 aepos, " tranquillity in a quantity of air ;" nerva, gives the following excellent ex- 
 
 the second, that is, the "sea-calm," they planation of this passage: Quamdiu enim 
 
 call 70X771/77, and define it 6/j.a\6rris 0aActr- deliberatur, consilium vacillat, et sententia 
 
 TTJS, " evenness in the sea's surface." These fluctuat ; ubi certum ac statutum est, quod 
 
 definitions are of Archytas, and may be quis facere vult, consistit consilium, et stat 
 
 found in Aristotle's Metaph. p. 136. edit, sententia. Sanct. Minerv. 1. iv. c. 4. p. 637. 
 
 Sylb. edit. Amst. 1733. 
 
 Plato has brought the two terms to- In Perizonius's note upon this part of 
 
 gether, in those harmonious lines, delivered Sanctius, it appears that sedet is used in 
 
 by Agatho in the Banquet. the same signification, and for the same 
 
 fv eV avQpwTTois, TreAcfyet 5e reasons. See the note following. 
 
 v, s "En 5e Kal 77 voyais eot/cei/ r/peyUTjo'et 
 
 a.Vp.<av, Koirrjv virvov T' tvl rtj/1, Kal eirio'Toia'fi. fj.ii\\ov 3) Kivfafffi : 
 " Intellection appears to resemble a certain 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 379 
 
 Lastly, there is a rest of all the most interesting to mankind, 
 I mean peace, that happy rest, which follows the trepidations 
 and ravages of war. 
 
 And now, having done with rest, let us bring the whole to a 
 conclusion. 
 
 We have said already, that the cause of all animal motion is 
 good, either real or apparent. It is a further requisite, that it 
 should be good, which is wanting ; good at a distance : for were 
 it present, the motion would then be superfluous. Thus we see 
 the meaning of the philosophical critic, Scaliger : motionis enim 
 appetentia causa est ; apprentice, privatio :* "the cause of mo- 
 tion is appetition ; of appetition, is privation." It is to this 
 privation, or want, that the wisdom of all ages has imputed in- 
 dustry, perseverance, and the invention of arts and sciences. 
 
 This, in Virgil, is the 
 
 Duris urgens in rebus egestas." Georg. i. 146. 
 
 To this alludes Epicharmus, the poet and philosopher : 
 
 TlwXovffiy rjfjuv irdvra yap T' ayaff ol 6eoi. Xenoph. Mem. 1. ii. c. 1. 
 
 " The gods 
 Sell us all goods at labour's painful price." 
 
 To this alludes the scripture, at man's earliest period, ( l In the 
 sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread." 
 
 But though want be thus essential to set man, and not only 
 man, but all animal nature, in motion, yet is want itself an im- 
 perfection ; and to be in want is to be imperfect. And hence it 
 follows, that true greatness, or superiority of nature, consists not 
 in having many wants, even though we can find means to get 
 them gratified ; but in having as few as possible, and those 
 within the compass of our own abilities. 
 
 It is to this doctrine that Virgil nobly alludes, when he makes 
 Evander with an heroic dignity receive ^Eneas, not at the gates 
 of a proud palace, but at the door of an humble cottage : 
 
 Ut ventum ad sedes, hsec, inquit, limina victor 
 
 Alcides subiit ; haec ilium regia cepit : 
 
 Aude, hospes, contemnere opes, et te quoque digmim 
 
 Finge deo ; rebusque veni non asper egenis. JEn. viii. 362. 
 
 Conformable to the same way of thinking is what Socrates says 
 to Antipho in Xenophon : " You seem, (says he,) O Antipho, 
 to be one of those who imagine happiness to be luxury and ex- 
 pense. But I, for my part, esteem the wanting of nothing to be 
 divine ; and the wanting of as little as possible, to come nearest 
 to the divinity ; and, as the divinity is most excellent, so the 
 
 resting and standing still, rather than a * Scalig. de Causis Ling. Lat. c. 114. 
 
 motion." De An. 1. i. c. 3. See Hermes, u See p. 6, and p. 1 6, note. 
 
 p. 223, where this etymology is treated of x Gen. iii. 19. 
 more at large. 
 
380 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 being- nearest to the divinity is the being nearest to the most ex- 
 cellent." y 
 
 Aristotle seems to have followed his old master (for such was 
 Socrates) with respect to this sentiment : " To that being (says 
 he) which is in the most excellent state, happiness appears to 
 appertain without action at all ; to the being nearest to the most 
 perfect, through a small and single action ; to those the most 
 remote, through actions many and various." 2 He soon after 
 subjoins the reason, why the most excellent being has no need of 
 action : " It has (says he) within itself the final cause ;" that is 
 to say, perfect happiness ; but action always exists in two, when 
 there is both a final cause and a power to obtain it, each of them 
 separate and detached from one another. 3 
 
 And hence, perhaps, we may be able to discern, why immo- 
 bility should be a peculiar attribute to the Supreme and Divine 
 Nature, in contradistinction to all other beings endued with 
 powers of perception. To him there are no wants, nothing ab- 
 sent which is good, being himself the very essence of pure per- 
 fection and goodness. b 
 
 And so much for that motion which, though subsequent in 
 contemplation to the physical, and thence called metaphysical, 
 is yet truly prior to it in the real order of beings, because it ap- 
 pertains to the first philosophy. So much also for the theory of 
 motion. 
 
 y "EoiKas, & 'APTK/WJ', rty euScu/iowoj/ Such being, therefore, from its very nature, 
 
 olofjievcp rpvfyfy Kal 7roAtTeA.eiaj/ elvai' eyti) is immoveable. 
 
 Se von'ifa rb /uei/ /iTjSej/bs Se?o"0aj, 9e7ov el- But when a being and its good are sepa- 
 
 vot, rb 8e o>s e'Aox^Tcoi', ^yyvrdrta rov rate, here, as they necessarily are two, the 
 
 Qfiov' Kal TO /uLfv etW, Kpdno~rov, rb Se distant good, by being perceived, becomes a 
 
 fyyvrdrd) rov 0e?ou, eyyvrdrw rov Kpa- final cause of motion, and thus awakens 
 
 riffrov. Xenoph. Memorabil. 1. i. c. 6. sect, within the being a certain desire, of which 
 
 10. desire motion is the natural consequence. 
 
 z "Eot/ce yap r<j3 IJLCV apiffra cxovri virdp- Such being, therefore, by its nature is move- 
 
 X fiv T e ^ &vfv 7r0aeo>s* rw 8e eyyvrara, able. 
 
 Sta 0X17775 KOI fMLas' rots Se iroppcardru, Ammonius, in the following quotation, 
 
 8ia ir\i6vwv. Arist. de Coelo. 1. ii. c. 12. appears to have had this doctrine and these 
 
 p. 54. edit. Sylb. passages of Aristotle in his view. 
 
 a T&> 8' us &pia"ra X OVTl ouSev SeT Trpd- "Ocra yovv TT\Gi6v(ov nvfav Seerot, TrAei- 
 
 ^ews, %o~ri yap ev avrw rb ou eVe/ca* T) Se ovas Kivfjffeis Kivtirai' ra Se oAt^oSea, oAi- 
 
 Trpa^is fffriv ael ev Sixrtt', '6rav Kal ov eVe/co yoK.ivr]ra.' a/j.f\ei rb etby, di/evSees Sy, /cat 
 
 ^, Kal rb rovrov eVe/ca. Ibid. irdvrt} effnv b.Kivi]rov : "All such beings 
 
 The following remark may perhaps ex- as are in want of many things, are moved 
 
 plain this sentiment, if it should appear ob- in many motions ; those who have few 
 
 scure. wants, have few motions ; but the Divinity 
 
 When a being finds its good fully and being without wants, is therefore perfectly 
 
 wholly within itself, then, itself and its immoveable." Am. in Freed. 144. B. 145. 
 good being one, it finds no cause of motion b See before, p. 296. 
 to seek that which it possesses already. c See before, p. 368. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 381 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION UTILITIES DEDUCIBLE FROM THE THEORY OF THESE 
 
 ARRANGEMENTS RECAPITULATION. 
 
 AND thus having finished the doctrine of these Philosophical Ar- 
 rangements, or, in other words, of categories, predicaments, com- 
 prehensive or universal genera, (for we have called them indif- 
 ferently by every one of these names,) together with such specula- 
 tions both previous and subsequent,' 1 as were either requisite to 
 explain the subject, or else naturally arose out of it ; we imagine 
 the utilities of this knowledge will be obvious to every one who 
 has studied it with impartiality, and has aimed to know what it 
 really is. 
 
 In the first place, as we have usually begun the consideration 
 of each arrangement from speculations respecting body, and have 
 thence made a transition to others respecting mind ; we may 
 hence mark the connection between these two great principles 
 which stand related to each other, as the subject and its efficient 
 cause, and in virtue of that relation may be said to run through 
 all things. 6 
 
 Again : our mind, by this orderly and comprehensive theory, 
 becoming furnished, like a good library, with proper cells or 
 apartments, we know where to place our ideas both of being 
 and its attributes, and where to look for them again, when we 
 have occasion to call them forth. Without some arrangement of 
 this sort, the mind is so far from increasing in knowledge by the 
 acquisition of new ideas, that, while it increases the number of 
 these, it does but increase its own perplexity. It is no longer a 
 library well regulated, but a library crowded and confused : 
 
 Ubi multa supersunt, 
 Et dominion fallunt. Horat. Epist. 1. i. 6. 
 
 Again : as these Arrangements have a necessary connection 
 with the whole of existence, with all being or substance on one 
 hand, with every possible accident or attribute on the other ; it 
 follows, of course, that so general a speculation must have na- 
 turally introduced many others ; speculations not merely logical, 
 but extending to physics, to ethics, and even to the first phi- 
 losophy. f The reader, from these incidental theorems, (if the 
 author has succeeded in his endeavours to represent them,) will 
 have a taste how the ancients wrote, when they reasoned upon 
 these subjects, and may gratify his curiosity (if he please) by 
 comparing them with the moderns. 
 
 It was not from an ostentatious wish to fill his page with 
 
 d See before, p. 258, 9, 360 ; and below, e See before, p. 258. 
 p. 384. f See before, p. 253. 
 
382 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 quotations, that the author has made such frequent and copious 
 extracts from other authors. He flatters himself, that by this 
 he has not only given authority to the sentiments, but relieved 
 also a subject, in itself rather severe. From the writers alleged, 
 both ancient and modern, the reader will perceive how important 
 and respectable these authorities are. He will perceive, too, 
 that, in the wide regions of being, some sages having cultivated 
 one part, and some another, the labours of ancients and moderns 
 have been often different, when not hostile ; often various, when 
 not contradictory ; and that among the valuable discoveries of 
 later periods, there are many so far from clashing with the ancient 
 doctrines here advanced, that they coincide as amicably as a 
 Chillingworth and an Addison in the same library, a Raphael 
 and a Claude in the same gallery. 
 
 It is not without precedents that he has adopted this manner 
 of citation. It was adopted by Aristotle long ago, in his Rhetoric 
 and his Poetics. Aristotle was followed by those able critics, 
 Demetrius, Quinctilian, and Longinus. Chrysippus, the phi- 
 losopher, so much approved the method, that in a single tract 
 he inserted nearly the whole of that celebrated tragedy, the 
 Medea of Euripides ; so that a person who was perusing the 
 tract, being asked what he was reading, replied pleasantly, " It 
 was the Medea of Chrysippus. 8 Cicero has enriched his philo- 
 sophic treatises with many choice morsels, both from Greek and 
 Roman writers ; and this he does, not only approving the prac- 
 tice himself, but justifying it by the practice of the philosophers 
 then at Athens, among whom he names Dionysius the Stoic, and 
 Philo the Academic. h Seneca and Plutarch both pursued the 
 same plan, the latter more particularly in his moral compositions. 
 To these may be added, though of a baser age, my own learned 
 countryman, John of Salisbury, 1 who, having perused and studied 
 most of the Latin classics, appears to have decorated every part 
 of his works with splendid fragments, extracted out of them. 
 Two later writers of genius have done the same in the narrative 
 of their travels ; Sandys at the beginning of the last century, and 
 Addison at the beginning of the present. 
 
 And so much by way of apology for the author himself. But 
 he has a further wish in this exhibition of capital writers ; a wish 
 to persuade his readers, of what he has been long persuaded him- 
 self, that every thing really elegant, or sublime in composition, is 
 ultimately referable to the principles of a sound logic ; that those 
 
 s Diog. Laert. 1. vii. s. 1 80. time, and being not only a genius, but in- 
 
 h Tusc. Disput. 1. ii. s. 10. timate with the most eminent men, in par- 
 
 1 This extraordinary man flourished in the ticular with pope Adrian, (who was himself 
 
 reign of Henry the Second, and was there- an Englishman,) became at length a bishop, 
 
 fore of Old Salisbury, not of New Salis- and died in the year 1 1 82. See Fabricius, 
 
 bury, which was not founded till the reign in his Biblioth. Lat. vol. ii. p. 368 ; and in 
 
 of Henry the Third. John (of whom we his Biblioth. Med. et Tnfim. setat. See also 
 
 write) having had the best education of the Cave's Histor. Literar. vol. ii. p. 243. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 383 
 
 principles, when readers little think of them, have still a latent 
 force, and may be traced, if sought after, even in the politest of 
 writers. 1 " 
 
 By reasoning of this kind he would establish an important 
 union ; the union, he means, between taste and truth. It is 
 this is that splendid union which produced the classics of pure 
 antiquity ; which produced, in times less remote, the classics of 
 modern days ; and which those who now write ought to culti- 
 vate with attention, if they have a wish to survive in the esti- 
 mation of posterity. 
 
 Taste is, in fact, but a species of inferior truth. It is the 
 truth of elegance, of decoration, and of grace ; which, as all 
 truth is similar and congenial, coincides, as it were, spon- 
 taneously with the more severe and logical ; but which, when- 
 ever destitute of that more solid support, resembles some fair 
 but languid body ; a body, specious in feature, but deficient as 
 to nerve ; a body, where we seek in vain for that natural and 
 just perfection, which arises from the pleasing harmony of 
 strength and beauty associated. 
 
 Recommending an earnest attention to this union, we resume 
 our subject by observing, that it is in contemplating these or- 
 derly, these comprehensive arrangements, 1 we may see whence 
 the subordinate sciences and arts all arise ; history, natural and 
 civil, out of substance; mathematics, out of quantity; optics, 
 out of quality and quantity; medicine, out of the same; astro- 
 nomy, out of quantity and motion ; music and mechanics, out of 
 the same ; painting, out of quality and site ; ethics, out of rela- 
 tion ; chronology, out of when ; geography, out of ^uhere ; elec- 
 tricity, magnetism, and attraction, out of action and passion; 
 and so in other instances. 
 
 Every art and every science being thus referred to its proper 
 principle, we shall be enabled with sufficient accuracy to adjust 
 their comparative value, m by comparing the several principles 
 from which they severally flow. Thus shall we be saved from 
 
 k See the numerous quotations through Horace, Persius, Juvenal, and others, 
 
 every part of this treatise. A satire, in this sense, did not mean sar- 
 
 1 There are few theories so great, so casm, calumny, or personal abuse ; it meant 
 
 comprehensive, and so various, as the no more than a writing, where the subject 
 
 theory of these predicaments, or philoso- \vas various and diversified, such as Juvenal 
 
 phical arrangements. well describes it, when he speaks of his own 
 
 The ancients had many methods of re- works: 
 
 presenting works of such a diversified and Quicquid agunt homines, nostri eat farrago 
 
 miscellaneous character. libelli. 
 
 Fruits of various kinds, promiscuously Again, we all know that groves and 
 
 blended, used to be presented in a dish, as forests are diversified with trees ; with trees 
 
 an offering to Ceres. This dish, so filled, of various figures, magnitudes, and species ; 
 
 they called lanx satura ; and hence lanx and hence it was that Statius called his 
 
 satura, or rather satura, or satira alone, miscellany collections of poems by the name 
 
 (lanx being understood,) came to signify, of Silvce. 
 
 by metaphor, a " miscellaneous writing ;" m See before, p. 258. 
 such as were the compositions of Lucilius, 
 
384 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 absurdly overprizing a single art, or a single science, and from 
 treating all the rest with a sort of insolent contempt ; advan- 
 tages so little to be expected from any knowledge less extensive, 
 that, on the contrary, the more deeply knowing men may be in 
 a single subject alone, the more likely are they to fall into such 
 narrow and illiberal sentiments. 
 
 It is indeed no wonder in such case, that mistakes should 
 arise, since those who reason thus, be they as accurate as may 
 be in their own particular science, will be found to reason about 
 one thing which they know, and about many of which they are 
 ignorant ; and how from reasoners such as these, so inadequately 
 prepared, can we expect either an exact or an impartial esti- 
 mate? 
 
 And thus much at present for the speculation concerning pre- 
 dicaments, or Philosophical Arrangements; in the treating of 
 which, we have considered, in the beginning, such matters as 
 were necessarily previous ; in the middle, p we have considered 
 the arrangements themselves ; and, in the end, q various matters, 
 naturally arising out of them, or which have incidentally oc- 
 curred during the time of their being discussed. 
 
 And thus this part of logical speculation appears to be 
 finished. 
 
 n Many learned and ingenious observa- or to judge with accuracy and elegance, 
 tions on this subject, as well as on several The author of these Arrangements might 
 
 other parts of ancient philosophy, (the have availed himself of many citations from 
 
 Peripatetic in particular,) have been given this work, highly tending to illustrate and 
 
 to the world in a tract lately published, to confirm his opinions, but unfortunately 
 
 styled, On the Origin and Progress of for him, the greater part of his own treatise 
 
 Language, in two volumes, 8vo. was printed off, before the second volume 
 
 There may be found, too, in the second of this work appeared, 
 volume, many judicious and curious remarks See chap. i. and ii. 
 on style, composition, language, particularly P See from chap. iii. to xiv. inclusive, 
 the English ; observations of the last con- 1 See from chap. xv. to the conclusion, 
 sequence to those who wish either to write 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 2c 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MY MUCH ESTEEMED RELATION AND FRIEND, 
 
 EDWARD HOOPER, ESQ. 
 OF HURN-COURT, IN THE COUNTY OF HANTS. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Being yourself advanced in years., you will the more 
 easily forgive me, if I claim a privilege of age, and pass from 
 Philosophy to Philology. 
 
 You may compare me, if you please., to some weary traveller^ 
 who, having long wandered over craggy heights, descends at 
 length to the plains below, and hopes, at his journey^s end, to 
 find a smooth and easy road. 
 
 For my writings, (such as they are,) they have answered a 
 purpose I always wished, if they have led men to inspect authors 
 far superior to myself, many of whose works (like hidden trea^- 
 sures) have lain for years out of sight. 
 
 Be that, however, as it may, I shall at least enjoy the pleasure 
 of thus recording our mutual friendship ; a friendship which has 
 lasted for more than fifty years, and which I think so much for 
 my honour to have merited so long. 
 
 But I proceed to my subject. 
 
 As the great events of nature a led mankind to admiration ; 
 so curiosity to learn the cause whence such events should arise, 
 was that which by due degrees formed Natural Philosophy. 
 
 What happened in the natural world, happened also in the 
 literary. Exquisite productions, both in prose and verse, induced 
 men here likewise to seek the cause ; and such inquiries, often 
 repeated, gave birth to Philology. 
 
 Philology should hence appear to be of a most comprehensive 
 character, and to include, not only all accounts both of criticism 
 and critics, but of every thing connected with letters, be it spe- 
 culative or historical. 
 
 The treatise which follows is of this philological kind, and will 
 consist of three parts, properly distinct from each other. 
 
 The first will be an investigation of the rise and different 
 species of criticism and critics. 
 
 a Some of these great events are enu- the quick return of night in winter, and 
 
 merated by Virgil the course of the hea- the slow return of it in summer. Virg, 
 
 vens eclipses of the sun and moon earth- Georg. ii. 475, &c. 
 quakes the flux and reflux of the sea~ 
 
 2c 2 
 
388 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 The second will be an illustration of critical doctrines and 
 principles, as they appear in distinguished authors, as well 
 ancient as modern. 
 
 The third and last part will be rather historical than critical, 
 being an essay on the taste and literature of the middle age. 
 
 These subjects of speculation being despatched, we shall here 
 conclude these Philological Inquiries. 
 
 First therefore for the first, the rise and different species of 
 criticism and critics. 
 
 PART L 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONCERNING THE RISE OF CRITICISM IN ITS FIRST SPECIES, THE PHILO- 
 SOPHICAL. EMINENT PERSONS, GREEKS AND ROMANS, BY WHOM THIS 
 SPECIES WAS CULTIVATED. 
 
 THOSE who can imagine that the rules of writing were first 
 established, and that men then wrote in conformity to them, as 
 they make conserves and comfits by referring to receipt-books, 
 know nothing of criticism, either as to its origin or progress. 
 The truth is, they were authors who made the first good critics, 
 and not critics who made the first good authors, however writers 
 of later date may have profited by critical precepts. 
 
 If this appear strange, we may refer to other subjects. Can 
 we doubt that men had music, such, indeed, as it was, before 
 the principles of harmony were established into a science ? that 
 diseases were healed, and buildings erected, before medicine and 
 architecture were systematized into arts ? that men reasoned 
 and harangued upon matters of speculation and practice, long 
 before there were professed teachers either of logic or of rhetoric ? 
 To return therefore to our subject, the rise and progress of 
 criticism. 
 
 Ancient Greece in its happy days was the seat of liberty, of 
 sciences, and of arts. In this fair region, fertile of wit, the epic 
 writers came first ; then the lyric ; then the tragic ; and lastly 
 the historians, the comic writers, and the orators ; each in their 
 turns delighting whole multitudes, and commanding the attention 
 and admiration of all. Now when wise and thinking men, the 
 subtle investigators of principles and causes, observed the won- 
 derful effect of these works upon the human mind, they were 
 prompted to inquire whence this should proceed ; for that it 
 should happen merely from chance, they could not well believe. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 389 
 
 Here therefore we have the rise and origin of criticism, which 
 in its beginning was " a deep and philosophical search into the 
 primary laws and elements of good writing, as far as they could 
 he collected from the most approved performances." 
 
 In this contemplation of authors, the first critics not only 
 attended to the powers and different species of words ; the force 
 of numerous composition, whether in prose or verse ; the aptitude 
 of its various kinds to different suhjects ; but they further con- 
 sidered that which is the basis of all, that is to say, in other 
 words, the meaning or the sense. This led them at once into 
 the most curious of subjects ; the nature of man in general ; the 
 different characters of men, as they differ in rank or age ; their 
 reason and their passions ; how the one was to be persuaded, the 
 others to be raised or calmed ; the places or repositories to which 
 we may recur when we want proper matter for any of these 
 purposes. Besides all this, they studied sentiments and manners ; 
 what constitutes a work, one ; what a whole and parts ; what 
 the essence of probable, and even of natural fiction, as contri- 
 buting to constitute a just dramatic fable. 
 
 Much of this kind may be found in different parts of Plato. 
 But Aristotle, his disciple, who may be called the systematizer 
 of his master's doctrines, has in his two treatises of Poetry and 
 Rhetoric, b with such wonderful penetration, developed every 
 part of the subject, that he may be justly called the father of 
 criticism, both from the age when he lived, and from his truly 
 transcendent genius. The criticism which this capital writer 
 taught, has so intimate a correspondence and alliance with 
 philosophy, that we can call it by no other name than that of 
 philosophical criticism. 
 
 To Aristotle succeeded his disciple Theophrastus, who followed 
 his master's example in the study of criticism, as may be seen in 
 the catalogue of his writings, preserved by Diogenes Laertius. c 
 But all the critical works of Theophrastus, as well as of many 
 others, are now lost. The principal authors of the kind now 
 remaining in Greek, are Demetrius of Phalera, Dionysius of 
 Halicarnassus, Dionysius Longinus, together with Hermogenes, 
 Aphthonius, and a few others. 
 
 Of these the most masterly seems to be Demetrius, who was 
 the earliest, and who appears to follow the precepts, and even 
 the text of Aristotle, with far greater attention than any of the 
 rest. His examples, it must be confessed, are sometimes ob- 
 scure ; but this we rather impute to the destructive hand of 
 time, which has prevented us from seeing many of the original 
 authors. 
 
 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the next in order, may be said to 
 
 b To such as read not this author in the that of his Art of Poetry by Dacier ; both of 
 original, we recommend the French trans- them elaborate and laudable performances, 
 lation of his Rhetoric by Cassandre, and c Vid. Diog. Laert. lib. v. s. 46, 47, &c. 
 
390 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 have written with judgment upon the force of numerous compo- 
 sition, not to mention other tracts on the subject of oratory, and 
 those also critical as well as historical. Longinus, who was in 
 time far later than these, seems principally to have had in view 
 the passions and the imagination ; in the treating of which he has 
 acquired a just applause, and expressed himself with a dignity 
 suitable to the subject. The rest of the Greek critics, though 
 they have said many useful things, have yet so minutely multi- 
 plied the rules of art, and so much confined themselves to the 
 oratory of the tribunal, that they appear of no great service as 
 to good writing in general. 
 
 Among the Romans, the first critic of note was Cicero, who, 
 though far below Aristotle in depth of philosophy, may be said, 
 like him, to have exceeded all his countrymen. As his celebrated 
 treatise concerning the Orator d is written in dialogue, where the 
 speakers introduced are the greatest men of his nation, we have 
 incidentally an elegant sample of those manners, and that polite- 
 ness, which were peculiar to the leading characters during the 
 Roman commonwealth. There we may see the behaviour of 
 free and accomplished men, before a baser address had set that 
 standard, which has been too often taken for good-breeding ever 
 since. 
 
 Next to Cicero came Horace, who often in other parts of his 
 writings acts the critic and scholar, but whose Art of Poetry is a 
 standard of its kind, and too well known to need any encomium. 
 After Horace arose Quinctilian, Cicero's admirer and follower ; 
 who appears by his works not only learned and ingenious, but 
 (what is still more) an honest and a worthy man. He likewise 
 dwells too much upon the oratory of the tribunal, a fact no way 
 surprising, when we consider the age in which he lived ; an age, 
 when tyrannic government being the fashion of the times, that 
 nobler species of eloquence, I mean the popular and deliberative, 
 was, with all things truly liberal, degenerated and sunk. The 
 latter Latin rhetoricians there is no need to mention, as they 
 little help to illustrate the subject in hand. I would only repeat 
 that the species of criticism here mentioned, as far at least as 
 handled by the more able masters, is that which we have de- 
 nominated criticism philosophical, We are now to proceed to 
 another species. 
 
 d This treatise, being the work of a ca- both for language and sentiment, is perhaps 
 
 pital orator on the subject of his own art, as pathetic, and in that view as sublime, as 
 
 may fairly be pronounced a capital per- any thing remaining among the writings of 
 
 formance. The proem to the third book, the ancients. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 391 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONCERNING THE PROGRESS OF CRITICISM IN ITS SECOND SPECIES, THE 
 HISTORICAL. GREEK AND ROMAN CRITICS, BY WHOM THIS SPECIES 
 OF CRITICISM WAS CULTIVATED. 
 
 As to the criticism already treated, we find it not confined to any 
 one particular author, but containing general rules of art, either 
 for judging or writing, confirmed by the example not of one 
 author, but of many. But we know from experience, that, in 
 process of time, languages, customs, manners, laws, governments, 
 and religions insensibly change. The Macedonian tyranny, after 
 the fatal battle of Chseronea, wrought much of this kind in 
 Greece ; and the Roman tyranny, after the fatal battles of 
 Pharsalia and Philippi, carried it throughout the known world. 6 
 Hence, therefore, of things obsolete, the names became obsolete 
 also ; and authors, who in their own age were intelligible and 
 easy, in after-days grew difficult and obscure. Here, then, we 
 behold the rise of a second race of critics, the tribe of scholiasts, 
 commentators, and explainers. 
 
 These naturally attached themselves to particular authors. 
 Aristarchus, Didymus, Eustathius, and many others, bestowed 
 their labours upon Homer ; Proclus and Tzetzes upon Hesiod ; 
 the same Proclus and Olympiodorus upon Plato ; Simplicius, 
 Ammonius, and Philoponus upon Aristotle ; Ulpian upon De- 
 mosthenes ; Macrobius and Asconius upon Cicero ; Calliergus 
 upon Theocritus ; Donatus upon Terence ; Servius upon Virgil ; 
 Aero and Porphyrio upon Horace ; and so with respect to others, 
 as well philosophers as poets and orators. To these scholiasts 
 may be added the several composers of lexicons, such as Hesy- 
 chius, Philoxenus, Suidas, &c. ; also the writers upon grammar, 
 such as Apollonius, Priscian, Sosipater, Charisius, &c. Now all 
 these pains-taking men, considered together, may be said to have 
 completed another species of criticism, a species which, in dis- 
 tinction to the former, we call criticism historical. 
 
 And thus things continued, though in a declining way, till, 
 after many a severe and unsuccessful plunge, the Roman empire 
 sunk through the West of Europe. Latin then soon lost its 
 purity; Greek they hardly knew; classics and their scholiasts 
 were no longer studied ; and an age succeeded of legends and 
 crusades. 
 
 c See Hermes, p. 239, 240. 
 
392 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MODERNS EMINENT IN THE TWO SPECIES OF CRITICISM BEFORE MEN- 
 TIONED, THE PHILOSOPHICAL AND THE HISTORICAL THE LAST SORT 
 
 OF CRITICS MORE NUMEROUS THOSE MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER 
 
 CONFINED TO THE GREEK AND LATIN LANGUAGES. 
 
 AT length, after a long and barbarous period, when the shades 
 of monkery began to retire, and the light of humanity once again 
 to dawn, the arts also of criticism insensibly revived. It is true, 
 indeed, the authors of the philosophical sort (I mean that which 
 respects the causes and principles of good writing in general) 
 were not many in number. However, of this rank among the 
 Italians were Vida and the elder Scaliger; among the French 
 were Rapin, Bouhours, Boileau, together with Bossu, the most 
 methodic and accurate of them all. In our own country, our 
 nobility may be said to have distinguished themselves : lord 
 Roscommon, in his Essay upon translated Verse ; the duke of 
 Buckingham, in his Essay on Poetry ; and lord Shaftesbury, in 
 his treatise called Advice to an Author : to whom may be added 
 our late admired genius, Pope, in his truly elegant poem, the 
 Essay upon Criticism. 
 
 The discourses of sir Joshua Reynolds upon Painting have, 
 after a philosophical manner, investigated the principles of an 
 art, which no one in practice better verified than himself. 
 
 We have mentioned these discourses, not only from their 
 merit, but as they incidentally teach us, that to write well upon 
 a liberal art, we must write philosophically ; that all the liberal 
 arts in their principles are congenial ; and that these principles, 
 when traced to their common source, are found all to terminate 
 in the first philosophy/ 
 
 But to pursue our subject. However small among moderns 
 may be the number of these philosophical critics, the writers of 
 historical or explanatory criticism have been in a manner in- 
 numerable. To name, out of many, only a few: of Italy were 
 Beroaldus, Ficinus, Victorius, and Robertellus ; of the Higher 
 and Lower Germany were Erasmus, Sylburgius, Le Clerc, and 
 Fabricius ; of France were Lambin, Du Vail, Harduin, Cappero- 
 nerius ; of England were Stanley, (editor of ^Eschylus,) Gataker, 
 Davis, Clarke, (editor of Homer ;) together with multitudes more 
 from every region and quarter, 
 
 Thick as autumnal leaves, that strow the brooks 
 In Vallombrosa. 
 
 f See Hermes, p. 154, and Philosophical philosophy, in the index to those Arrange- 
 Arrangements, p. 356; also the words first ments. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 393 
 
 But I fear I have given a strange catalogue, where we seek 
 in vain for such illustrious personages as Sesostris, Cyrus, Alex- 
 ander, Caesar, Attila, Tottila, Tamerlane, &c. The heroes of my 
 work (if I may be pardoned for calling them so) have only aimed 
 in retirement to present us with knowledge. Knowledge only 
 was their object, not havoc, nor devastation. 
 
 After commentators and editors, we must not forget the com- 
 pilers of lexicons and dictionaries, such as Charles and Henry 
 Stevens, Favorinus, Constantino, Buda?us, Cooper, Faber, Vossius, 
 and others. To these also we may add the authors upon gram- 
 mar : in which subject the learned Greeks, when they quitted 
 the East, led the way, Moschopulus, Chrysoloras, Lascaris, Theo- 
 dore Gaza ; then in Italy, Laurentius Valla ; in England, Grocin 
 and Linacer ; in Spain, Sanctius ; g in the Low Countries, Vos- 
 sius; in France, Caesar Scaliger, by his residence, though by 
 birth an Italian, together with those able writers Mess, de Port 
 Royal. Nor ought we to omit the writers of philological epistles, 
 such as Emanuel Martin ; h nor the writers of literary catalogues, 
 (in French called catalogues raisonnees^) such as the account of 
 the manuscripts in the imperial library at Vienna, by Lambecius ; 
 or of the Arabic manuscripts in the Escurial library, by Michael 
 Casiri. 1 
 
 8 Sanctius, towards the end of the six- Latin with facility and elegance. His 
 
 teenth century, was professor of rhetoric, works, containing twelve books of epistles, 
 
 and of the Greek tongue, in the university and a few other pieces, were printed in 
 
 of Salamanca. He wrote many works, but Spain about the year 1735, at the private 
 
 his most celebrated is that which bears the expense of that respectable statesman and 
 
 name of Sanctii Minerva, sen de Causis Lin- scholar, sir Benjamin Keene, the British 
 
 guas Latince. This invaluable book (to ambassador, to whom they were inscribed 
 
 which the author of these treatises readily in a classical dedication by the learned 
 
 owns himself indebted for his first rational dean himself, then living at Alicant. As 
 
 ideas of grammar and language) was pub- copies of this edition soon became scarce, 
 
 lished by Sanctius at Salamanca in the year the book was reprinted by Wesselingius, in 
 
 1587. Its superior merit soon made it a fair quarto, (the two tomes being usually 
 
 known through Europe, and caused it to bound together,) at Amsterdam, in the year 
 
 pass through many editions in different 1738. 
 
 places. The most common edition is a large > Michael Casiri, the learned librarian of 
 
 octavo, printed at Amsterdam in the year the Escurial, has been enabled, by the muni- 
 
 1733, and illustrated with notes by the ficence of the last and present kings of 
 
 learned Perizonius. Spain, to publish an accurate and erudite 
 
 h Emanuel Martin was dean of Alicant catalogue of the Arabic manuscripts in that 
 
 in the beginning of the present century, curious library, a work well becoming its 
 
 He appears from his writings, as well as royal patrons, as it gives an ample exhi-> 
 
 from his history, to have been a person of bition of Arabic literature in all its various 
 
 pleasing and amiable manners ; to have branches of poetry, philosophy, divinity, 
 
 been an able antiquarian, and, as such, a history, &c. But of these manuscripts we 
 
 friend to the celebrated Montfaucon ; to shall say more in the Appendix, subjoined 
 
 have cultivated with eagerness the various to the end of these Inquiries, 
 studies of humanity, and to have written 
 
394 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MODERN CRITICS OF THE EXPLANATORY KIND, COMMENTING MODERN 
 WRITERS LEXICOGRAPHERS GRAMMARIANS TRANSLATORS. 
 
 THOUGH much historical explanation has been bestowed on the 
 ancient classics, yet have the authors of our own country by no 
 means been forgotten, having exercised many critics of learning 
 and ingenuity. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Warton (besides his fine edition of Theocritus) 
 has given a curious history of English poetry during the middle 
 centuries ; Mr. Tyrwhitt, much accurate and diversified erudition 
 upon Chaucer ; Mr. Upton, a learned comment on the Fairy 
 Queen of Spencer ; Mr. Addison, many polite and elegant Spec- 
 tators on the conduct and beauties of the Paradise Lost ; Dr. 
 Warton, an Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, a work 
 filled with speculations, in a taste perfectly pure. The lovers of 
 literature would not forgive me, were I to omit that ornament 
 of her sex and country, the critic and patroness of our illustrious 
 Shakspeare, Mrs. Montagu. For the honour of criticism, not 
 only the divines already mentioned, but others also, of rank still 
 superior, have bestowed their labours upon our capital poets, k 
 suspending for a while their severer studies, to relax in these 
 regions of genius and imagination. 
 
 The dictionaries of Minshew, Skinner, Spelman, Simmer, 
 Junius, and Johnson, are all well known, and justly esteemed. 
 Such is the merit of the last, that our language does not possess 
 a more copious, learned, and valuable work. For grammatical 
 knowledge, we ought to mention with distinction the learned 
 prelate, Dr. Lowth, bishop of London ; whose admirable tract 
 on the Grammar of the English Language, every lover of that 
 language ought to study and understand, if he would write, or 
 even speak it, with purity and precision. 
 
 Let my countrymen, too, reflect, that in studying a work upon 
 this subject, they are not only studying a language in which it 
 becomes them to be knowing, but a language which can boast of 
 as many good books as any among the living or modern languages 
 of Europe. The writers, born and educated in a free country, 
 have been left for years to their native freedom. Their pages 
 have been never defiled with an index expurgatorius, nor their 
 genius ever shackled with the terrors of an inquisition. 
 
 May this invaluable privilege never be impaired either by the 
 hand of power, or by licentious abuse. 
 
 Perhaps with the critics just described I ought to arrange 
 translators, if it be true that translation is a species of explana- 
 
 k Shakspeare, Milton, Cowley, Pope. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 395 
 
 tion, which differs no otherwise from explanatory comments, 
 than that these attend to parts, while translation goes to the 
 whole. 
 
 Now as translators are infinite, and many of them (to borrow 
 a phrase from sportsmen) unqualified persons, I shall enumerate 
 only a few, and those such as for their merits have been de- 
 servedly esteemed. 
 
 Of this number I may very truly reckon Meric Casaubon, the 
 translator of Marcus Antoninus ; Mrs. Carter, the translator of 
 Epictetus ; and Mr. Sydenham, the translator of many of Plato's 
 Dialogues. All these seem to have accurately understood the 
 original language from which they translated. But that is not 
 all. The authors translated being philosophers, the translators 
 appear to have studied the style of their philosophy, well 
 knowing that in ancient Greece every sect of philosophy, like 
 every science and art, had a language of its own. 1 
 
 To these may be added the respectable name of Melmoth and 
 of Hampton, of Franklyn and of Potter ; nor should I omit a 
 few others, whose labours have been similar, did I not recollect 
 the trite, though elegant admonition, 
 
 Fugit irreparabile tempus, 
 Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore. Virg. 
 
 Yet one translation I can by no means forget, I mean that of 
 Xenophon's Cyropsedia, or the Institution of Cyrus, by the Hon. 
 Maurice Ashley Cowper, son to the second earl of Shaftesbury, 
 and brother to the third, who was author of the Characteristics. 
 This translation is made in all the purity and simplicity of the 
 original, and to it the translator has prefixed a truly philo- 
 sophical dedication, addressed to my mother, who was one of his 
 sisters. 
 
 I esteem it an honour to call this author my uncle, and that 
 not only from his rank, but much more from his learning, and 
 unblemished virtue; qualities which the love of retirement (where 
 he thought they could be best cultivated) induced him to con- 
 ceal, rather than to produce in public. 
 
 The first edition of this translation, consisting of two octavo 
 volumes, was published soon after his decease, in the year 1728. 
 Between this time and the year 1770, the book has passed 
 through a second and a third edition, not with the eclat of 
 popular applause, but with the silent approbation of the studious 
 few. 
 
 1 See Hermes, p. 195. 
 
396 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RISE OP THE THIRD SPECIES OP CRITICISM, THE CORRECTIVE PRACTISED 
 
 BY THE ANCIENTS, BUT MUCH MORE BY THE MODERNS, AND WHY. 
 
 BUT we are now to inquire after another species of criticism. 
 All ancient books, having been preserved by transcription, were 
 liable through ignorance, negligence, or fraud, to be corrupted in 
 three different ways ; that is to say, by retrenching^ by additions, 
 and by alterations. 
 
 To remedy these evils, a third sort of criticism arose, and that 
 was criticism corrective. The business of this at first was pain- 
 fully to collate all the various copies of authority ; and then, from 
 amidst the variety of readings thus collected, to establish by 
 good reasons either the true, or the most probable. In this sense 
 we may call such criticism, not only corrective, but authoritative. 
 
 As the number of these corruptions must needs have increased 
 by length of time, hence it has happened that corrective criticism 
 has become much more necessary in these latter ages, than it 
 was in others more ancient. Not but that even in ancient days 
 various readings have been noted. Of this kind there are a 
 multitude in the text of Homer ; a fact not singular, when we 
 consider his great antiquity. In the comments of Ammonius 
 and Philoponus upon Aristotle, there is mention made of several 
 in the text of that philosopher, which these his commentators 
 compare and examine. 
 
 We find the same in Aulus Gellius, as to the Roman authors ; 
 where it is withal remarkable, that, even in that early period, 
 much stress is laid upon the authority of ancient manuscripts," 1 
 a reading in Cicero being justified from a copy made by his 
 learned freedman, Tiro ; and a reading in Virgil's Georgics, from 
 a book which had once belonged to Virgil's family. 
 
 But since the revival of literature, to correct has been a 
 business of much more latitude, having continually employed, for 
 two centuries and a half, both the pains of the most laborious, 
 and the wits of the most acute. Many of the learned men before 
 enumerated were not only famous as historical critics, but as 
 corrective also. Such were the two Scaligers, (of whom one has 
 been already mentioned,") the two Casaubons, Salmasius, the 
 Heinsii, Grsevius, the Gronovii, Burman, Kuster, Wasse, Bentley, 
 Pearce, and Markland. In the same class, and in a rank highly 
 eminent, I place Mr. Toupe of Cornwall, who, in his Emenda- 
 tions upon Suidas, and his edition of Longinus, has shewn a 
 critical acumen, and a compass of learning, that may justly 
 
 m See Aulus Gellius, lib. i. c. 7. and 21. Macrob. Saturn, lib. i. c. 5. 
 11 Page 392. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 397 
 
 arrange him with the most distinguished scholars. Nor must I 
 forget Dr. Taylor, residentiary of St. Paul's ; nor Mr. Upton, 
 prebendary of Rochester. The former, by his edition of De- 
 mosthenes, (as far as he lived to carry it,) by his Lysias, by his 
 comment on the Marmor Sandvicense, and other critical pieces ; 
 the latter, by his correct and elegant edition, in Greek and 
 Latin, of Arrian^s Epictetus, (the first of the kind that had any 
 pretensions to be called complete ;) have rendered themselves, as 
 scholars, lasting ornaments of their country. These two valuable 
 men were the friends of my youth ; the companions of my social 
 as well as my literary hours. I admired them for their eru- 
 dition ; I loved them for their virtue : they are now no more. 
 
 His saltern accumulem donis, et fungar inani 
 
 Munere. Virg. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CRITICISM MAY HAVE BEEN ABUSED YET DEFENDED, AS OF THE LAST 
 
 IMPORTANCE TO THE CAUSE OF LITERATURE. 
 
 BUT here was the misfortune of this last species of criticism. 
 The best of things may pass into abuse. There were numerous 
 corruptions in many of the finest authors, which neither ancient 
 editions nor manuscripts could heal. What, then, was to be 
 done ? Were forms so fair to remain disfigured, and be seen for 
 ever under such apparent blemishes? " No, (says a critic,) con- 
 jecture can cure all : conjecture, whose performances are, for the 
 most part, more certain than any thing that we can exhibit from 
 the authority of manuscripts." We will not ask, upon this 
 wonderful assertion, how, if so certain, can it be called con- 
 jecture 2 It is enough to observe, (be it called as it may,) that 
 this spirit of conjecture has too often passed into an intemperate 
 excess ; and then, whatever it may have boasted, has done more 
 mischief by far than good. Authors have been taken in hand, 
 like anatomical subjects, only to display the skill and abilities of 
 the artist ; so that the end of many an edition seems often to 
 have been no more than to exhibit the great sagacity and erudi- 
 tion of an editor. The joy of the task was the honour of 
 mending ; while corruptions were sought with a more than com- 
 mon attention, as each of them afforded a testimony to the 
 editor and his art. 
 
 And here I beg leave, by way of digression, to relate a short 
 story concerning a noted empiric. " Being once in a ball-room 
 crowded with company, he was asked by a gentleman, What he 
 
 Plura igitur in Horatianis his curis ex sidio ; et, nisi me omnia fallunt, plemmque 
 conjectura exhibemus, quam ex codicum sub- certiora. Bentleii Praefat. ad Horat. 
 
398 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 thought of such a lady ? was it not pity that she squinted 2 
 Squint ! sir ! replied the doctor, I wish every lady in the room 
 squinted ; there is not a man in Europe can cure squinting but 
 myself." 
 
 But to return to our subject. Well, indeed, would it be for 
 the cause of letters, were this bold conjectural spirit confined to 
 works of second rate, where, let it change, expunge, or add, as 
 happens, it may be tolerably sure to leave matters as they were ; 
 or if not much better, at least not much worse. But when the 
 divine geniuses of higher rank, whom we not only applaud, but 
 in a manner revere, when these come to be attempted by 
 petulant correctors, and to be made the subject of their wanton 
 caprice, how can we but exclaim, with a kind of religious ab- 
 horrence, 
 
 Procul ! ! procul este profani ! 
 
 These sentiments may be applied even to the celebrated 
 Bentley. It would have become that able writer, though in 
 literature and natural abilities among the first of his age, had he 
 been more temperate in his criticism upon the Paradise Lost ; 
 had he not so repeatedly and injuriously offered violence to its 
 author, from an affected superiority, to which he had no pre- 
 tence. But the rage of conjecture seems to have seized him, as 
 that of jealousy did Medea ; p a rage which she confessed herself 
 unable to resist, although she knew the mischiefs it would 
 prompt her to perpetrate. 
 
 And now, to obviate an unmerited censure, (as if I were an 
 enemy to the thing, from being an enemy to its abuse,) I would 
 have it remembered, it is not either with criticism or critics that 
 I presume to find fault. The art, and its professors, while they 
 practise it with temper, I truly honour ; and think that, were it 
 not for their acute and learned labours, we should be in danger 
 of degenerating into an age of dunces. 
 
 Indeed, critics (if I may be allowed the metaphor) are a sort 
 of masters of the ceremony in the court of letters, through 
 whose assistance we are introduced into some of the first and 
 best company. Should we ever, therefore, by idle prejudices 
 against pedantry, verbal accuracies, and we know not what, 
 come to slight their art, and reject them from our favour, it is 
 well we do not slight also those classics with whom criticism 
 converses, becoming content to read them in translations, or 
 (what is still worse) in translations of translations, or (what is 
 worse even than that) not to read them at all. And I will be 
 bold to assert, if that should ever happen, we shall speedily 
 return into those days of darkness, out of which we happily 
 emerged upon the revival of ancient literature. 
 
 P See the Medea of Euripides, v. 1078. See also Philosoph. Arrangements, p. 374. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 399 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. RECAPITULATION. PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND PART. 
 
 AND so much at present for critics and learned editors. So much 
 also for the origin and progress of criticism ; which has been 
 divided into three species, the philosophical, the historical, and 
 the corrective : the philosophical, treating of the principles and 
 primary causes of good writing in general ; the historical, heing 
 conversant in particular facts, customs, phrases, &c. ; and the 
 corrective, being divided into the authoritative and the con- 
 jectural ; the authoritative, depending on the collation of manu- 
 scripts and the best editions ; the conjectural, on the sagacity and 
 erudition of editors. q 
 
 As the first part of these inquiries ends here, we are now to 
 proceed to the second part, a specimen of the doctrines and 
 principles of criticism, as they are illustrated in the writings of 
 the most distinguished authors. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 WE are, in the following part of this work, to give a specimen 
 of those doctrines, which having been slightly touched in the 
 first part, we are now to illustrate more amply, by referring to 
 examples, as well ancient as modern. 
 
 It has been already hinted, that among writers the epic came 
 first ; a it has been hinted likewise, that nothing excellent in a 
 literary way happens merely by chance. 5 
 
 Mention also has been made of numerous composition, and 
 the force of it suggested, though little said further. 
 
 To this we may add the theory of whole and parts, d so es- 
 sential to the very being of a legitimate composition ; and the 
 theory also of sentiment and manners, 6 both of which naturally 
 belong to every whole, called dramatic. 
 
 Nor can we on this occasion omit a few speculations on the 
 
 1 For the first species of criticism, see they might too much interrupt the con- 
 
 p. 388. For the second species, see p. 390. tinuity of the text, they have been joined 
 
 For the third species, see p. 396, to the end with other pieces, in the forming of an Ap- 
 
 of the chapter following, p. 398. pendix. 
 
 There arc a few other notes besides the a Page 388. b Page 389. 
 
 p*ceding ; but as some of them were long, c Ibid. d Ibid, 
 
 and it was apprehended for that reason that e Ibid. 
 
400 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 fable or action ; speculations necessarily connected with every 
 drama, and which we shall illustrate from tragedy, its most 
 striking species. 
 
 And here, if it should be objected that we refer to English 
 authors, the connection should be remembered between good 
 authors of every country, as far as they all draw from the same 
 sources, the sources I mean of nature and of truth. A like 
 apology may be made for inquiries concerning the English 
 tongue, and how far it may be made susceptible of classic 
 decoration. All languages are in some degree congenial, and, 
 both in their matter and their form, are founded upon the same 
 principles.* 
 
 What is here said, will, we hope, sufficiently justify the fol- 
 lowing detail ; a detail naturally arising from the former part of 
 the plan, by being founded upon expressions, not sufficiently 
 there developed. 
 
 First, therefore, for the first : that the epic poets led the way ; 
 and that nothing excellent, in a literary view, happens merely 
 by chance. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THAT THE EPIC WRITERS CAME FIRST, AND THAT NOTHING EXCELLENT 
 
 IN LITERARY PERFORMANCES HAPPENS MERELY FROM CHANCE 
 
 THE CAUSES, OR REASONS OF SUCH EXCELLENCE, ILLUSTRATED 
 BY EXAMPLES. 
 
 IT appears, that not only in Greece, but in other countries, more 
 barbarous, the first writings were in metre, 8 and of an epic cast, 
 recording wars, battles, heroes, ghosts; the marvellous always, 
 and often the incredible. Men seemed to have thought, that 
 the higher they soared, the more important they should appear ; 
 and that the common life which they then lived, was a thing 
 too contemptible to merit imitation. 
 
 Hence it followed, that it was not till this common life was 
 rendered respectable by more refined and polished manners, that 
 men thought it might be copied, so as to gain them applause. 
 
 Even in Greece itself, tragedy had attained its maturity 
 many years before comedy, h as may be seen by comparing the 
 age of Sophocles and Euripides with that of Philemon and 
 Menander. 
 
 For ourselves, we shall find most of our first poets prone to a 
 turgid bombast, and most of our first prosaic writers to a 
 pedantic stiffness, which rude styles gradually improved, but 
 
 f Hermes, p. 217. h Aristot. Poet. c. 4. p. 227. edit. 
 
 * Temple's Works, vol. i. p. 239, fol. edit. Also Characteristics, vol. i. p. 244, 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 401 
 
 reached not a classical purity sooner than Tillotson, Dryden, 
 Addison, Shaftesbury, Prior, Pope, Atterbury, &c. &c. 
 
 As to what is asserted soon after upon the efficacy of causes 
 in works of ingenuity and art, we think in general, that the 
 effect must always be proportioned to its cause. It is hard for 
 him, who reasons attentively, to refer to chance any superlative 
 production. 1 
 
 Effects indeed strike us, when we are not thinking about the 
 cause ; yet may we be assured, if we reflect, that a cause there 
 is, and that too a cause intelligent and rational. Nothing would 
 perhaps more contribute to give us a taste truly critical, than 
 on every occasion to investigate this cause ; and to ask ourselves, 
 upon feeling any uncommon effect, why we are thus delighted ; 
 why thus affected ; why melted into pity ; why made to shudder 
 with horror? 
 
 Till this why is well answered, all is darkness, and our admira- 
 tion, like that of the vulgar, founded upon ignorance. 
 
 To explain by a few examples, that are known to all, and for 
 that reason here alleged, because they are known. 
 
 I am struck with the night-scene in Virgil's fourth ^Eneid : 
 The universal silence throughout the globe; the sweet rest of 
 its various inhabitants, soothing their cares and forgetting their 
 labours ; the unhappy Dido alone restless restless, and agitated 
 with impetuous passions. k 
 
 I am affected with the story of Regulus, as painted by West : 
 The crowd of anxious friends, persuading him not to return ; 
 his wife, fainting through sensibility and fear; persons, the least 
 connected, appearing to feel for him; yet himself unmoved, 
 inexorable and stern. 1 
 
 Without referring to these deeply tragic scenes, what charms 
 has music, when a masterly band pass unexpectedly from loud 
 to soft, or from soft to loud \ When the system changes from 
 the greater third to the less ; or reciprocally, when it changes 
 from this last to the former? 
 
 All these effects have a similar and well-known cause : the 
 amazing force which contraries acquire, either by juxta-position, 
 or by quick succession. tn 
 
 But we ask still further, why have contraries this force ? We 
 answer, because, of all things which differ, none differ so widely. 
 Sound differs from darkness, but not so much as from silence ; 
 darkness differs from sound, but not so much as from light. In 
 
 ' Philosoph. Arrang. p. 340, and 376. ykp fj.a\\ov TO. euavrta yvcaptfaai : "that 
 
 k JEn. iv. 522, &c. contraries are better known, when set 
 
 1 Horat. Carm. 1. iii. od. 5. beside each other." Arist. Rhetor, lib. iii. 
 
 m This truth is not only obvious, but p. 120, and p. 152. edit. Sylb. The same 
 
 ancient. Aristotle says, Uapd\\r)\a r& author often makes use of this truth in 
 
 tvavTia fjidXiffra QaivecrQai : " that con- other places ; which truth, simple as it 
 
 traries, when set beside each other, make seems, is the source of many capital beauties 
 
 the strongest appearance." nopd\A.77\a in all the fine arts. 
 
402 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 the same intense manner differ repose and restlessness ; felicity 
 and misery ; dubious solicitude and firm resolution ; the epic 
 and the comic ; the sublime and the ludicrous." 
 
 And, why differ contraries thus widely? Because while at- 
 tributes, simply different, may coexist in the same subject, 
 contraries cannot coexist, but always destroy one another. 
 Thus the same marble may be both white and hard ; but the 
 same marble cannot be both white and black. And hence it 
 follows, that as their difference is more intense, so is our re- 
 cognition of them more vivid, and our impressions more per- 
 manent. 
 
 This effect of contraries is evident even in objects of sense, 
 where imagination and intellect are not in the least concerned. 
 When we pass (for example) from a hot-house, we feel the com- 
 mon air more intensely cool ; when we pass from a dark cavern, 
 we feel the common light of the day more intensely glaring. 
 
 But to proceed to instances of another and a very different 
 kind. 
 
 Few scenes are more affecting than the taking of Troy, as 
 described in the second .ZEneid : The apparition of Hector to 
 ^Eneas, when asleep, announcing to him the commencement of 
 that direful event the distant lamentations, heard by ^Eneas, as 
 he awakes his ascending the house-top, and viewing the city in 
 flames his friend Pentheus, escaped from destruction, and re- 
 lating to him their wretched and deplorable condition ^Eneas, 
 with a few friends, rushing into the thickest danger their va- 
 rious success, till they all perish, but himself and two more 
 the affecting scenes of horror and pity at Priam's palace a son, 
 slain at his father's feet ; and the immediate massacre of the 
 old monarch himself -ZEneas, on seeing this, inspired with the 
 memory of his own father his resolving to return home, having 
 now lost all his companions his seeing Helen in the way, and 
 his design to despatch so wicked a woman Venus interposing, 
 
 n From these instances we perceive the less, there must be also a certain difference, 
 
 meaning of those descriptions of contraries, which is most, and this I call contrariety." 
 
 that they are TO vXeiffrov Siarpepovra T&V Metaph. p. 1 62. edit. Sylb. 
 
 tv rep avTo3 ytvei ei/ rtf avrw SfKriKia Ammonius, commenting the doctrine 
 
 Ttav virb r^v avr^v Swafj.it/ : "things which of contraries, (as set forth in Aristotle's 
 
 diifer most widely, among things existing Categories,) informs us, that " they not only 
 
 in the same genus, in the same recipient, do not imply one another, (as a son neces- 
 
 comprehended under the same power or sarily implies a father,) but that they even 
 
 faculty." Arist. Metaph. A. i. p. 82. edit, destroy one another, so that, where one is 
 
 Sylb. Cicero, in his Topics, translates the present, the other cannot remain:" ou 
 
 first description, Quae in eodem genere /j.6vov ov (rvveLfftyepei ^AArjAa, aAAa Kal 
 
 plurimum different. Sect. 70. <#e/per TOU yap evbs -jrapovros, oi>x VTTO- 
 
 Aristotle reasons as follows: 'Eirel Se ^eVet rb eVepoi/. Ammon. in Categ. p. 147. 
 
 8ia<})fpLv eVSe'xerai aAA4?Aa?j/ ra Siacpe- edit. Vcnet. The Stagirite himself de- 
 
 povra TvXfiov Kal eAarroj/, CO^T'I TIS Kal scribes them in the same manner : ra ^ 
 
 /jLtyiffTf) Sm^opa, Kal ravT-rjv \eyta eVai/- 5uj/ara apa r$ aura> irap^vai : " things 
 
 Tiwtfiv : " It being admitted that things that cannot be present at once in the same 
 
 differing from one another, differ more and subject." Metaph. A. p. 82. edit. Sylb. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 403 
 
 and shewing him (by removing the film from his eyes) the most 
 sublime, though most direful, of all sights, the gods themselves 
 busied in Troy's destruction ; Neptune at one employ, Juno at 
 another, Pallas at a third It is not Helen (says Venus) but the 
 gods, that are the authors of your country's ruin it is their 
 inclemency, &c. 
 
 Not less solemn and awful, though less leading to pity, is the 
 commencement of the sixth ^Eneid : The Sibyl's cavern her 
 frantic gestures, and prophecy the request of ^Eneas to descend 
 to the shades her answer, and information about the loss of one 
 of his friends the fate of poor Misenus his funeral the golden 
 bough discovered, a preparatory circumstance for the descent 
 the sacrifice the ground bellowing under their feet the woods 
 in motion the dogs of Hecate howling the actual descent in 
 all its particulars of the marvellous and the terrible. 
 
 If we pass from an ancient author to a modern, what scene 
 more striking than the first scene in Hamlet? The solemnity 
 of the time, a severe and pinching night the solemnity of the 
 place, a platform for a guard the guards themselves; and 
 their apposite discourse yonder star in such a position ; the 
 bell then beating one when description is exhausted, the thing 
 itself appears, the ghost enters. 
 
 From Shakspeare, the transition to Milton is natural. What 
 pieces have ever met a more just, as well as universal applause, 
 than his L'Allegro and II Penseroso? The first, a combination 
 of every incident that is lively and cheerful ; the second, of 
 every incident that is melancholy and serious: the materials of 
 each collected, according to their character, from rural life, from 
 city life, from music, from poetry; in a word, from every part 
 of nature, and every part of art. 
 
 To pass from poetry to painting, the Crucifixion of Polycrates, 
 by Salvator Rosa, p is a most affecting representation of various 
 human figures, seen under different modes of horror and pity, as 
 they contemplate a dreadful spectacle, the crucifixion above 
 mentioned. The Aurora of Guido, on the other side, is one of 
 those joyous exhibitions, where nothing is seen but youth and 
 beauty, in every attitude of elegance and grace. The former 
 picture in poetry would have been a deep Penseroso ; the latter, 
 a most pleasing and animated Allegro. 
 
 And to what cause are we to refer these last enumerations of 
 striking effects ? 
 
 To a very different one from the former : not to an opposition 
 of contrary incidents, but to a concatenation or accumulation of 
 many that are similar and congenial. 
 
 And why have concatenation and accumulation such a force ? 
 From these most simple and obvious truths, that many things 
 similar, when added together, will be more in quantity than any 
 
 P See page 30. 
 
 2D2 
 
404 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 one of them taken singly ; consequently, that the more things 
 are thus added, the greater will be their effect. Q 
 
 We have mentioned at the same time both accumulation and 
 concatenation, because in painting, the objects, by existing at 
 once, are accumulated ; in poetry, as they exist by succession, 
 they are not accumulated, but concatenated. Yet, through 
 memory and imagination/ even these also derive an accumu- 
 lative force, being preserved from passing away by those ad- 
 mirable faculties, till, like many pieces of rnetal melted together, 
 they collectively form one common magnitude. 
 
 It must be further remembered, there is an accumulation of 
 things analogous, even when those things are the objects of 
 different faculties. For example : as are passionate gestures to 
 the eye, so are passionate tones to the ear ; so are passionate 
 ideas to the imagination. To feel the amazing force of an 
 accumulation like this, we must see some capital actor acting 
 the drama of some capital poet, where all the powers of both 
 are assembled at the same instant. 
 
 And thus have we endeavoured, by a few obvious and easy 
 examples, to explain what we mean by the words, " seeking the 
 cause, or reason, as often as we feel works of art and ingenuity 
 to affect us." s 
 
 If I might advise a beginner in this elegant pursuit, it should 
 be, as far as possible, to recur for principles to the most plain 
 and simple truths, and to extend every theorem, as he advances, 
 to its utmost latitude, so as to make it suit and include the 
 greatest number of possible cases. 
 
 I would advise him further, to avoid subtle and far-fetched 
 refinement, which, as it is for the most part adverse to perspi- 
 cuity and truth, may serve to make an able sophist, but never 
 an able critic. 
 
 i Quinctilian observes, that the man who By way of proof he quotes Homer on the 
 
 tells us, " a city was stormed," includes, in same subject, I mean the taking of a city 
 
 what he says, " all things which such a by storm : 
 
 disaster implies ;" and yet for all that, such "Offaa /ccwc' avOpuirouri ireAej, ruiv atrrv 
 
 a brief information less affects us than a a\dar)' 
 
 detail, because it is less striking, to deliver "A.v8pas fjisv KTfivovffi, ir6\iv 8e T irvp 
 
 the whole at once, than it is to enumerate d/Aa0uj/et, 
 
 the several particulars. His words are, Mi- Tc/ci/a Se T' &\\oi &yov(ri., fiaQv^cavas re 
 
 nus est Mum dicere, quam omnia. Quinct. yvvcuKas. Iliad, ix. 588. 
 
 Institut. viii. 3. The dire disasters of a city stormed ; 
 
 The whole is well worth reading, par- The men they massacre ; the town they 
 
 ticularly his detail of the various and horrid fire; 
 
 events which befall the storming of a city. And others lead the children and the 
 
 Sine dubio enim, qui dicit expugnatam esse wives 
 
 civitatem, &c. Into captivity. 
 
 Aristotle reasons much after the same See Arist. Rhetor, lib. i. p. 29. edit. Sylb. 
 
 manner : Kot Siaipov/j.eva Se fls TO. pepr), where the above lines of Homer are quoted ; 
 
 TCI avra juef^eo Quiverac Tr\si6v(av yap and though with some variation from the 
 
 inrepox^l fyaivfTai : " The same things, di- common reading, yet with none which af- 
 
 vided into parts, appear greater, for then fects the sense, 
 
 there appears an excess or an abundance of r See Hermes, p. 219, &c. 
 
 many things." See pages 388, 389, 401. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 405 
 
 A word more ; I would advise a young critic, in his contem- 
 plations, to turn his eye rather to the praiseworthy than the 
 blameable ; that is, to investigate the causes of praise rather than 
 the causes of blame. For though an uninformed beginner may 
 in a single instance happen to blame properly, it is more than 
 probable that in the next he may fail, and incur the censure 
 passed upon the criticising cobler, Ne sutor ultra crepidam. i 
 
 We are now to inquire concerning numerous composition, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NUMEROUS COMPOSITION, DERIVED FROM QUANTITY SYLLABIC, AN- 
 CIENTLY ESSENTIAL BOTH TO VERSE AND PROSE. RHYTHM. PAEANS 
 
 AND CRETICS, THE FEET FOR PROSE. QUANTITY ACCENTUAL A 
 
 DEGENERACY FROM THE SYLLABIC. INSTANCES OF IT, FIRST IN 
 
 LATIN, THEN IN GREEK. VERSUS POLITICI TRACES OF ACCENTUAL 
 
 QUANTITY IN TERENCE ESSENTIAL TO MODERN LANGUAGES, AND 
 
 AMONG OTHERS TO ENGLISH, FROM WHICH LAST EXAMPLES ARE 
 TAKEN. 
 
 As numerous composition arises from a just arrangement of 
 words, so is that arrangement just, when formed upon their 
 verbal quantity. 
 
 Now if we seek for this verbal quantity in Greek and Latin, 
 we shall find, that while those two languages were in purity, 
 their verbal quantity was in purity also. Every syllable had a 
 measure of time, either long or short, defined with precision 
 either by its constituent vowel, or by the relation of that vowel 
 to other letters adjoining. Syllables thus characterized, when 
 combined, made a foot ; and feet thus characterized, when com- 
 bined, made a verse ; so that, while a particular harmony ex- 
 isted in every part, a general harmony was diffused through the 
 whole. 
 
 Pronunciation at this period being, like other things, perfect, 
 accent and quantity were accurately distinguished; of which 
 distinction, familiar then, though now obscure, we venture to 
 suggest the following explanation. -We compare quantity to 
 musical tones differing in long and short, as, upon whatever line 
 they stand, a semibreve differs from a minim. We compare 
 accent to musical tones differing in high and low, as D upon the 
 third line differs from G upon the first, be its length the same, 
 or be it longer or shorter. 
 
 And thus things continued for a succession of centuries, from 
 Homer and Hesiod to Virgil and Horace; during which interval, 
 
 1 Those who wish to see the origin of Pliny, 1. xxv. s. 12, and in Valerius Maxi- 
 thie ingenious proverb, may find it in mus, 1. viii. c. 12. 
 
406 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 if we add a trifle to its end, all the truly classical poets, botli 
 Greek and Latin, flourished. 
 
 Nor was prose at the same time neglected. Penetrating wits 
 discovered this also to be capable of numerous composition, and 
 founded their ideas upon the following reasonings. 
 
 Though they allowed that prose should not be strictly 
 metrical, (for then it would be no longer prose, but poetry,) yet 
 at the same time they asserted, if it had no rhythm at all, such 
 a vague effusion would of course fatigue, and the reader would 
 seek in vain for those returning pauses, so helpful to his reading, 
 and so grateful to his ear. u 
 
 Now as feet were found an essential to that rhythm, they 
 were obliged, as well as poets, to consider feet under their 
 several characters. 
 
 In this contemplation, they found the heroic foot (which 
 includes the spondee, the dactyl, and the anapaest) to be 
 majestic and grave, but yet improper for prose, because, if em- 
 ployed too frequently, the composition would appear epic. 
 
 On the contrary, in the iambic they found levity ; it often 
 made, though undesignedly, a part of common discourse, and 
 could not, for that reason, but want a suitable dignity/ 
 
 What expedient then remained ? They recommended a foot 
 where the former two were blended ; where the pomp of the 
 heroic and the levity of the iambic were mutually to correct and 
 temper one another. 
 
 But as this appears to require explanation, we shall endea- 
 vour, if we can, to render it intelligible, saying something pre- 
 viously upon the nature of rhythm. 
 
 Bh3*thm differs from metre, inasmuch as rhythm is proportion 
 applied to any motion whatever ; metre is proportion applied to 
 the motion of words spoken. Thus in the drumming of a 
 march, or the dancing of a hornpipe, there is rhythm though no 
 metre ; in Dryden's celebrated Ode, there is metre as well as 
 rhythm, because the poet with the rhythm has associated certain 
 words. And hence it follows, that though all metre is rhythm, 
 yet all rhythm is not metre. y 
 
 u See Aristot. Rhetor. 1. iii. p. 129. edit, rat Se Kal x^P^ 0"vAAaj8f?s, Kal yap eV raj 
 
 Sylb. Tb Se <rxv)/JLa, TTJS Aee&>s Se? /rjTe Kp6ru>. "Orav JJLZV yap TOVS %aA/ceas 
 
 ejityieTpoj/ eTi/cu, jUTjre appvOftov, K. r. A. So 8coyuez/ ras ff<pvpas KaTa<pfp6vras, &fj.a rit/a 
 
 Cicero : Numeris astrictam orationem esse Kal pvQfjibv d/couo^ei/ /j-erpov Se OVK av 
 
 debere, carere versibus. Ad Brut. Orator, yevoiro x^pls Ae'|ews iroias Kal TTOCT^S: 
 
 s. 187. "Metre differs from rhythm, because, with 
 
 x See in the same treatise of Aristotle regard to metres, the subject matter is a 
 
 what is said about these feet, just after the syllable, and without a syllable (that is, a 
 
 passage above cited. Tcav 8e pvQp.S>v, 6 fjt.lv sound articulate) no metre can exist. But 
 
 rjpwos ffe/ju/bs, K. r. A. All that follows is rhythm exists both in and without syllables; 
 
 well worth reading. for it may be perceived in mere pulsation 
 
 y Aicupepei 8e /j-erpov fivO/mov, v\vj fj.fv or striking. It is thus, when we see 
 
 yap TO'IS /uLfTpois rf ffu\\afi}], Kal x^P^ 15 smiths hammering with their sledges, we 
 
 o-vAAa/Sr/s OVK &/ ytvoiro fj.rpov 6 Se hear, at the same time, (in their strokes,) a 
 
 f>vO/*bs yiverai fj.lv Kal eV <ruAAa/8a?s, ylvf- certain rhythm ; but as to metre, there can 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 407 
 
 This being admitted, we proceed and say, that the rhythm of 
 the heroic foot is one to one, which constitutes in music what we 
 call common time; and in musical vibration what we call the 
 unison. The rhythm of the iambic is one to two, which consti- 
 tutes in music what we call triple time ; and in musical vibra- 
 tion what we call the octave. The rhythm next to these is that 
 of two to three, or else its equivalent, three to two ; a rhythm 
 compounded of the two former times united, and which consti- 
 tutes in musical vibration what we call the fifth. 
 
 It was here, then, they discovered the foot they wanted ; that 
 foot, which being neither the heroic nor the iambic, was yet so 
 far connected with them as to contain virtually within itself the 
 rhythms of them both. 
 
 That this is fact is evident from the following reasoning. 
 The proportion of two to three contains in two the rhythm of 
 the heroic foot ; in three, that of the iambic ; therefore, in two 
 and three united, a foot compounded out of the two. 
 
 Now the foot thus described is no other than the pa?an ; a 
 foot constituted either by one long syllable and three short, and 
 called the paean a majori ; or else by three short syllables and 
 one long, and called the pcvan a minori. In either case, if we 
 resolve the long syllable into two short, we shall find the sum of 
 the syllables to be five ; that is, two to three for the first psean, 
 three to two for the second, each being in what we call the 
 sesquialter proportion. 2 
 
 Those who ask for examples, may find the first pa9an in the 
 
 be none, unless there be an articulate time in dancing, and in rowing, though no 
 
 sound, or word, having a peculiar quality sound at all but what is quite incidental, 
 
 and quantity," (to distinguish it.) Longini z The sum of this speculation is thus 
 
 Fragm. iii. s. 5. p. 162. edit. Pcarce, 4to. shortly expressed by Cicero. Pes enim, 
 
 Metrum in verbis modo ; rhythmus etiam qui adhibetur ad numeros, partitur in tria : 
 
 in corporis motu est. Quinctil. Inst. ix. 4. ut necesse sit partem pedis aut aequalem 
 
 p. 598. edit. Capper. esse alteri parti ; aut altero tanto, aut ses- 
 
 What these authors call rhythmus^ Virgil qui esse majorem. Ita fit sequalis, dac- 
 
 calls numerus, or its plural numeri. tylus ; duplex, iambus ; sesqui, paon. Ad 
 
 Numeros memini, si verba tenerem. Brut. Orat. s. 188. 
 
 Bucol. ix. 45. Aristotle reasons upon the same princi- 
 
 And, before that, speaking of the fauns and pies. "Eo"Tt Se rpiros 6 iraiav, K.a\ ex<fytej/os 
 
 wild beasts dancing, he informs us, rcav dpy/Ati/cav rpia yap irpbs Svo eVrtV 
 
 Turn vero in numerum faunosque fe.ras- tueivw 5e, 6 yuei/ V irpbs eV* 6 Se, Suo' 
 
 que videres e%eTcu Se rS>v \6ycav rovr<av 6 v)/j.i6\ios, 
 
 Ludere. Bucol. vi. 27. ofiros S' fffnv 6 iraib.v, K. T. A. Arist. 
 
 So, too, speaking of the Cyclopes at their Rhet. 1. iii. c. 8. p. 129, 130. edit. Sylb. 
 
 forge, he tells us, Again ; Cicero, after having held much 
 
 I Hi inter sesc mayna vi brachia tollitnt the same doctrine, adds Probatur autem 
 
 In numerum. Geor. iv. 174. ab eodem illo (scil. Aristotele) maxime 
 
 Which same verses arc repeated in the paean, qui est duplex ; nam aut a longa 
 
 eighth VEneid. So Cicero, Numerus Latine ; oritur, quam tres breves consequuntur, ut 
 
 Graece pvdfj,6s. Ad Brut. Orat. s. 1 70. haec verba, desimte, mcipite, comprimlte ; 
 
 No English term seems to express rhytli- aut a brevibus deinceps tribus, extrema 
 
 mus better than the word time ; by which producta atque longa, sicut ilia sunt, do- 
 
 we denote every species of measured mo- muerant, sompedes. De Orator, iii. 57, 
 
 tion. Thus we say, there is time in beat- (183.) and in his Orator, ad M. Brutum, 
 
 ing a drum, though but a single sound ; s. 205. and before, s. 191 197. 
 
408 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 words ijfyavia^ desiiiite ; the second, in the words yu-era 8e 
 domuerant. 
 
 To the psean may be added the cretic, a foot of one short 
 syllable between two long, as in the words e^ro^al, quove nunc ; 
 a foot in power evidently equal to the paean, because resolvable, 
 like that, into five equal times. 
 
 We dwell no longer here ; perhaps we have already dwelt too 
 long. It is enough to observe, that by a discreet use of these 
 paeans, the ancients obtained what they desired, that is, they 
 enriched their prose without making it into verse ; and, while 
 vague and vulgar prose flowed indefinitely, like a stream, theirs, 
 like descending drops, became capable of being numbered. 3 
 
 It may give credit to these speculations, trivial as they may 
 appear, when it is known they have merited the attention of the 
 ablest critics, of Aristotle and Demetrius Phalereus, of Cicero 
 and Quinctilian. b 
 
 The productions still remaining of this golden period seem (if 
 I may so say) to have been providentially preserved to humi- 
 liate modern vanity, and check the growth of bad taste. 
 
 But this classical era, though it lasted long, at length termi- 
 nated. Many causes, and chiefly the irruption and mixture of 
 Barbarians, contributed to the debasing both of Latin and 
 Greek. As diction was corrupted, so also was pronunciation. 
 Accent and quantity, which had been once accurately distin- 
 guished, began now to be blended. Nay, more, accent so far 
 usurped quantity's place, as by a sort of tyranny to make short 
 syllables long, and long syllables short. Thus, in poetry, as the 
 accent fell upon de in deus, and upon i in ibi, the first syllables 
 of these two words were considered as long. Again, where the 
 accent did not fall, as in the ultimas of regrio or Saturno, and 
 even in such ablatives as insula or Greta, there the poet assumed 
 a licence, if he pleased, to make them short. In a word, the 
 whole doctrine of prosody came to this that, as anciently the 
 quantity of the syllables established the rhythm of the verse, so 
 now the rhythm of the verse established the quantity of the 
 syllables. 
 
 There was an ancient poet, his name Commodianus, who 
 dealt much in this illicit quantity, and is said to have written 
 
 Numerus autem in continuatione nul- his tract De Elocut. 
 
 lus est: distinctio, et sequalium et saepe Cicero, in his De Oratore, introduces 
 
 variorum intervallorum percussio, numerum, Crassus using the same arguments ; those, 
 
 conficit: quern in cadentibus guttis, quod I mean, which are grounded upon autho- 
 
 intervallis distinguuntur, notare possuraus ; rity. 
 
 in omni prsecipitante non possumus. Cic. Atque hsec quidem ab iis philosophis, 
 
 de Oratore, lib. iii. s. 186. quos tu maxime diligis, Catule, dicta sunt: 
 
 b See Aristotle and Cicero, as quoted quod eo saepius testificor, ut auctoribus 
 
 before, particularly the last in his Orator, laudandis ineptiarum crimen effugiam. De 
 
 B. 189 to the end ; Quinctilian, 1. ix. c. 4. Oratore, lib. iii. s. 187. 
 Demetrius Phalereus, at the beginning of 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 409 
 
 (if that be possible) in the fifth, nay, some assert, in the third 
 century. Take a sample of his versification : 
 
 Saturnusque senex, si deus, quando senescit ? 
 
 And again : 
 
 Ncc divinus erat, sed deum sese dicebat. 
 
 And again : 
 
 Jupiter hie natus In insula Greta Saturno, 
 Ut fuit adultus, patrem de regno privavit. 
 
 And again : 
 
 Ille autem in Creta regnavit, et Ibi defecit. 
 
 I shall crown the whole with an admirable distich, where (as 
 I observed not long ago) the rhythm of the verse gives alone 
 the quantity, while the quantity of the syllables is wholly dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 Tot reum crimimbus, parricidam quoque futQrum, 
 -Ex auctoritate vestra contullstis in altum. 
 
 Dr. Davies, at the end of his Minutius Felix, has thought it 
 worth giving us an edition of this wretched author, who, if he 
 lived so early as supposed, must have been from among the dregs 
 of the people, since Ausonius, Claudian, Sulpicius Severus, and 
 Boethius, who were all authors of the same or a later period, 
 wrote both in prose and verse with classical elegance. 
 
 We have mentioned the debasement of Latin previously to 
 that of Greek, because it was an event which happened much 
 sooner. As early as the sixth century, or the seventh at 
 farthest, Latin ceased to be the common language of Rome, 
 whereas Greek was spoken with competent purity in Constan- 
 tinople even to the fifteenth century, when that city was taken 
 by the Turks. 
 
 Not but that corruption found its way also into Greek poetry, 
 when Greek began to degenerate, and accent, as in Latin, to 
 usurp dominion over quantity. 
 
 It was then began the use of the Versus Politicly a species of 
 verses so called, because adapted to the vulgar, and only fit for 
 vulgar ears. It was then the sublime hexameters of Homer 
 were debased into miserable trochaics, not even legible as verses 
 but by a suppression of real quantity. 
 
 Take a sample of these productions, which, such as it is, will 
 be easily understood, as it contains the beginning of the first 
 Iliad : 
 
 TV op-yV #8e, tal Ae'-ye, 
 
 * 6\(6pia, 
 Kcu TroAAay \viras eTroure 
 Ei's rovs 'Axaiovs 8^ irai'Tas, 
 Kai TroAAecs 
 
 In reading the above verses we must carefully regard accent, 
 
 c See Fabricii Biblioth. Grac. vol. x. p. 253. 318, 319. 
 
410 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 to which, and to which alone, we must strictly adhere, and 
 follow the same trochaic rhythm as in those well-known verses 
 of Dryden : 
 
 War he sung is toil and trouble, 
 Honour but an empty bubble, &c. 
 
 The accentual quantity in the Greek, as well as in the English, 
 totally destroys the syllabic: Be in ae is made long; so also is 
 Xe in \eye ; a, in Oea ; o, in Ka\\io7r7]. Again, JJLOV is short ; 
 so also is Hi] in Hrj\,eiov. In A-^iXXews every syllable is cor- 
 rupted ; the first and third, being short, are made long ; the 
 second and fourth, being long, are made short. We quote no 
 farther, as all that follows is similar, and the whole exactly 
 applicable to our present versification. 
 
 This disgraceful form of Homer was printed by Pinelli, at 
 Venice, in the year 1540, but the work itself was probably some 
 centuries older. d 
 
 Besides this anonymous perverter of the Iliad and Odyssey, 
 (for he has gone through both,) there are political verses of the 
 same barbarous character by Constantinus Manasses, John 
 Tzetzes, and others of that period. 
 
 And so much for the verse of these times. Of their prose 
 (though next in order) we say nothing, it being loss of time to 
 dwell upon authors, who being unable to imitate the eloquence 
 of their predecessors, could discover no new roads to fame but 
 through obscurity and affectation. In this class we range the 
 Historic Augustse Scriptores, Marcianus Capella, Apuleius, 
 together with many others, whom we may call authors of 
 African Latinity. Perhaps, too, we may add some of the 
 Byzantine historians. 
 
 Before we quit accentual quantity, there is one thing we must 
 not omit. Strange as it appears, there are traces of it extant 
 even in classical writers. 
 
 As dactyls and anapaests were frequently intermixed with 
 iambics, we find no less a writer than the accurate Terence, 
 make syllables short, which by position were long, in order to 
 form the feet above mentioned. Take the following instances, 
 among many others : 
 
 w Et id gratum fuisse advorsum te habeo gratiam. Andr. act. i. s. 1. 15. 
 
 Propter hospital hujtisce consuetudinem. Andr. act. ii. s. 6. 8. 
 
 ^Ego excluder : ille recipitur, qua. gratia ? Eunuch, act. i. s. 2. 79. 
 
 Among these verses, all beginning with anapaests, the second 
 syllable id in the first verse is made short, though followed by 
 three consonants : the first syllable propter in the second verse 
 
 d A sort of glossary is subjoined, whence, ters ;" /cAtamt, "tents," are called by the 
 
 for curiosity, we select some very singular name of rei/rai irvpyos., " a tower," by 
 
 explanations: TIv\rj, "agate," is explained that of rovpi) ; and of KT)PU we are in- 
 
 by iropra ; 9vpwpol, those " who keep formed, tnj/mu/ei '6\ov rpov/unrerdpLV, " that 
 
 gates," are called iroprdpoi, that is, " por- it signifies, in general, a trumpeter." 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 411 
 
 is made short, though followed by two consonants: and the 
 third syllable, ex in excluder, in the third verse is made short, 
 though followed by a double consonant, and two others after it. 
 
 We are to observe, however, that, while licences were assumed 
 by the dramatic writers of the comic iambic, and by Terence 
 more than the rest, it was a practice unknown to the writers 
 of hexameter. It is to be observed, likewise, that these licences 
 were taken at the beginning of verses, and never at the end, 
 where a pure iambic was held as indispensable. They were also 
 licences usually taken with monosyllables, dissyllables, or pre- 
 positions ; in general with words in common and daily use, 
 which in all countries are pronounced with rapidity, and made 
 short in the very speaking. It has been suggested, therefore, 
 with great probability, that Terence adopted such a mode of 
 versifying, because it more resembled the common dialogue of 
 the middle life, which no one ever imitated more happily than 
 himself. 6 
 
 We are now to proceed to the modern languages, and to our 
 own in particular, which, like the rest, has little of harmony 
 but what it derives from accentual quantity. And yet as this 
 accentual quantity is wholly governed by ancient rhythm, to 
 which, as far as possible, we accommodate modern words, the 
 speculations are by no means detached from ancient criticism, 
 being wholly derived from principles which that criticism had 
 first established. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 QUANTITY VERBAL IN ENGLISH A FEW FEET PURE, AND AGREEABLE 
 
 TO SYLLABIC QUANTITY INSTANCES YET ACCENTUAL QUANTITY 
 
 PREVALENT INSTANCES TRANSITION TO PROSE ENGLISH P^ANS, 
 
 INSTANCES OF RHYTHM GOVERNS QUANTITY, WHERE THIS LAST IS 
 
 ACCENTUAL. 
 
 IN the scrutiny which follows we shall confine ourselves to 
 English, as no language, to us at least, is equally familiar. And 
 here, if we begin with quoting poets, it must be remembered, it 
 is not purely for the sake of poetry, but with a view to that 
 harmony of which our prose is susceptible. 
 
 A few pure iambics of the syllabic sort we have, though com- 
 monly blended with the spurious and accentual. Thus Milton : 
 
 Fountains, and ye, that warble, as ye flow. Par. Lost, v. 195. 
 
 And again, more completely, in that fine line of his, 
 
 For eloquence, the soul ; song charms the sense. Par. Lost. ii. 556. 
 
 In the first of these verses the last foot is (as it always should 
 
 e See the valuable tract of the celebrated title of De Metris Terentianis 
 Bentley, prefixed to his Terence, under the /j.a. 
 
412 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 be g ) a pure syllabic iambic; in the second verse every foot is 
 such, but >u the fourth. 
 
 Besides iambics, our language knows also the heroic foot. In 
 the verse just quoted, 
 
 Fountains, and ye, that warble as ye flow ; 
 
 the first foot is a spondee : so is the fourth foot in that other 
 verse, 
 
 For eloquence, the soul ; song charms the sense. 
 
 This foot seems to have been admitted among the English 
 iambics precisely for the same reason as among the Greek and 
 Latin ; to infuse a certain stability, which iambics wanted, when 
 alone : 
 
 Tardior ut paullo, graviorque veniret ad aures, 
 
 Spondeos stabiles in jura paterna recepit. Hor. Art. Poet. 
 
 Nor do we want that other heroic foot, the dactyl, and that, 
 too, accompanied (as usual) with the spondee. Thus in the 
 second Psalm we read, 
 
 Why do the people imagine a vain thing ? 
 
 And soon after, 
 
 Against the Lord and against his anointed. 
 
 Where in both instances we have the hexameter cadence, 
 though perhaps it was casual, and what the translators never 
 intended. 
 
 It must, indeed, be confessed, this metre appears not natural 
 to our language, nor have its feet a proper effect, but when 
 mixed with iambics, to infuse that stability which we have 
 lately mentioned. 11 
 
 It is proper also to observe, that, though metrical feet, in 
 English, have a few long and short syllables, even in their 
 genuine character, (that, I mean, which they derive from true 
 syllabic quantity,) yet is their quantity more often determined 
 by accent alone, 1 it being enough to make a syllable long, if it 
 be accented ; and short, if it be unaccented ; whatever may be 
 the position of any subsequent consonants. 
 
 Thus in Milton, we read, 
 
 On the secret top 
 Of 'Oreb didst inspire. Par. Lost. i. 6, 7. 
 
 And again, 
 
 Hurl'd headZow/7, Mming., from th' etherial sky. Par. Lost, i. 45. 
 
 In these examples, the first syllable of inspire is short by ac- 
 centual quantity, though the position of its vowel is before three 
 consonants ; the last syllable of headlong and the last syllable of 
 
 * Sup. p. 82. nee abjectam orationem, nee nimis altam et 
 
 h The use of the heroic and the iambic is exaggeratam probat ; plenam tamen earn vult 
 
 well explained by Cicero from Aristotle. esse gravitatis, ut eos, qui audiunt, ad ma- 
 Quod longe Aristoteli videtur secus, qui jorem admirationem possit traducere. Ad 
 
 judicat heroum numerum grandiorem quam Brut. Orat. s. 192. 
 
 desideret soluta oratio ; iambum autem ni- J Sup. p. 408, 411. 
 
 mis e vulgari sermone. Ita neque humilem, 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 413 
 
 flaming^ are short, even though the consecutive consonants are in 
 both cases four. 
 
 Such then, in English, being the force of accentual quantity, 
 we are now to consider those feet, through which not our verse, 
 but our prose may be harmonized. 
 
 Now these feet are no other than the two pseans already de- 
 scribed, k and their equivalent, the cretic, which three may more 
 particularly be called the feet for prose. 1 
 
 In prose-composition they may be called those ingredients 
 which, like salt in a banquet, serve to give it a relish. Like 
 salt, too, we should so employ them, that we may not seem to 
 have mistaken the seasoning for the food. But more of this 
 hereafter." 1 
 
 As to the place of these paeans, though they have their effect 
 in every part of a sentence, yet have they a peculiar energy at 
 its beginning and its end. The difference is, we are advised to 
 begin with the first paean and to conclude with the second, that 
 the sentence in each extreme may be audibly marked." If the 
 sentence be emphatical, and call for such attention, nothing can 
 answer the purpose more effectually than that characteristic 
 long syllable, which in the first psean is always inceptive, in the 
 second is always conclusive. 
 
 For want of better examples we venture to illustrate by the 
 following, where we have marked the two paeans, together with 
 their equivalent, the cretic; and where we have not only marked 
 the time over each syllable, but separated each foot by a dis- 
 junctive stroke. 
 
 Beauty may be lost, may be for years outllvM : but virtue 
 remains the same, till life itself is at an end. 
 
 Again : 
 
 Steep is the a-scent by which we mount to fame ; nor is 
 the sum-mit to be gamM but by saga-city and toil. Fools 
 are sure to lose their way, and cowards sink beneath the diffi- 
 culty : the wise and brave alone succeed ; persist In their at- 
 tempt and never yield to the fatigue. 
 
 The reader in these examples will regard two things; one, 
 that the strokes of separation mark only the feet, and are not 
 to be regarded in the reading; another, that though he may 
 meet, perhaps, a few instances agreeable to ancient prosody, yet 
 in modern rhythm like this, be it prosaic or poetic, he must ex- 
 pect to find it governed, for the greater part, by accent. 
 
 And so much for prosaic feet, and numerous prose, which, 
 
 k Sup. p. 407, 408. quo libentius enim recepit oratio. 
 
 1 Sit egitur [oratio] (ut supra dixi) per- m Infr. p. 418. 
 
 mista et temperata numeris, nee dissoluta, n Vid. Aristot. Rhetor. 1. iii. c. 8. p. 30. 
 
 nee tota numerosa, paeone maxime, c. Ad edit. Sylb. "Ecrri 8e iraiavos 5i5o etSrj, a.v- 
 
 Brut. Orat. s. 1.96; and soon before, s. 194, TiKfi^eva a\\-f]\ois' 3>v rb /j.fv, K. r. \. 
 
 Paeon autem minime est aptus ad versum ; Sup. p. 409, 411, 412. 
 
414 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 upon the principles established by ancient critics, we have aimed 
 to accommodate to our own language. 
 
 But we stop not here, having a few more speculations to 
 suggest, which, appearing to arise from the principles of the old 
 critics, are amply verified in our best English authors. But 
 more of this in the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OTHER DECORATIONS OF PROSE BESIDES PROSAIC FEET ALLITERATION 
 
 SENTENCES PERIODS. CAUTION TO AVOID EXCESS IN CONSECU- 
 TIVE MONOSYLLABLES. OBJECTIONS, MADE AND ANSWERED. AU- 
 THORITIES ALLEGED. ADVICE ABOUT READING. 
 
 BESIDES the decoration of prosaic feet, there are other decora- 
 tions admissible into English composition, such as alliteration 
 and sentences, especially the period. 
 
 First, therefore, for the first ; I mean alliteration. 
 
 Among the classics of old there is no finer illustration of this 
 figure, than Lucretius^s description of those blessed abodes, where 
 his gods, detached from providential cares, ever lived in the 
 fruition of divine serenity. 
 
 Apparet Divum numen, sedesque quietae, 
 
 Quas neque concutiunt venti, neque ?rabila ninibia 
 
 Aspergunt, neque nix acri concreta pruina 
 
 Cana cadens violat, semperque z/mubilus aether 
 
 /Tztegit, et large diffuse lumine ridet. Lucret. iii. 1 8. 
 
 The sublime and accurate Virgil did not contemn this decora- 
 tion, though he used it with such pure, unaffected simplicity, 
 that we often feel its force, without contemplating the cause. 
 Take one instance out of infinite with which his works abound : 
 
 ^wrora interea ww'seris ?wortalibus aftnam 
 
 Extulerat wcem, referens opera atque Zabores.P JEn. xi. 183. 
 
 P The following account of this figure is Jnsontem infando indicia. Ejusd. 
 
 taken from Pontanus, one of these ingenious Longe sale Saaca sonabant. Ejusd. 
 
 Italians, who flourished upon the revival of Magnomiscerimiirmurepontum. Ejusd. 
 
 a purer literature in Europe. Quceque lacus late liquidos.' 1 '' Ejusd. 
 
 Ea igitur sive figura, sive ornatus, condi- Fit interdum per continuationem inse- 
 
 mentum quasi quoddam numeris affert, quentis versus, ut in his Lucretianis: 
 
 placet autem nominare attiterationem, quod "Adversoflabraferuntur 
 
 e literarum allusione constet. Fit itaque in Flumine.' 1 '' 
 
 versu, quotiesdictionescontinuat3B,vel binse, Atqui alliteratio hsec ne Ciceroni quidem 
 
 vel ternae ab iisdem primis consonantibus, displicuit in oratione soluta, ut cum dixit 
 
 mutatis aliquando vocalibus, aut ab iisdem in Bruto, " Nulla res magis penetrat in 
 
 incipiunt syllabis, aut ab iisdem primis animos, eosque fingit, format, jleciii" Et 
 
 vocalibus. Delectat autem alliteratio haec in secundo de Oratore : " Quodque me sol- 
 
 mirifice in primis et ultimis locis facta, in licitare summt solet." Quid quod ne in 
 
 mediis quoque, licet ibidem aures minus jocis quidem illis tarn lepidis neglecta est 
 
 sint intentse. Ut a Plauto ; ut cum garrientem apud herum 
 
 "Sceva sedens super arma. Virg. induxit Paenulum ; "Ne tu oratorem hunc 
 
 Tales casus Cassandra canebat. Ejusd. /w<?nis jofectas joostea." Atque haec quidem 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 415 
 
 To Virgil we may add the superior authority of Homer : 
 
 "Hroi & KOTTTreSioj/ rb "'KXTJiov olos 'AAuro, 
 
 *O 6vj.bv /careScoz/ Trdrov 'AvOcbiruv 'AAeefj/wy. IA. '. 201. 
 
 Hermogenes, the rhetorician, when he quotes these lines, 
 quotes them as an example of the figure here mentioned, but 
 calls it by a Greek name, Traprfxycris^ 
 
 Cicero has translated the above verses elegantly, and given us, 
 too, alliteration, though not under the same letters : 
 
 Qui miser in campis errabat solus allseis, 
 Ipse suum cor edens, hominum vestigia rz'tans. 
 
 Aristotle knew this figure, and called it Trap o^o layer is: a name, 
 perhaps, not so precise as the other, because it rather expresses 
 resemblance in general, than that which arises from sound in 
 particular. His example is, ^Aypov jap e'Xa/3ev, apybv Trap" 
 avrovJ 
 
 The Latin rhetoricians styled it ann&minatio, and give us ex- 
 amples of similar character. 3 
 
 But the most singular fact is, that so early, in our own his- 
 tory, as the reign of Henry the Second, this decoration was 
 esteemed and cultivated both by the English and the Welch. 
 So we are informed by Giraldus Cambrensis, a contemporary 
 writer, who, having first given the Welch instance, subjoins the 
 English in the following verse, 
 
 God is together Gammen and Wisedome ; 
 
 that is, " God is at once both Joy and Wisdom." 
 
 He calls the figure by the Latin name annominatio ; and adds, 
 " that the two nations were so attached to this verbal ornament 
 in every high finished composition, that nothing was by them 
 esteemed elegantly delivered, no diction considered but as rude 
 and rustic, if it were not first amply refined with the polishing 
 art of this figure."* 
 
 It is perhaps from this national taste of ours that we derive 
 many proverbial similes, which, if we except the sound, seem 
 to have no other merit : " Fine as fivepence," " Round as a 
 robin,"" &c. 
 
 Even Spenser and Shakspeare adopted the practice, but then 
 it was in a manner suitable to such geniuses. 
 
 alliteratio quemadmodum tribusiniisfitvoci- r Aristot. Rhet. iii. 9. p. 132. edit. Sylb. 
 
 bus, fit alibi etiam in duabus simili modo. Ut, 8 Scrip, ad Herenn. 1. iv. s. 29. 
 
 " Taciti ventura videbant. Virg. l Prse cunctis autem rhetoricis exorna- 
 
 Tamo tempus eni" Ejusd. tionibusannominationemagisutuntur,eaque 
 
 Johannis Joviani Pontani Actius, Dialogus. praecipue specie, quse primas dictionum lit- 
 
 vol. ii. p. 104. edit. Venetis, ap. Aid. 1519. teras vel syllabas convenientia jungit. Adeo 
 
 1 The explanation of it, given by Her- igitur hoc verborura ornatu duae nationes 
 
 mogenes, exactly suits his instance. Flapij- (Angli scil. et Cainbri) in omni sermone 
 
 Xytris Se eVrt tcdXAos 6/j.oiow 6vo/j.a,Tow, eV exquisito utuntur, ut nihil ab his eleganter 
 
 Siatydpoo yj/axrei ravrbv iixovvruv : " Pare- dictum, nullum nisi rude et agreste cen- 
 
 chesis is beauty in similar words, which, seatur cloquium, si non schematis hujug 
 
 under a difterent signification, sound the lima plene fuerit expolitum. Girald. Cam- 
 
 same." 'Eppoy. irepl Evpeff. TO/J.. 5. p. 193. brensis Cambriae Descriptio, p. 889. edit. 
 
 edit. Porti, 1570. fol. Camdeni, 1603. 
 
416 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Spenser says : 
 
 For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake 
 
 Could save the son of Thetis from to die ; 
 But that blind bard did him immortal make 
 
 With verses, dipt in dew of Castalie. 
 
 Shakspeare says : 
 
 Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
 
 This day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
 
 Have talked, &c. Hen. IV. part ii. act 2. 
 
 Milton followed them : 
 
 For eloquence the soul ; song charms the sense. Par. Lost. ii. 556. 
 
 And again : 
 
 Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheav'd 
 
 His vastness. Par. Lost, vii. 471. 
 
 From Dryden we select one example out of many, for no one 
 appears to have employed this figure more frequently, or (like 
 Virgil) with greater simplicity and strength. 
 
 Better to hunt in fields for health unbought, 
 
 Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 
 
 The wise for cure on exercise depend ; 
 
 God never made his work for man to mend. Fables. 
 
 Pope sings in his Dunciad : 
 
 Twas chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabVring all; 
 And noise, and Norton ; brangling, and Breval ; 
 Dennis, and dissonance. 
 
 Which lines, though truly poetical and humorous, may be 
 suspected by some to shew their art too conspicuously, and too 
 nearly to resemble that verse of old Ennius, 
 
 ! Tite, Tute, Tati, Tibi Tanta, Tyranne, Tulisti. 
 
 Script, ad Herenn. 1. iv. s. 18. 
 
 Gray begins a sublime ode, 
 
 Ruin seize thee, ruthless king, &c. 
 
 We might quote also alliterations from prose writers, but 
 those we have alleged we think sufficient. 
 
 Nor is elegance only to be found in single words, or in single 
 feet ; it may be found, when we put them together, in our pe- 
 culiar mode of putting them. It is out of words and feet thus 
 compounded that we form sentences, and among sentences none 
 so striking, none so pleasing, as the period. The reason is, that, 
 while other sentences are indefinite, and (like a geometrical 
 right-line) may be produced indefinitely, the period (like a cir- 
 cular line) is always circumscribed, returns, and terminates at a 
 given point. In other words, while other sentences, by the help 
 of common copulatives, have a sort of boundless effusion ; the 
 constituent parts of a period have a sort of reflex union," in 
 
 u Vid Arist. Rhet. iii. c. 9. Demetr. period is well illustrated by Demetrius in 
 
 Phal. de Elocut. s. ] 0, &c. the following simile : ^Eot/ce yovv ra fj.ev 
 
 The compact combining character of the irepioStKa KcoAa roTs \idois, rots 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 417 
 
 which union the sentence is so far complete, as neither to re- 
 quire, nor even to admit a further extension. Readers find a 
 pleasure in this grateful circuit, which leads them so agreeably 
 to an acquisition of knowledge. 
 
 The author, if he may be permitted, would refer, by way of 
 illustration, to the beginnings of his Hermes and his Philoso- 
 phical Arrangements, where some attempts have been made in 
 this periodical style. He would refer, also, for much more illus- 
 trious examples, to the opening of Cicero's Offices ; to that of 
 the capital oration of Demosthenes concerning the Crown ; and 
 to that of the celebrated Panegyric, made (if he may be so 
 called) by the father of periods, Isocrates. 
 
 Again ; every compound sentence is compounded of other 
 sentences more simple, which, compared to one another, have a 
 certain proportion of length. Now it is in general a good rule, 
 that among these constituent sentences the last (if possible) 
 should be equal to the first ; or if not equal, then rather longer 
 than shorter. x The reason is, that without a special cause, 
 abrupt conclusions are offensive, and the reader, like a traveller 
 quietly pursuing his journey, finds an unexpected precipice, 
 where he is disagreeably stopped. 
 
 To these speculations concerning sentences, we subjoin a few 
 others. 
 
 It has been called a fault in our language, that it abounds in 
 monosyllables. As these, in too lengthened a suite, disgrace a 
 composition, lord Shaftesbury (who studied purity of style 
 with great attention) limited their number to nine, and was 
 careful, in his Characteristics, to conform to his own law. Even 
 in Latin, too, many of them were condemned by Quinctilian. y 
 
 Above all, care should be had, that a sentence end not with a 
 crowd of them, those especially of the vulgar, untunable sort, 
 such as, to set it up, to get by and by at it, &c., for these disgrace 
 a sentence that may be otherwise laudable, and are like the 
 rabble at the close of some pompous cavalcade. 
 
 It was by these, and other arts of similar sort, that authors 
 in distant ages have cultivated their style. Looking upon 
 knowledge (if I may be allowed the allusion) to pass into the 
 mansions of the mind through language, they were careful (if 
 I may pursue the metaphor) not to offend in the vestibule. 
 They did not esteem it pardonable to despise the public ear, 
 when they saw the love of numbers so universally diffused. 2 
 
 Sovaiv ras irfpupfpt'is oTryas, Kal crvv- de Orat. iii. s. 136. 
 
 Xowiv : " the constitutive members of the v Etiam monosyllaba, si plura sunt, male 
 
 period resemble those stones, which mu- continuabuntur: quia necesse est, compo- 
 
 tually support, and keep vaulted roofs to- sitio, multis clausulis concisa, subsultet. 
 
 gether." Sect. 13. Inst. Orat ix. 4. 
 
 x Aut paria esse debent posteriora supe- z Nihil est autem tarn cognatum mentibus 
 
 rioribus, extrema primis ; aut, quod est nostris, quam numeri atque voces ; quibus 
 
 etiam melius et jucundius, longiora. Cic. et excitamur, et incendimur, et lenimur, et 
 
 9. w 
 
418 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Nor were they discouraged, as if they thought their labour 
 would be lost. In these more refined, but yet popular arts, 
 they knew the amazing difference between the power to execute, 
 and the power to judge : that to execute was the joint effort of 
 genius and of habit ; a painful acquisition, only attainable by the 
 few : to judge, the simple effort of that plain but common sense, 
 imparted by Providence in some degree to every one. a 
 
 But here methinks an objector demands, " And are authors 
 then to compose, and form their treatises by rule 2 Are they to 
 balance periods? To scan pyeans and cretics? To affect allitera- 
 tions ? To enumerate monosyllables," &c. 
 
 If, in answer to this objector, it should be said, They ought ; 
 the permission should at least be tempered with much caution. 
 These arts are to be so blended with a pure but common style, 
 that the reader, as he proceeds, may only feel their latent force. 
 If ever they become glaring, they degenerate into affectation ; 
 an extreme more disgusting, because less natural, than even the 
 vulgar language of an unpolished clown. It is in writing, as in 
 acting, the best writers are like our late admired Garrick. 
 And how did that able genius employ his art ? Not by a vain 
 ostentation of any one of its powers, but by a latent use of them 
 all in such an exhibition of nature, that, while we were present 
 in a theatre, and only beholding an actor, we could not help 
 thinking ourselves in Denmark with Hamlet, or in Bosworth 
 field with Richard. b 
 
 There is another objection still : these speculations may be 
 called minutiae ; things partaking at best more of the elegant 
 than of the solid ; and attended with difficulties, beyond the 
 value of the labour. 
 
 To answer this, it may be observed, that, when habit is once 
 gained, nothing so easy as practice. When the ear is once 
 habituated to these verbal rhythms, it forms them spontaneously, 
 without attention or labour. If we call for instances, what 
 more easy to every smith, to every carpenter, to every common 
 mechanic, than the several energies of their proper arts? c How 
 little do even the rigid laws of verse obstruct a genius truly 
 poetic? How little did they cramp a Milton, a Dryden, or a 
 Pope ? Cicero writes, that Antipater the Sidonian could pour 
 forth hexameters extempore ; d and that, wheneyer he chose to 
 
 languescimus, et ad hilaritatera et ad tristi- p. 478. edit. Capper. Desinit ars esse, si 
 
 tiara saepe deducimur ; quorum ilia summa appareat. Ejusd. iv. 2. p. 249. 
 
 vis, &c. Cic. de Orat. iii. s. 197. c See Dionys. Halicarn. de Struct. Orat. 
 
 a Mirabile est, cum plurimum in faciendo s. 25. where this argument is well enforced 
 
 intersit inter doctum et rudem, quam non by the common well-known habit of read- 
 
 multum differat in judicando. Ibid. iii. ing, so difficult at first, yet gradually grow- 
 
 s. 197. ing so familiar, that we perform it at last 
 
 b Ubicunque ars ostentatur, veritas abesse without deliberation, just as we see, or 
 
 videtur. Quinctil. Instit. x. 3. p. 587. edit. hear. 
 
 Capp. Quae sunt artes altiores, plurumque d Cic. de Oratore, 1. iii. 194. The same 
 
 occultantur, ut artes sint. Ejusd. viii. c. 3. great writer, in another place, speaking of 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 419 
 
 versify, words followed him of course. We may add to Antipater 
 the ancient rhapsodists of the Greeks, and the modern impro- 
 visatori of the Italians. If this then be practicable in verse, 
 how much more so in prose ? In prose, the laws of which so far 
 differ from those of poetry, that we can at any time relax them 
 as we find expedient ? Nay, more, where to relax them is not 
 only expedient, but even necessary, because though numerous 
 composition may be a requisite, yet regularly returning rhythm is 
 a thing we should avoid/ 
 
 In every whole, whether natural or artificial, the constituent 
 parts well merit our regard, and in nothing more than in the 
 facility of their coincidence. If we view a landscape, how pleasing 
 the harmony between hills and woods, between rivers and 
 lawns ? If we select from this landscape a tree, how well does 
 the trunk correspond with its branches, and the whole of its 
 form with its beautiful verdure ? If we take an animal, for 
 example, a fine horse, what a union in his colour, his figure, and 
 his motions ? If one of human race, what more pleasingly 
 congenial, than when virtue and genius appear to animate a 
 graceful figure 2 
 
 Pulchro veniens e corpore virtus ? 
 
 The charm increases, if to a graceful figure we add a graceful 
 elocution. Elocution, too, is heightened still, if it convey elegant 
 sentiments; and these again are heightened, if clothed with 
 graceful diction, that is, with words which are pure, precise, and 
 well arranged. 
 
 But this brings us home to the very spot whence we departed. 
 We are insensibly returned to numerous composition, and view 
 in speech, however referred, whether to the body or the mind, 
 whether to the organs of pronunciation or the purity of diction, 
 whether to the purity of diction or the truth of sentiment, how 
 perfectly natural the coincidence of every part ? 
 
 We must not then call these verbal decorations, minutiae. 
 They are essential to the beauty, nay, to the completion of the 
 whole. Without them the composition, though its sentiments 
 may be just, is like a picture, with good drawing, but with bad 
 and defective colouring. 
 
 These we are assured were the sentiments of Cicero, whom 
 we must allow to have been a master in his art, and who has 
 amply and accurately treated verbal decoration and numerous 
 composition in no less than two capital treatises/ strengthening 
 withal his own authority with that of Aristotle and Theo- 
 
 the power of habit, subjoins, Id autem bona e Multum interest, utrum numerosa sit 
 
 disciplina exercitatis, qui et multa scrip- (id est, similis numerorum) an plane e 
 
 Berint, et quaecunque etiam sine scripto numeris, constet oratio. Alteruin si sit, 
 
 dicerent sinulia scriptorum effeccrint, non intolerable vitium est: alterum nisi sit, 
 
 erit difficilimum. Ante enim circumscribitur dissipata, et inculta, et fluens est oratio. 
 
 mente sententia, confestimque verba con- Ejusd. ad Brut. s. 220. 
 currunt, &c. Orator, ad Brut. s. 200. f His Orator, and his De Oratore. 
 
 2fi2 
 
420 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 phrastus ; to whom, if more were wanting, we might add the 
 names of Demetrius Phalereus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 
 Dionysius Longinus, and Quinctilian. 
 
 Having presumed thus far to advise authors, I hope I may 
 be pardoned for saying a word to readers, and the more so, as 
 the subject has not often been touched. 
 
 Whoever reads a perfect or finished composition, whatever be 
 the language, whatever the subject, should read it, even if alone, 
 both audibly and distinctly. 
 
 In a composition of this character, not only precise words are 
 admitted, but words metaphorical and ornamental. And further, 
 as every sentence contains a latent harmony, so is that harmony 
 derived from the rhythm of its constituents parts. 5 
 
 A composition, then, like this, should (as I said before) be 
 read both distinctly and audibly ; with due regard to stops and 
 pauses ; with occasional elevations and depressions of the voice, 
 and whatever else constitutes just and accurate pronunciation. 11 
 He who, despising, or neglecting, or knowing nothing of all this, 
 reads a work of such character, as he would read a sessions- 
 paper, will not only miss many beauties of the style, but will 
 probably miss (which is worse) a large proportion of the sense. 
 
 Something still remains concerning the doctrine of whole and 
 parts, and those essentials of dramatic imitation, manners, senti- 
 ment, and the fable. But these inquiries properly form other 
 chapters. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONCERNING WHOLE AND PARTS, AS ESSENTIAL TO THE CONSTITUTING 
 
 OP A LEGITIMATE WORK THE THEORY ILLUSTRATED FROM THE 
 
 GEORG1CS OF VIRGIL, AND THE MENEXENUS OF PLATO SAME THEORY 
 
 APPLIED TO SMALLER PIECES TOTALITY, ESSENTIAL TO SMALL 
 
 WORKS, AS WELL AS GREAT EXAMPLES TO ILLUSTRATE ACCURACY, 
 
 ANOTHER ESSENTIAL MORE SO TO SMALLER PIECES, AND WHY 
 
 TRANSITION TO DRAMATIC SPECULATIONS. 
 
 EVERY legitimate work should be one, as much as a vegetable, 
 or an animal ; and, to be one like them, it should be a whole, 
 consisting of parts, and be in nothing redundant, in nothing 
 deficient. The difference is, the whole of an animal, or a 
 vegetable, consists of parts, which exist at once : the whole of 
 an oration, or a poem, as it must be either heard or perused, 
 consists of parts not taken at once, but in a due and orderly 
 succession. 
 
 The description of such a whole is perfectly simple, but not, 
 for that simplicity, the less to be approved. 
 
 * See before, from p. 410 to p. 416. 1. iii. s. 19, 20, 21, 22, 23. p. 4. 73,74, 75. 
 
 h Vicf. Scriptor. ad Herenn. 1. i. s. 3. edit. Oxon. 1718. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 421 
 
 A whole, we are informed, should have a beginning, middle, 
 and end. 1 If we doubt this, let us suppose a composition to 
 want them : would not the very vulgar say, it had neither head 
 nor tail ? 
 
 Nor are the constitutive parts, though equally simple in their 
 description, for that reason less founded in truth. "A beginning 
 is that, which nothing necessarily precedes, but which something 
 naturally follows. An end is that, which nothing naturally 
 follows, but which something necessarily precedes. A middle is 
 that, which something precedes, to distinguish it from a be- 
 ginning ; and which something follows, to distinguish it from an 
 end." k 
 
 I might illustrate this from a proposition in Euclid. The 
 stating of the thing to be proved, makes the beginning ; the 
 proving of it, makes the middle ; and the asserting of it to have 
 been proved, makes the conclusion, or end : and thus is every 
 such proposition a complete and perfect whole. 
 
 The same holds in writings of a character totally different. 
 Let us take for an example the most highly-finished performance 
 among the Romans, and that in their most polished period, 
 I mean the Georgics of Virgil. 
 
 Quid faciat laetas segetes, quo fidere terrain 
 
 Vertere, Maecenas, (2) ulmisque adjungere vites 
 
 Conveniat ; (3) quae cura bourn, qui cultus habendo 
 
 Sit pecori ; (4) apibus quanta experientia parcis, 
 
 Hinc canere incipiam, &c. Virg. Georg. i. 
 
 In these lines, and so on (if we consult the original) for forty-two 
 lines inclusive, we have the beginning ; which beginning includes 
 two things, the plan, and the invocation. 
 
 In the four first verses we have the plan, which plan gradually 
 opens and becomes the whole work, as an acorn, when developed, 
 becomes a perfect oak. After this comes the invocation, which 
 extends to the last of the forty-two verses above mentioned. 
 The two together give us the true character of a beginning, 
 which, as above described, nothing can precede, and which it is 
 necessary that something should follow. 
 
 The remaining part of the first book, together with the three 
 books following, to verse the 458th of book the fourth, make 
 the middle ; which also has its true character, that of succeeding 
 the beginning, where we expect something further ; and that of 
 preceding the end, where we expect nothing more. 
 
 The eight last verses of the poem make the end, which, like 
 ihe beginning, is short, and which preserves its real character by 
 
 1 "OAoi/ Se fcrri rb fX ov "PX^ 1 " Ka ^ Tovvavriov, & avrb yuer' &\\o iretyvKev 
 
 juetroi/ Kal T\fVT-fiv. Arist. Poet. cap. 7. eT^ou, 2) e avdyicns % us TTITOTTO\V, ,ueTa 
 
 p. 231. edit. Sylb. Se rovro oAAo ouSeV MeVoi/ Se Kal aurb 
 
 k 'Apxrj 5e e<mj/, 6 avrb /AW e avdyKrjs p.er &\\o, Kal fJ.fr tuoivo erepov. Arist. 
 
 /JLCT #AAo larri (J.CT tKeivo 8' erepov Poet. cap. 7. p. 231, 232. edit. Sylb. 
 elvai 1) ywfffQai. TeAet/TT/ 8c 
 
422 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 satisfying the reader, that all is complete, and that nothing is to 
 follow. The performance is even dated. It finishes like an 
 epistle, giving us the place and time of writing ; but then giving 
 them in such a manner as they ought to come from Virgil. 1 
 
 But to open our thoughts into a further detail. 
 
 As the poem from its very name respects various matters 
 relative to land, (Georgica,) and which are either immediately or 
 mediately connected with it ; among the variety of these matters 
 the poem begins from the lowest, and thence advances gradually 
 from higher to higher, till having reached the highest, it there 
 properly stops. 
 
 The first book begins from the simple culture of the earth, 
 and from its humblest progeny, corn, legumes, flowers, &c. m 
 
 It is a nobler species of vegetables which employs the second 
 book, where we are taught the culture of trees, and, among 
 others, of that important pair, the olive and the vine." Yet it 
 must be remembered, that all this is nothing more than the 
 culture of mere vegetable and inanimate nature. 
 
 It is in the third book that the poet rises to nature sensitive 
 and animated, when he gives us precepts about cattle, horses, 
 sheep, &c. 
 
 At length, in the fourth book, when matters draw to a con- 
 clusion, then it is he treats his subject in a moral and political 
 way. He no longer pursues the culture of the mere brute na- 
 ture ; he then describes, as he tells us, 
 
 Mores, et studia, et populos, et praelia, &c. 
 
 For such is the character of his bees, those truly social and po- 
 litical animals. It is here he first mentions arts, and memory, 
 and laws, and families. It is here (their great sagacity con- 
 sidered) he supposes a portion imparted of a sublimer principle. 
 It is here that every thing vegetable or merely brutal seems for- 
 gotten, while all appears at least human, and sometimes even 
 divine. 
 
 His quidam signis, atque hsec exempla secuti, 
 
 Esse apibus partem divinse mentis, et haustus 
 
 -flEtherios dixere : deum namque ire per omnes 
 
 Terrasque tractusque maris, &c. Georg. iv. 219. 
 
 When the subject will not permit him to proceed further, he 
 suddenly conveys his reader, by the fable of Aristseus, among 
 nymphs, heroes, demi-gods, and gods, and thus leaves him in 
 company, supposed more than mortal. 
 
 This is not only a sublime conclusion to the fourth book, 
 
 I See Philosophical Arrangements, page of his first book, Ulmisque adjungere vites, 
 336. and is the entire subject of the second, the 
 
 m These are implied by Virgil in the same exceptions made as before, 
 
 first line of his first book, and in every This is the third subject mentioned in 
 
 other part of it, the Episodes and Epilogue the Proeme, and fills (according to just 
 
 excepted. order) the entire third book, making the 
 
 II This too is asserted at the beginning same exceptions as before. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 423 
 
 but naturally leads to the conclusion of the whole work ; for 
 he does no more after this than shortly recapitulate, and 
 elegantly blend his recapitulating with a compliment to Au- 
 gustus. 
 
 But even this is not all. 
 
 The dry didactic character of the Georgics made it necessary 
 they should be enlivened by episodes and digressions. It has 
 been the art of the poet, that these episodes and digressions 
 should be homogeneous ; that is, should so connect with the sub- 
 ject, as to become (as it were) parts of it. On these principles 
 every book has for its end, what I call an epilogue ; for its be- 
 ginning, an invocation ; and for its middle, the several precepts 
 relative to its subject, I mean husbandry. Having a beginning, 
 a middle, and an end, every part itself becomes a smaller whole, 
 though with respect to the general plan it is nothing more than 
 a part. Thus the human arm, with a view to its elbow, its hand, 
 its fingers, &c. is as clearly a whole, as it is simply but a part 
 with a view to the entire body. 
 
 The smaller wholes of this divine poem may merit some at- 
 tention ; by these I mean each particular book. 
 
 Each book has an invocation. The first invokes the sun, the 
 moon, the various rural deities, and, lastly, Augustus ; the se- 
 cond invokes Bacchus ; the third, Pales and Apollo ; the fourth, 
 his patron MaBcenas. I do not dwell on these invocations, much 
 less on the parts which follow, for this, in fact, would be writing 
 a comment upon the poem. But the epilogues, besides their 
 own intrinsic beauty, are too much to our purpose to be passed 
 in silence. 
 
 In the arrangement of them, the poet seems to have pursued 
 such an order, as that alternate affections should be alternately 
 excited ; and this he has done, well knowing the importance of 
 that generally acknowledged truth, " the force derived to con- 
 traries by their juxta-position or succession ."P The first book 
 ends with those portents and prodigies, both upon earth and in 
 the heavens, which preceded the death of the dictator CaBsar. 
 To these direful scenes the epilogue of the second book opposes 
 the tranquillity and felicity of the rural life, which (as he informs 
 us) faction and civil discord do not usually impair : 
 
 Non res Romanae, perituraque regna. 
 
 In the ending of the third book we read of a pestilence, and of 
 nature in devastation ; in the fourth, of nature restored, and, by 
 help of the gods, replenished. 
 
 As this concluding epilogue (I mean the fable of Aristams) 
 occupies the most important place, so is it decorated accordingly 
 with language, events, places, and personages. 
 
 No language was ever more polished and harmonious. The 
 descent of Aristseus to his mother, and of Orpheus to the shades, 
 
 P See before, p. 401, 402. 
 
424 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 are events ; the watery palace of the Nereids, the cavern of 
 Proteus, and the scene of the infernal regions, are places ; 
 Aristseus, old Proteus, Orpheus, Eurydice, Cyllene and her 
 nymphs, are personages ; all great, all striking, all sublime. 
 
 Let us view these epilogues in the poet's order : 1. Civil 
 horrors ; 2. Rural tranquillity ; 3. Nature laid waste ; 4. Nature 
 restored. Here, as we have said already, different passions are, 
 by the subjects being alternate, q alternately excited ; and yet 
 withal excited so judiciously, that, when the poem concludes, 
 and all is at an end, the reader leaves off with tranquillity and 
 
 From the Georgics of Virgil we proceed to the Menexenus of 
 Plato ; the first being the most finished form of a didactic poem, 
 the latter, the most consummate model of a panegyrical oration. 
 
 The Menexenus is a funeral oration in praise of those brave 
 Athenians who had fallen in battle by generously asserting the 
 cause of their country. Like the Georgics, and every other 
 just composition, this oration has a beginning, a middle, and an 
 end. 
 
 The beginning is a solemn account of the deceased having re- 
 ceived all the legitimate rights of burial, and of the propriety of 
 doing them honour not only by deeds, but by words ; that is, 
 not only by funeral ceremonies, but by a speech, to perpetuate 
 the memory of their magnanimity, and to recommend it to their 
 posterity as an object of imitation. 
 
 As the deceased were brave and gallant men, we are shewn 
 by what means they came to possess their character, and what 
 noble exploits they performed in consequence. 
 
 Hence the middle of the oration contains, first, their origin ; 
 next, their education and form of government ; and last of all, 
 the consequence of such an origin and education ; their heroic 
 achievements from the earliest days to the time then present/ 
 
 The middle part being thus complete, we come to the con- 
 clusion ; which is, perhaps, the most sublime piece of oratory, 
 both for the plan and execution, which is extant of any age, or 
 in any language. 
 
 By an awful prosopopoeia, the deceased are called up to ad- 
 dress the living ; the fathers, slain in battle, to exhort their 
 living children; the children, slain in battle, to console their 
 living fathers ; and this with every idea of manly consolation, 
 and with every generous incentive to a contempt of death, and a 
 love of their country, that the powers of nature or of art could 
 suggest. 8 
 
 It is here this oration concludes, being (as we have shewn) a 
 
 1 See before, p. 423. 8 See the same edition, from the words 
 
 r See Dr. Bentham's elegant edition of *H TrcuSes, 'dri fj.ev eVre Trarfpcav ayaOuv, 
 
 this oration, in his A.6yoi 'EiriTatyioi, printed p. 41, to the conclusion of the oration, p. 
 
 at Oxford, 1746, from p. 21 to p. 40. 48. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 425 
 
 perfect whole, executed with all the strength of a sublime lan- 
 guage, under the management of a great and sublime genius. 
 
 If these speculations appear too dry, they may be rendered 
 more pleasing, if the reader would peruse the two pieces cri- 
 ticised. His labour, he might be assured, would not be lost, as 
 he would peruse two of the finest pieces, which the two finest 
 ages of antiquity produced. 
 
 We cannot however quit this theory concerning whole and 
 parts, without observing, that it regards alike both small works 
 and great ; and that it descends even to an essay, to a sonnet, 
 to an ode. These minuter efforts of genius, unless, they possess 
 (if I may be pardoned the expression) a certain character of 
 totality, lose a capital pleasure derived from their union ; from 
 a union which, collected in a few pertinent ideas, combines them 
 all happily, under one amicable form. Without this union, the 
 production is no better than a sort of vague effusion, where sen- 
 tences follow sentences, and stanzas follow stanzas, with no ap- 
 parent reason why they should be two rather than twenty, or 
 twenty rather than two. 
 
 If we want another argument for this minuter totality, we 
 may refer to nature, which art is said to imitate. Not only 
 this universe is one stupendous whole, but such also is a tree, a 
 shrub, a flower ; such those beings which, without the aid of 
 glasses, even escape our perception. And so much for totality, 
 (I venture to familiarize the term,) that common and essential 
 character to every legitimate composition. 
 
 There is another character left, which, though foreign to the 
 present purpose, I venture to mention, and that is the character 
 of accuracy. Every work ought to be as accurate as possible. 
 And yet, though this apply to works of every kind, there is a 
 difference whether the work be great or small. In greater 
 works, (such as histories, epic poems, and the like,) their very 
 magnitude excuses incidental defects, and their authors, accord- 
 ing to Horace, may be allowed to slumber. It is otherwise in 
 smaller works, for the very reason that they are smaller. Such, 
 through every part, both in sentiment and diction, should be 
 perspicuous, pure, simple, and precise. 
 
 As examples often illustrate better than theory, the following 
 short piece is subjoined for perusal. The reader may be assured, 
 it comes not from the author ; and yet, though not his own, he 
 cannot help feeling a paternal solicitude for it; a wish for in- 
 dulgence to a juvenile genius, that never meant a private essay 
 for public inspection. 
 
 " A rgument. 
 
 " Several ladies in the country having acted a dramatic pas- 
 toral, in which one of them, under the name of Florizel, a shep- 
 
426 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 herd, makes love to another, under the name of Perdita, a shep- 
 herdess ; their acting being finished, and they returned to their 
 proper characters, one of them addresses the other in the follow- 
 ing lines : 
 
 " No more shall we with trembling hear that bell, 1 
 Which shewM me, Perdita ; thee, Florizel. 
 No more thy brilliant eyes, with looks of love, 
 Shall in my bosom gentle pity move. 
 The curtain drops, and now we both remain, 
 You free from mimic love, and I from pain. 
 Yet grant one favour tho 1 our drama ends, 
 Let the feigned lovers still be real friends." 
 
 The author, in his own works, as far as his genius would 
 assist, has endeavoured to give them a just totality. He has 
 endeavoured that each of them should exhibit a real beginning, 
 middle, and end, and these properly adapted to the places 
 which they possess, and incapable of transposition, without 
 detriment or confusion. He does not, however, venture upon a 
 detail, because he does not think it worthy to follow the detail 
 of productions, like the Georgics or the Menexenus. 
 
 So much, therefore, for the speculation concerning whole and 
 parts, and such matters relative to it, as have incidentally 
 arisen. 
 
 We are now to say something upon the theory of sentiment ; 
 and as sentiment and manners are intimately connected, and in 
 a drama both of them naturally rise out of the fable, it seems 
 also proper to say something upon dramatic speculation in gene- 
 ral, beginning, according to order, first from the first. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DRAMATIC SPECULATIONS THE CONSTITUTIVE PARTS OF EVERY DRAMA 
 
 SIX IN NUMBER WHICH OF THESE BELONG TO OTHER ARTISTS 
 
 WHICH TO THE POET TRANSITION TO THOSE WHICH APPERTAIN TO 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 THE laws and principles of dramatic poetry among the Greeks, 
 whether it was from the excellence of their pieces, or of their 
 language, or of both, were treated with attention even by their 
 ablest philosophers. 
 
 We shall endeavour to give a sketch of their ideas ; and, if it 
 shall appear that we illustrate by instances chiefly modern, we 
 have so done, because we believe that it demonstrates the uni- 
 versality of the precepts. 
 
 1 The play-bell. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 427 
 
 A dramatic piece, or (in more common language) a play, is 
 the detail or exhibition of a certain action : not, however, an 
 action, like one in history, which is supposed actually to have 
 happened, hut, though taken from history, a fiction or imitation, 
 in various particulars derived from invention. It is by this that 
 Sophocles and Shakspeare differ from Thucydides and Clarendon. 
 It is invention makes them poets, and not metre ; for had Coke 
 or Newton written in verse, they could not, for that reason, have 
 been called poets. 11 
 
 Again, a dramatic piece, or play, is the exhibition of an action; 
 not simply related, as the .ZEneid or Paradise Lost, but where 
 the parties concerned are made to appear in person, and per- 
 sonally to converse and act their own story. It is by this that 
 the Samson Agonistes differs from the Paradise Lost, though 
 both of them poems from the same sublime author. 
 
 Now such dramatic piece, or play, in order to make it pleas- 
 ing, (and, surely, to please is an essential to the drama,) must 
 have a beginning, middle, and end ; that is, as far as possible, be 
 a perfect whole, having parts. If it be defective here, it will be 
 hardly comprehensible ; and if hardly comprehensible, it is not 
 possible that it should please. 
 
 But upon whole and parts, as we have spoken already/ we 
 speak not now. At present we remark, that such an action, as 
 here described, makes in every play what we call the story, or 
 (to use a term more technical) the fable ; and that this story or 
 fable is, and has been justly called, the very soul of the drama, y 
 since from this it derives its very existence. 
 
 We proceed : this drama, then, being an action, and that not 
 rehearsed like an epopee or history, but actually transacted by 
 certain present living agents, it becomes necessary that these 
 agents should mutually converse, and that they should have too 
 a certain place where to hold their conversation. Hence we 
 perceive that in every dramatic piece, not only the fable is a 
 requisite, but the scenery, and the stage, and, more than these, a 
 proper diction. Indeed, the scenery and stage are not in the 
 poet's department : they belong at best to the painter, and after 
 him to inferior artists. The diction is the poet's, and this indeed 
 is important, since the whole of his performance is conveyed 
 through the dialogue. 
 
 But diction being admitted, we are still to observe, that there 
 are other things wanting, of no less importance. In the various 
 
 11 ArjAoi/ ovv fK TOVTWV on rbv TTOITJT^I/ and as the objects he imitates are human 
 
 /j.a\\ov TUV /j.v6<i)V fivai 5e? TroiTj-r^;/, T) ru>v actions." Arist. de Poet. cap. 9. p. 234. 
 
 /j.Tpuv, '6ff(a TroiTjT'Jjs Kara. T})V /j.i/j.yo'iv edit. Sylb. 
 fan" /j.ifjLf'iTaL Se ras irpdeis. " It is x Sup. chap, v.^ 
 
 therefore evident hence, that a poet, or * 'Apx^ t** v ^ v K0 ^ ^ ov ^ V X^ & p-vOos 
 
 maker, ought rather to be a maker of TTJS rpayydias. Arist. Poet. c. 6. p. 231. 
 
 fables than of verses, inasmuch as he is a edit. Sylb. 
 poet, or maker, in virtue of his imitation, 
 
428 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 transactions of real life, every person does not simply speak, but 
 some way or other speaks his mind, and discovers by his be- 
 haviour certain traces of character. Now it is in these almost 
 inseparable accidents to human conduct, that we perceive the 
 rise of sentiment and manners. And hence it follows, that as 
 dramatic fiction copies real life, not only diction is a necessary 
 part of it, but manners also, and sentiment. 
 
 We may subjoin one part more, and that is music. The 
 ancient choruses between the acts were probably sung, and 
 perhaps the rest was delivered in a species of recitative. Our 
 modern theatres have a band of music ; and have music often 
 introduced where there is no opera. In this last, (I mean the 
 opera,) music seems to claim precedence. 
 
 From these speculations it appears, that the constitutive parts 
 of the drama are six ; that is to say, the fable, the manners, the 
 sentiment, the diction, the scenery, and the music. 2 
 
 But then, as out of these six the scenery and the music appear 
 to appertain to other artists, and the play (as far as respects the 
 poet) is complete without them ; it remains that its four primary 
 and capital parts are the fable, the manners, the sentiment, and 
 the diction. 
 
 These, by way of sketch, we shall successively consider, com- 
 mencing from the fable, as the first in dignity and rank. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN THE CONSTITUTIVE PARTS OF A DRAMA, THE FABLE CONSIDERED 
 
 FIRST ITS DIFFERENT SPECIES WHICH FIT FOR COMEDY, WHICH 
 
 FOR TRAGEDY ILLUSTRATIONS BY EXAMPLES REVOLUTIONS 
 
 DISCOVERIES TRAGIC PASSIONS LILLO^S FATAL CURIOSITY COM- 
 PARED WITH THE CEDIPUS TYRANNUS OF SOPHOCLES IMPORTANCE 
 
 OF FABLES, BOTH TRAGIC AND COMIC HOW THEY DIFFER BAD 
 
 FABLES, WHENCE OTHER DRAMATIC REQUISITES, WITHOUT THE 
 
 FABLE, MAY BE EXCELLENT FIFTH ACTS, HOW CHARACTERIZED BY 
 
 SOME DRAMATIC WRITERS. 
 
 IF we treat of dramatic fables or stories, we must first inquire 
 how many are their species ; and these we endeavour to arrange, 
 as follows. 
 
 One species is, when the several events flow in a similar suc- 
 cession, and calmly maintain that equal course, till the succession 
 stops, and the fable is at an end. Such is the story of a simple 
 
 z They are thus enumerated by Aristotle : The doctrines of Aristotle, in this and 
 
 Mu0os, KOL fiQi], nal Ae|is, /cat Sidvoia, ital the following chapters, may be said to con- 
 
 &//ts, Kal fj.e\oirotia. De Poet. c. 6. p. 230. tain in a manner the whole dramatic art. 
 edit. Sylb. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 429 
 
 peasant, who quietly dies in the cottage where he was horn, 
 the same throughout his life, hoth in manners and in rank. 
 
 There is a second species of story or fable, not simple, but 
 complicated ; a a species where the succeeding events differ 
 widely from the preceding ; as, for example, the story of the 
 well-known Massiriello, who, in a few days, from a poor fisher- 
 man rose to sovereign authority. Here the succession is not 
 equal or similar, because we have a sudden revolution from low 
 to high, from mean to magnificent. 
 
 There is another complicated species, the reverse of this last, 
 where the revolution, though in extremes, is from high to low, 
 from magnificent to mean. This may be illustrated by the same 
 Massinello, who, after a short taste of sovereignty, was igno- 
 miniously slain. 
 
 And thus are all fables or stories either simple or com- 
 plicated : and the complicated also of two subordinate sorts ; of 
 which the one, beginning from bad, ends in good ; the other, 
 beginning from good, ends in bad. 
 
 If we contemplate these various species, we shall find the 
 simple story least adapted either to comedy or tragedy. It 
 wants those striking revolutions, those unexpected discoveries, 5 
 so essential to engage and to detain a spectator. 
 
 It is not so with complicated stories. Here every sudden 
 revolution, every discovery, has a charm, and the unexpected 
 events never fail to interest. 
 
 It must be remarked, however, of these complicated stories, 
 that, where the revolution is from bad to good, as in the first 
 subordinate sort, they are more natural to comedy than to 
 tragedy, 6 because comedies, however perplexed and turbid may 
 
 a EiVi Se TUV piiQiav ol p.cv aTrAoZ, ol Se change from ignorance to knowledge ; know- 
 
 TreTrAey/iiei'or Kal yap at irpd^cis, 5>v fj.i- ledge leading either to friendship or enmity 
 
 pfofis ol pvQoi eicriv, virdpxovaiv ev9vs between those who [in the course of the 
 
 ovaai roiavrai' Aeyw 8e, K. r. A. "Of drama] are destined to felicity or infelicity." 
 
 fables, some are simple, and some are com- Aristot. Poet, ut supra, 
 
 plicated ; for such are human actions, of c The Stagirite having approved the 
 
 which fables are imitations. By simple, practice, that tragedy should end with in- 
 
 I mean,"&c. Aristot. Poet. cap. 10. p. 235. felicity, and told us that the introduction 
 
 edit. Sylb. of felicity was a sort of compliment paid by 
 
 b These revolutions and discoveries are the poet to the wishes of the spectators, adds, 
 
 called in Greek irepiirfTfiai and avayvu- upon the subject of a happy ending ^Eo-ri 
 
 ptfffis. They are thus defined : 'Eo-rt 5e Se oi>x avr-r] aTrb rpaycaSias rjSov^ ctAAct 
 
 irepnrerfia JJLCV f) els rb evavrlov ruv Trpar- /j.a.\\ov TTJS Kca/j-cfSias olitfia' e'/ce? yap ~av 
 
 ro/Afvuv /46Taj8(^A77, KaQdirep eiprjrcu, Kal ol exjdiaroi Sxriv cv rtf fjivQca' ofoi' 'OpeVrrjs 
 
 TOVTO 5e Kara rb etbs, ^ avayKatov: "A Kal Atyurdos' (pi\oi ytv6iJ.tvoi firl TeAewTTjs 
 
 revolution is, as has been already said, a QepxofTai, Kal airoQvliaKfi ovSels inr' oit- 
 
 change into the reverse of what is doing, 8ev6s : "This is not a pleasure arising from 
 
 and that either according to probability, or tragedy, but is rather peculiar to comedy, 
 
 from necessity." Aristot. Poet. c. 1 1. p. 235. For there, if the characters are most hostile, 
 
 edit. Sylb. Again : 'Avayvdpuris S" fVriJ/, (as much so, as Orestes and ^Egisthus 
 
 &a"irp Kal rovvo/uia o"ti[j,atvi, t ayvoias were,) they become friends at last, when 
 
 cis yvuxnv^ra^oX^^) ei's fyiXiav ^ fX^P av they quit the stage, nor does any one die 
 
 TUV TTpbs cvrv^lav 3) SUO'TU%I / C' u>picr^v<av : by the means of any other." Aristot. 
 
 "A discovery is, as the name implies, a Poet. c. 13. p. 238. edit. Sylb. 
 
430 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 be their beginning, generally produce at last (as well the ancient 
 as the modern) a reconciliation of parties, and a wedding in 
 consequence. Not only Terence, but every modern may furnish 
 us with examples. 
 
 On the contrary, when the revolution, as in the second sort, 
 is from good to bad, (that is, from happy to unhappy, from 
 prosperous to adverse,) here we discover the true fable, or story, 
 proper for tragedy. Common sense leads us to call, even in real 
 life, such events, tragical. When Henry the Fourth of France, 
 the triumphant sovereign of a great people, was unexpectedly 
 murdered by a wretched fanatic, we cannot help saying, it was 
 a tragical story. 
 
 But to come to the tragic drama itself. 
 
 We see this kind of revolution sublimely illustrated in the 
 CEdipus of Sophocles ; where (Edipus, after having flattered 
 himself in vain, that his suspicions would be relieved by his 
 inquiries, is at last by those very inquiries plunged into the 
 deepest woe, d from finding it confirmed and put beyond doubt, 
 that he had murdered his own father, and was then married to 
 his own mother. 
 
 We see the force also of such a revolution in Milton's 
 Samson Agonistes. When his father had specious hopes to 
 redeem him from captivity, these hopes are at once blasted by 
 his unexpected destruction. 6 
 
 Othello commences with a prospect of conjugal felicity ; Lear 
 with that of repose, by retiring from royalty/ Different revolu- 
 tions (arising from jealousy, ingratitude, and other culpable af- 
 fections) change both of these pleasing prospects into the 
 deepest distress, and with this distress each of the tragedies 
 concludes. 
 
 Nor is it a small heightening to these revolutions, if they are 
 attended, as in the CEdipus, with a discovery ; that is, if the 
 parties who suffer, and those who cause their sufferings, are 
 discovered to be connected : for example, to be husband and 
 wife, brother and sister, parents and a child, &c. 
 
 If a man in real life happen to kill another, it certainly 
 heightens the misfortune, even though an event of mere chance, 
 if he discover that person to be his father or his son. 
 
 It is easy to perceive, if these events are tragic, (and can we 
 for a moment doubt them to be such ?) that pity and terror are 
 the true tragic passions ; g that they truly bear that name, and 
 are necessarily diffused through every fable truly tragic. 
 
 d See the same Poetics of Aristotle, in imaginary mender seems to have paid the 
 
 the beginning of chap. 11. "ncnrep eV TO. same compliment to his audience, as was 
 
 Ot&VoSi, K. r. \. p. 235. edit. Sylb. paid to other audiences two thousand years 
 
 e See Samson Agonistes, v. 1452, &c. ago, and then justly censured. See note c, 
 
 f This example refers to the real Lear of p. 429. 
 
 Shakspeare, not the spurious one, com- s It has been observed, that if persons 
 
 monly acted under his name, where the of consummate virtue and probity are made 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 431 
 
 Now whether our ingenious countryman, Lillo, in that capital 
 play of his, the Fatal Curiosity, learned this doctrine from 
 others, or was guided by pure genius, void of critical literature ; 
 it is certain that in this tragedy (whatever was the cause) we 
 find the model of a perfect fable, under all the characters here 
 described. 
 
 " A long-lost son, returning home unexpectedly, finds his 
 parents alive, but perishing with indigence. 
 
 " The young man, whom from his long absence his parents 
 never expected, discovers himself first to an amiable friend, his 
 long-loved Charlotte, and with her concerts the manner how to 
 discover himself to his parents. 
 
 " It is agreed he should go to their house, and there remain 
 unknown, till Charlotte should arrive, and make the happy 
 discovery. 
 
 "He goes thither accordingly; and having, by a letter of 
 Charlotte's, been admitted, converses, though unknown, both 
 with father and mother, and beholds their misery with filial 
 affection ; complains at length he was fatigued, (which in fact he 
 really was,) and begs he may be admitted for a while to repose. 
 Retiring, he delivers a casket to his mother, and tells her it is a 
 deposit she must guard till he awakes. 
 
 " Curiosity tempts her to open the casket, where she is dazzled 
 with the splendour of innumerable jewels. Objects so alluring 
 suggest bad ideas, and poverty soon gives to those ideas a sanc- 
 tion. Black as they are, she communicates them to her husband, 
 who, at first reluctant, is at length persuaded, and for the sake 
 of the jewels stabs the stranger while he sleeps. 
 
 " The fatal murder is perpetrating, or at least but barely 
 perpetrated, when Charlotte arrives, full of joy, to inform them 
 that the stranger within their walls was their long-lost son." 
 
 What a discovery ? What a revolution ? How irresistibly 
 are the tragic passions of terror and pity excited. 11 
 
 It is no small praise to this affecting fable, that it so much 
 resembles that of the play just mentioned, the CEdipus Tyrannus. 
 In both tragedies, that which apparently leads to joy, leads in 
 its completion to misery ; both tragedies concur in the horror 
 of their discoveries; and both in those great outlines of a truly 
 tragic revolution, where (according to the nervous sentiment of 
 Lillo himself) we see 
 
 unfortunate, it does not move our pity, for As we think the sufferings of such 
 
 we are shocked ; if persons notoriously persons rather hard, they move our pity ; 
 
 infamous are unfortunate, it may move our as we think them like ourselves, they move 
 
 humanity, but hardly then our pity. It our fear. 
 
 remains that pity, and we may add fear, This will explain the following expres- 
 
 are naturally excited by middle characters, sions : "EAeos /xej/, irepl rbv wd^tov <p6fios 
 
 those who are no way distinguished by 5e irepl rbv fyiojoj/. Aristot. Poet. c. 13. 
 
 their extraordinary virtue, nor who bring p. 237. edit. Sylb. 
 
 their misfortunes upon them so much by h See page 430. 
 improbity as by error. 
 
432 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 The two extremes of life, 
 The highest happiness, and deepest woe, 
 With all the sharp and bitter aggravations 
 Of such a vast transition. 
 
 A further concurrence may be added, which is, that each 
 piece begins and proceeds in a train of events, which with perfect 
 probability lead to its conclusion, without the help of machines, 
 deities, prodigies, spectres, or any thing else incomprehensible 
 or incredible. 14 
 
 We may say, too, in both pieces there exists totality ; that is 
 to say, they have a beginning, a middle, and an end. 1 
 
 We mention this again, though we have mentioned it already, 
 because we think we cannot enough enforce so absolutely es- 
 sential a requisite; a requisite descending in poetry from the 
 mighty epopee down to the minute epigram ; and never to be 
 dispensed with, but in sessions-papers, controversial pamphlets, 
 and those passing productions, which, like certain insects of 
 which we read, live and die within the day. m 
 
 And now having given, in the above instances, this description 
 of the tragic fable, we may be enabled to perceive its amazing 
 efficacy. It does not, like a fine sentiment, or a beautiful 
 simile, give an occasional or local grace ; it is never out of 
 sight ; it adorns every part, and passes through the whole. 
 
 It was from these reasonings that the great father of criticism, 
 speaking of the tragic fable, calls it the very soul of tragedy." 
 
 Nor is this assertion less true of the comic fable, which has, 
 too, like the tragic, its revolutions and its discoveries ; its 
 praise from natural order, and from a just totality. 
 
 The difference between them only lies in the persons and 
 the catastrophe, inasmuch as (contrary to the usual practice of 
 tragedy) the comic persons are mostly either of middle or lower 
 life, and the catastrophe for the greater part from bad to good, 
 or (to talk less in extremes) from turbid to tranquil. 
 
 On fables, comic as well as tragic, we may alike remark, that, 
 when good, like many other fine things, they are difficult. And 
 hence perhaps the cause, why in this respect so many dramas 
 are defective ; and why their story or fable is commonly no 
 more than either a jumble of events hard to comprehend, or a 
 tale taken from some wretched novel, which has little founda- 
 tion either in nature or probability. 
 
 Even in the plays we most admire, we shall seldom find our 
 admiration to arise from the fable : it is either from the senti- 
 ment, as in Measure for Measure ; or from the purity of the 
 
 k It is true, that in one play mention is * See chap. v. 
 
 made of an oracle ; in the other, of a ra Vid. Aristot. Animal. Histor. 1. v. 
 
 dream ; but neither of them affects the p. 143. edit. Sylb. 
 
 catastrophe ; which in both plays arises n See before, p. 427. 
 
 from incidents perfectly natural. See p. 429, 430. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 diction, as in Cato ; or from the characters and manners, as in 
 Lear, Othello, FalstafF, Benedict and Beatrice, Ben the Sailor, 
 sir Peter and lady Teazle, with the other persons of that 
 pleasing drama, the School for Scandal. 
 
 To these merits, which are great, we may add others far 
 inferior, such as the scenery ; such as, in tragedy, the spectacle 
 of pomps and processions; in comedy, the amusing bustle of 
 surprises and squabbles ; all of which have their effect, and keep 
 our attention alive. 
 
 But here, alas ! commences the grievance. After sentiment, 
 diction, characters, and manners ; after the elegance of scenes ; 
 after pomps and processions, squabbles and surprises ; when, 
 these being over, the whole draws to a conclusion, it is then un- 
 fortunately comes the failure. At that critical moment, of all 
 the most interesting, (by that critical moment, I mean the 
 catastrophe,) it is then the poor spectator is led into a labyrinth, 
 where both himself and the poet are often lost together. 
 
 In tragedy, this knot, like the Gordian knot, is frequently 
 solved by the sword. The principal parties are slain ; and, 
 these being despatched, the play ends of course. 
 
 In comedy, the expedient is little better. The old gentleman 
 of the drama, after having fretted and stormed through the 
 first four acts, towards the conclusion of the fifth is unaccount- 
 ably appeased. At the same time, the dissipated coquette and 
 the dissolute fine gentleman, whose vices cannot be occasional, 
 but must clearly be habitual, are in the space of half a scene 
 miraculously reformed, and grow at once as completely good as 
 if they had never been otherwise. 
 
 It was from a sense of this concluding jumble, this unnatural 
 huddling of events, that a witty friend of mine, who was himself 
 a dramatic writer, used pleasantly, though perhaps rather freely, 
 to damn the man who invented fifth acts. p 
 
 And so much for the nature or character of the dramatic 
 fable. 
 
 We are now to inquire concerning manners and sentiment ; 
 and first for the theory of manners. 
 
 P So said the celebrated Henry Fielding, Had his life been less irregular, (for ir- 
 
 who was a respectable person both by edu- regular it was, and spent in a promiscuous 
 
 cation and birth, having been bred at Eton intercourse with persons of all ranks,) his 
 
 school and Leyden, and being lineally de- pictures of human kind had neither been so 
 
 scended from an earl of Denbigh. various nor so natural. 
 
 His Joseph Andrews and Tom Jones Had he possessed less of literature, he 
 
 may be called master-pieces in the comic could not have infused such a spirit of 
 
 epopee, which none since have equalled, classical elegance. 
 
 though multitudes have imitated ; and Had his genius been less fertile in wit 
 
 which he was peculiarly qualified to write and humour, he could not have maintained 
 
 in the manner he did, both from his life, that uninterrupted pleasantry, which never 
 
 his learning, and his genius. suffers his reader to feel fatigue. 
 
 2 F 
 
434 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONCERNING DRAMATIC MANNERS - WHAT CONSTITUTES THEM - MAN- 
 NERS OF OTHELLO, MACBETH, HAMLET - THOSE OF THE LAST QUES- 
 TIONED, AND WHY - CONSISTENCY REQUIRED - YET SOMETIMES 
 BLAMEABLE, AND WHY - -GENUINE MANNERS IN SHAKSPEARE - IN 
 LILLO - MANNERS, MORALLY BAD, POETICALLY GOOD. 
 
 " WHEN the principal persons of any drama preserve such a 
 consistency of conduct, (it matters not whether that conduct be 
 virtuous or vicious,) that, after they have appeared for a scene 
 or two, we conjecture what they will do hereafter from what 
 they have done already, such persons in poetry may be said to 
 have manners, for by this, and this only, are poetic manners 
 constituted.' 1 ' 1 
 
 To explain this assertion by recurring to instances : As soon as 
 we have seen the violent love and weak credulity of Othello, the 
 fatal jealousy, in which they terminate, is no more than what 
 we may conjecture. When we have marked the attention paid 
 by Macbeth to the witches, to the persuasions of his wife, and 
 to the nattering dictates of his own ambition, we suspect some- 
 thing atrocious ; nor are we surprised that, in the event, he 
 murders Duncan, and then Banquo. Had he changed his con- 
 duct, and been only wicked by halves, his manners would not 
 have been as they now are, poetically good. 
 
 If the leading person in a drama, for example Hamlet, appear 
 to have been treated most injuriously, we naturally infer that he 
 will meditate revenge ; and should that revenge prove fatal to 
 those who had injured him, it is no more than was probable, 
 when we consider the provocation. 
 
 But should the same Hamlet by chance kill an innocent old 
 man an old man from whom he had never received offence, 
 and with whose daughter he was actually in love what should 
 we expect then 2 Should we not look for compassion, I might 
 add, even for compunction ? Should we not be shocked, if, in- 
 
 8e fjfios p.ev rb TOiovTOP, & 877X0* Hvioi TWV \6ycav: "for which reason some 
 
 TT)V irpoalpeffiv oiroTa ris forlv, cv ols OVK of the dramatic dialogues have no manners 
 
 eoTi SfjAov, et Trpoaipflrai., $) <f>evyti d at all." 
 
 \4yu)v : " Manners or character is that And this well explains another account 
 
 which discovers what the determination of manners given in the same book : TO. 
 
 [of a speaker] will be, in matters where it 8e ^#77, Kaff & TTOIOVS Tivas tlvai (pdfiev 
 
 is not yet manifest, whether he chooses to robs TrpdrTovras : "manners are those qua- 
 
 do a thing, or to avoid it." Aristot. Poet, lities through which we say, the actors are 
 
 c. 6. p. 231. edit. Sylb. men of such or such a character." Ibid. 
 
 It was from our being unable, in the Bossu, in his Traite du Poeme Epique, 
 
 persons of some dramas, to conjecture what has given a fine and copious commentary 
 
 they will determine, that the above author on this part of Aristotle's Poetics. See his 
 
 immediately adds, Si6irp OVK exovffiv $Qs work, 1. iv. c. 4, 5, &c. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 435 
 
 stead of this, he were to prove quite insensible, or (what is even 
 worse) were he to be brutally jocose ? 
 
 Here the manners are blameable, because they are incon- 
 sistent ; we should never conjecture from Hamlet any thing so 
 unfeelingly cruel. 
 
 Nor are manners only to be blamed for being thus incon- 
 sistent. Consistency itself is blameable, if it exhibit human 
 beings completely abandoned ; completely void of virtue ; pre- 
 pared, like king Richard, at their very birth, for mischief. It 
 was of such models that a jocose critic once said, they might 
 make good devils, but they could never make good men : not 
 (says he) that they want consistency, but it is of a supernatural 
 sort, which human nature never knew. 
 
 Quodcumque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi. Hor. 
 
 Those who wish to see manners in a more genuine form, may 
 go to the characters already alleged in the preceding chapter ; r 
 where, from our previous acquaintance with the several parties, 
 we can hardly fail, as incidents arise, to conjecture their future 
 behaviour. 8 
 
 We may find also manners of this sort in the Fatal Curiosity. 
 Old Wilmot and his wife discover affection for one another ; nor 
 is it confined here they discover it for their absent son ; for his 
 beloved Charlotte ; and for their faithful servant Randal. Yet, 
 at the same time, from the memory of past affluence, the pressure 
 of present indigence, the fatal want of resources, and the cold 
 ingratitude of friends, they shew to all others (the few above 
 excepted) a gloomy, proud, unfeeling misanthropy. 
 
 In this state of mind, and with these manners, an opportunity 
 offers, by murdering an unknown stranger, to gain them immense 
 treasure, and place them above want. As the measure was at 
 once both tempting and easy, was it not natural that such a 
 wife should persuade, and that such a husband should be per- 
 suaded ? We may conjecture from their past behaviour what 
 part they would prefer, and that part, though morally wicked, 
 is yet poetically good ; because here, all we require is a suitable 
 consistence. 1 
 
 We are far from justifying assassins. Yet assassins, if truly 
 drawn, are not monsters, but human beings ; and as such, being 
 chequered with good and with evil, may by their good move our 
 pity, though their evil cause abhorrence. 
 
 But this in the present case is not all. The innocent parties, 
 made miserable, exhibit a distress which comes home ; a distress 
 which, as mortals, it is impossible we should not feel. 
 
 Simt lacrymse rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt." Virg. JEn. 
 
 r See p. 433. quotations from different parts of this af- 
 
 8 See p. 434. fecting tragedy, what is asserted in various 
 
 1 See above. parts of these Inquiries. But the intention 
 
 u It was intended to illustrate, by large was laid aside, (at least in greater part,) by 
 
 2 F 2 
 
436 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONCERNING DRAMATIC SENTIMENT WHAT CONSTITUTES IT CON- 
 NECTED WITH MANNERS, AND HOW CONCERNING SENTIMENT, GNO- 
 
 MOLOGIC, OR PRECEPTIVE ITS DESCRIPTION SOMETIMES HAS A 
 
 REASON ANNEXED TO IT SOMETIMES LAUDABLE, SOMETIMES BLAME- 
 ABLE WHOM IT MOST BECOMES TO UTTER IT, AND WHY BOSSU 
 
 TRANSITION TO DICTION. 
 
 FROM manners we pass to sentiment; a word which, though 
 sometimes confined to mere gnomology, or moral precept, was 
 often used by the Greeks in a more comprehensive meaning-, in- 
 cluding every thing for which men employ language ; for proving 
 and solving; for raising and calming the passions; for exag- 
 gerating and depreciating; for commands, monitions, prayers, 
 narratives, interrogations, answers, &c. &c. In short, sentiment, 
 in this sense, means little less than the universal subjects of our 
 discourse/ 
 
 It was under this meaning the word was originally applied to 
 the drama, and this appears not only from authority, but from 
 fact : for what can conduce more effectually than discourse to 
 establish with precision dramatic manners and characters? 
 
 To refer to a play already mentioned, the Fatal Curiosity : 
 
 reflecting that the tragedy was easily to be TOV \6yov 8e? irapa(TKva<rOr)vai' /xepr; 8e 
 
 procured, being modern, and having passed TOVTGW, rJ, re airo^fiKvvvai^ Kal rb AiJetj/, 
 
 through several editions, one particularly /cot rb iraQt] TrapaaKevdfciv, olov eAeoi/, ^ 
 
 bo late as in the year 1775, when it was <p6/3ov, ^ opy^v, Kal '6<ra roiavra, Kal ert 
 
 printed with Lillo's other dramatic pieces. (j-eyeOos Kal fffj.iKp6'Tf]Ta: "All those things 
 
 If any one read this tragedy, the author belong to sentiment (or Sidvoia) that are to 
 
 of these Inquiries has a request or two to be performed through the help of discourse : 
 
 make, for which he hopes a candid reader now the various branches of these things 
 
 will forgive him : one is, not to cavil at are to prove, and to solve, to excite passions, 
 
 minute inaccuracies, but look to the supe- (such as pity, fear, anger, and the like,) 
 
 rior merit of the whole taken together ; an- and, besides this, to magnify, and to di- 
 
 other is, totally to expunge those wretched minish." Arist. Poet. c. 19. p. 245. edit, 
 
 rhymes which conclude many of the scenes ; Sylb. 
 
 and which it is probable are not from Lillo, We have here chosen the fullest descrip- 
 
 but from some other hand, willing to con- tion of Sidi/ota ; but in the same work there 
 
 form to an absurd fashion, then practised, are others more concise, which yet express 
 
 but now laid aside, the fashion (I mean) of the same meaning. In the sixth chapter 
 
 a rhyming conclusion. we are told it is, rb Xeyeiv SvvaffBai ra 
 
 * There are two species of sentiment ev6vra Kal ra ap/j.6rrovra, " to be able to 
 
 successively here described, both called in say (that is, to express justly) such things 
 
 English either a sentiment or a sentence, as necessarily belong to a subject, or properly 
 
 and in Latin sententia. The Greeks were suit it." And again, soon after: Aidvoia 
 
 more exact, and to the different species as- 8e, Iv oils aTroSeiKVvovffi TL, &s ecm^, r) &s 
 
 signed different names, calling the one Sid- OVK co-riv, $ Kaf)6\ov TI uirofyaivovrai : 
 
 voto, the other yv^^y. "AidVoja, or sentiment, exists, where men de- 
 
 Of yvdjfj.i) we shall speak hereafter: of monstrate any thing either to be, or not to 
 
 tiidvoia their descriptions are as follows : be ; or through which they assert any thing 
 
 V E<TT< 8e Kara rfyv Sidvoiav ToCro, off a inrb general, or universal." Ibid. p. 231. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 437 
 
 When old Wilmot discharges his faithful servant from pure af- 
 fection, that he might not starve him, how strongly are his man- 
 ners delineated by his sentiments 2 The following are among his 
 monitions : 
 
 Shun my example ; treasure up my precepts ; 
 The world's before thee ; be a knave and prosper. 
 
 The young man, shocked at such advice from a master whose 
 virtues he had been accustomed so long to venerate, ventures 
 modestly to ask him, 
 
 Where are your former principles ? 
 
 The old man's reply is a fine picture of human frailty; a striking, 
 and yet a natural blending of friendship and misanthropy; of 
 particular friendship, of general misanthropy: 
 
 No matter (says he) for principles ; 
 
 Suppose I have renounc'd 'em : I have passions, 
 
 And love thee still ; therefore would have thee think 
 
 The world is all a scene of deep deceit, 
 
 And he who deals with mankind on the square 
 
 Is his own bubble, and undoes himself. 
 
 He departs with these expressions, but leaves the young man 
 far from being convinced. 
 
 The suspicious gloom of age, and the open simplicity of youth, 
 give the strongest contrast to the manners of each, and all this 
 from the sentiments alone ; sentiments which, though opposite, 
 are still perfectly just, as being perfectly suited to their different 
 characters. 
 
 It is to this comprehensive meaning of sentiment that we may 
 in a manner refer the substance of these inquiries ; for such 
 sentiment is every thing, either written or spoken. 
 
 Something, however, must be said upon that other, and more 
 limited species of it, which I call the gnomologic, or preceptive ; 
 a species, not indeed peculiar to the drama, but, when properly 
 used, one of its capital ornaments. 
 
 The following description of it is taken from antiquity. A 
 gnomologic sentiment, or precept, is an assertion or proposition 
 not however all assertions, as that, " Pericles was an able states- 
 man," "Homer a great poet ;" for these assertions are particular, 
 and such a sentiment must be general nor yet is it every as- 
 sertion, though general ; as that, " The angles of every triangle 
 are equal to two right angles 1 '* but it is an assertion which, 
 though general, is only relative to human conduct, and to such 
 objects, as in moral action we either seek or avoid. y 
 
 y We now come to the second species otfre irepl travrcav Ka06\ov, olov, tin rb 
 
 of sentiment, called in Greek yvd/jiri. and evdw ry Ka/j.irv\cp cvavriov' a\\ct irepi '6ff<av 
 
 which Aristotle describes much in the same at irpd^fis ctVI, Kal atpera ^ (pevKrd fart 
 
 manner as we have done in the text : "E<m irpbs rb -npafffftiv. Arist. Rhetor. 1. ii. c. 21. 
 
 8e yi/(t>fj.r) air6<pai'(ns, ov yueVrot trepl raw p. 96. edit. Sylb. So too the Scriptor. ad 
 
 ', olov, iro?6s Tis 'tyiKp^TTjs* Herennium, 1. iv. s. 24. Sententia *st 
 
438 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Among the assertions of this sort we produce the following ; 
 the precept which forbids unseasonable curiosity: 
 
 Seek not to know, what must not be reveal'd. 
 
 Or that which forbids unrelenting anger : 
 
 Within thee cherish not immortal ire. 
 
 We remark, too, that these sentiments acquire additional 
 strength, if we subjoin the reason. 
 For example : 
 
 Seek not to know what must not be reveal'd ; 
 Joys only flow where fate is most conceal'd. 
 
 Or again : 
 
 Within thee cherish not immortal ire, 
 When thou thyself art mortal 2 
 
 In some instances, the reason and sentiment are so blended as 
 to be in a manner inseparable. Thus Shakspeare : 
 
 He who filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 But makes me poor indeed. 
 
 There are, too, sentiments of bad moral and evil tendency: 
 
 If sacred right should ever be infringed, 
 It should be done for empire and dominion : 
 In other things pure conscience be thy guide. a 
 
 And again : 
 
 The man's a fool, 
 Who, having slain the father, spares the sons. b 
 
 These ideas are only fit for tyrants, usurpers, and other profli- 
 gate men ; nor ought they to appear in a drama, but to shew 
 such characters. 
 
 On gnomologic sentiments in general it has been observed, 
 that though they decorate, they should not be frequent, for then 
 the drama becomes affected and declamatory. 
 
 It has been said, too, they come most naturally from aged 
 persons, because age may be supposed to have taught them ex- 
 
 oratio sumpta de vita, quse aut quid fit, aut confirmatur subjectione rationis, hoc modo : 
 
 quid esse oporteat in vita, breviter ostendit, omnes bene vivendi rationes in virtute sunt 
 
 hoc modo Liber is est existimandus, qui collocandae, propterea quod sola virtus in 
 
 nulli turpitudini servit. sua potestate est. Scriptor. ad Heren. 1. iv. 
 
 z The first of these sentiments is taken s. 24. 
 
 from Dryden, the second is quoted by a Vid. Cic. de Officiis, 1. iii. c. 21 ; who 
 
 Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, 1. ii. c. 22. p. 97. thus translates Euripides : 
 
 edit. Sylb. Nam si violandum est jus, regnandi gratia 
 'AOdvarov opy^v yu/J; <uA orre, dvrjrbs &v. Violandum est : aliis rebus pietatem colas. 
 On this the philosopher well observes, that b NTjTrtos, &s, irarepa KTtivas, TrcuSas 
 
 if the monition had been no more, than that Karate foot. Arist. Rhet. 1. i. c. 16. 1. iii. 
 
 we should not cherish our anger for ever, it c. 22. p. 98. edit. Sylb. 
 had been a sentence or moral precept ; but c So the same Latin rhetorician, above 
 
 when the words OvyTbs &V, "being mortal," quoted : Sententias interponi raro convenit, 
 
 are added, the poet then gives us the reason, ut rei actores, non vivendi prseceptores esse 
 
 rb Sta ri Aeyet. Rhet. ut sup. The Latin videamur. Scriptor. ad Herenn. lib. iv. 
 
 rhetorician says the same : Sed illud quod- s. 25. 
 que probandum est genus sententiae, quod 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 439 
 
 perieuce. It must, however, be an experience suitable to their 
 characters : an old general should not talk upon law, nor an old 
 lawyer upon war. d 
 
 We are now to proceed to diction. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONCERNING DICTION - THE VULGAR - THE AFFECTED - THE ELEGANT - 
 THIS LAST MUCH INDEBTED TO THE METAPHOR - PRAISE OF THE 
 METAPHOR - ITS DESCRIPTION ; AND, WHEN GOOD, ITS CHARACTER - 
 THE BEST AND MOST EXCELLENT, WHAT - NOT TURGID - NOR ENIG- 
 MATIC - NOR BASE - NOR RIDICULOUS - INSTANCES - METAPHORS BY 
 CONSTANT USE SOMETIMES BECOME COMMON WORDS - PUNS - RUPILIUS 
 REX - OTTL5 - ENIGMAS - CUPPING - THE GOD TERMINUS - OVID^S 
 FASTI. 
 
 As every sentiment must be expressed by words, the theory of 
 sentiment naturally leads to that of diction. Indeed, the con- 
 nection between them is so intimate, that the same sentiment, 
 where the diction differs, is as different in appearance, as the 
 same person, dressed like a peasant, or dressed like a gentleman. 
 And hence we see, how much diction merits a serious attention. 
 But this perhaps will be better understood by an example. 
 Take, then, the following : " Do not let a lucky hit slip ; if you 
 do, belike you may not any more get at it." The sentiment (we 
 must confess) is expressed clearly, but the diction surely is rather 
 vulgar and low. Take it another way : " Opportune moments 
 are few and fleeting ; seize them with avidity, or your progres- 
 sion will be impeded." Here the diction, though not low, is 
 rather obscure. The words are unusual, pedantic, and affected. 
 But what says Shakspeare ? 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows. 
 
 Here the diction is elegant, without being vulgar or affected ; 
 the words, though common, being taken under a metaphor, are 
 so far estranged by this metaphorical use, that they acquire 
 through the change a competent dignity, and yet, without be- 
 coming vulgar, remain intelligible and clear. 
 
 Knowing, therefore, the stress laid by the ancient critics on 
 the metaphor, and viewing its admirable effects in the decorating 
 of diction, we think it may merit a further regard. 
 
 fi Se yvcajj.oXoysiv T)\iKia fj.fv Rhet. ut supra, p. 97. edit. Sylb. See also 
 
 , irepl 5e rovruv wv e'yUTretprfs the ingenious Bossu, in his Traite' du Poeme 
 
 rts eVrtV: "It becomes him to be sententious Epiquc, 1. vi. c. 4,5; who is, as usual, 
 
 who is advanced in years, and that upon copious and clear. 
 
 subjects in which he has experience.'" Arist. 
 
440 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 There is not, perhaps, any figure of speech so pleasing as the 
 metaphor. It is at times the language of every individual, but, 
 above all, is peculiar to the man of genius. e His sagacity dis- 
 cerns not only common analogies, but those others more remote, 
 which escape the vulgar, and which, though they seldom invent, 
 they seldom fail to recognise when they hear them from persons 
 more ingenious than themselves. 
 
 It has been ingeniously observed, that the metaphor took its 
 rise from the poverty of language. Men, not finding upon every 
 occasion words ready made for their ideas, were compelled to 
 have recourse to words analogous, and transfer them from their 
 original meaning to the meaning then required. But though the 
 metaphor began in poverty, it did not end there. When the 
 analogy was just, (and this often happened,) there was something 
 peculiarly pleasing in what was both new and yet familiar ; so 
 that the metaphor was then cultivated, not out of necessity, but 
 for ornament. It is thus that clothes were first assumed to de- 
 fend us against the cold, but came afterwards to be worn for 
 distinction and decoration. 
 
 It must be observed, there is a force in the united words, 
 new and familiar. What is new, but not familiar, is often unin- 
 telligible; what is familiar, but not new, is no better than common 
 place. It is in the union of the two, that the obscure and the 
 vulgar are happily removed ; and it is in this union that we view 
 the character of a just metaphor. 
 
 But after we have so praised the metaphor, it is fit at length 
 we should explain what it is ; and this we shall attempt as well 
 by a description as by examples. 
 
 ;t A metaphor is the transferring of a word from its usual 
 meaning to an analogous meaning, and then the employing it 
 agreeably to such transfer.'" f For example : the usual meaning 
 of evening, is the conclusion of the day. But age too is a con- 
 clusion ; the conclusion of human life. Now there being an 
 analogy in all conclusions, we arrange in order the two we have 
 alleged, and say, that, "as evening is to the day, so is age to 
 human life." Hence, by an easy permutation, (which furnishes 
 
 e Tb Se ij.eyi(rrov jj.erafyopiKbv elvai' /J.6- rive metaphors, from terms which are proper, 
 vov yap TOUTO o#re Trap' &\\ov iffrl AajSetV, and yet not obvious ; since even in phi- 
 fvQv'ias re fff]^l6v tcrri' rb yap eu jUera- losophy, to discern the similar in things 
 <e'petz/, rb '6/j.oLov 0eo>pe?j/ effri : " The widely distant, is the part of one who con- 
 greatest thing of all is to be powerful in jectures happily." Arist. Rhetor. 1. iii. c. 1 1. 
 metaphor ; for this alone cannot be acquired p. 137. edit. Sylb. 
 
 from another, but is a mark of original ge- That metaphor is an effort of genius, and 
 
 nius : for to metaphorize well, is to discern cannot be taught, is here again asserted in 
 
 in different objects that which is similar.'" the words of the first quotation : Kal Aa/Je?i/ 
 
 Arist. Poet. c. 22. p. 250. edit. Sylb. OVK f<rriv avrijv (scil. ^fTafyopav) irap 
 
 Aei 5e /j.era(pepeiv airb ot/cetW Kal ^ &\\ov. Rhetor. 1. iii. c. 2. p. 120. edit. Sylb. 
 (pai/spuus, OLOV Kal eV (f)i\ocro(f)ia rb '6jj.oiov { Meratyopa 8 s ecrriv ov6fj.aros a\Aorpiov 
 
 Kal tv TroAv Sie'xoua-t 0ea>pe?i', evffrdxov : eVi^opa, K. T. A. Arist. Poet. cap. 21. 
 
 " We ought to metaphorize, that is, to de- p. 247. edit. Sylb. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 441 
 
 at once two metaphors,) we say alternately, that " evening is 
 the age of the day;" and that "age is the evening of life." 8 
 
 There are other metaphors equally pleasing, but which we 
 only mention, as their analogy cannot he mistaken. It is thus 
 that old men have been called stubble ; and the stage or theatre, 
 the mirror of human life. h 
 
 In language of this sort there is a double satisfaction : it is 
 strikingly clear ; and yet raised, though clear, above the low 
 and vulgar idiom. It is a praise too of such metaphors, to be 
 quickly comprehended. The similitude and the thing illustrated 
 are commonly despatched in a single word, and comprehended 
 by an immediate and instantaneous intuition. 
 
 Thus a person of wit, being dangerously ill, was told by his 
 friends, two more physicians were called in. " So many P' says 
 he, " do they fire then in platoons ?" 
 
 These instances may assist us to discover, what metaphors 
 may be called the best. 
 
 They ought not, in an elegant and polite style, (the style of 
 which we are speaking,) to be derived from meanings too 
 sublime ; for then the diction would be turgid and bombast. 
 Such was the language of that poet, who, describing the foot- 
 men's flambeaux at the end of an opera, sung or said, 
 
 Now blazM a thousand flaming suns, and bade 
 Grim night retire. 
 
 Nor ought a metaphor to be farfetched, for then it becomes 
 
 s 'OfJLoicas e%et fTTrepa irpbs f)/n.fpav, Kal 
 yripas irpbs /3iov : tpel roivvv TTJV O"irepav 
 yrjpas y/Jifpas, Kal TO yripas eaTre'paj/ jStou. 
 Aristot. Poet. c. 21. p. 248. edit. Sylb. 
 
 h The Stagirite having told us what a 
 natural pleasure we derive from information, 
 and having told us that in the subject of 
 words, exotic words want that pleasure, 
 from being obscure, and common words 
 from being too well known, adds imme- 
 diately fj Se /AfTcupopa Troie? rovro p.a- 
 \io~ra' orav yap ftirr) rb yrjpas Ka\a/j.r)v, 
 ^TroiTjtre ^.aQriaiv Kal yvSxriv 8m rov yevovs, 
 &/*<p<> yap air-i]vQf]K6ra " but the metaphor 
 does this most effectually, for when Homer 
 (in metaphor) said that age was stubble, he 
 conveyed to us information and knowledge 
 through a common genus, (through the ge- 
 nus of time,) as both old men and stubble 
 have passed the flower of their existence. 
 
 The words in Homer are, 
 
 'AAA.' f/jLirrjs KaKa.fj.tiv ye a* 6'1'ofj.ai etVo- 
 
 OSvffff. E. 214. 
 Sed tamen stipulam saltern te arbitror 
 
 intuentem 
 Cognoscere. 
 
 In which verse we cannot help remarking 
 an elegance of the poet. 
 
 Ulysses, for his protection, had been 
 metamorphosed by Minerva into the figure 
 of an old man. Yet even then the hero 
 did not choose to lose his dignity. By 
 his discourse he informs Eumaeus, (who did 
 not know him,) that although he was old, 
 he was still respectable : I imagine (says 
 he) that even now you may know the 
 stubble by the look. As much as to suggest, 
 that, though he had compared himself to 
 stubble, it was nevertheless to that better 
 sort, left after the reaping of the best corn. 
 
 See the note upon this verse by my 
 learned friend, the late Mr. Samuel Clarke, 
 in his Greek edition of the Odyssey, and 
 Klotzius upon Tyrtaeus, p. 26. 
 
 As to the next metaphor, it is an idea 
 not unknown to Shakspeare, who, speaking 
 of acting or playing, says, with energy, 
 
 That its end, both at first, and now, was, 
 and is, 
 
 To hold as it were the mirror up to nature, 
 Hamlet. 
 
 According to Aristotle, the Odyssey of 
 Homer was elegantly called by Alcidamas, 
 Ka\bv avtfpcairii/ov piov Kardirrpov, "a 
 beautiful mirror of human life." Rhet. 1. iii. 
 c. 3. p. 124. edit. Sylb. 
 
442 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 an enigma. It was thus a gentleman once puzzled his country 
 friend, in telling him, by way of compliment, that " he was be- 
 come a perfect centaur." His honest friend knew nothing of 
 centaurs, but being fond of riding, was hardly ever off his horse. 
 Another extreme remains, the reverse of the too sublime, and 
 that is, the transferring from subjects too contemptible. Such 
 was the case of that poet quoted by Horace, who, to describe 
 winter, wrote 
 
 Jupiter hybernas cana nive conspuit Alpes. Hor. 1. ii. Sat. 5. 
 
 " O'er the cold Alps Jove spits his hoary snow." 
 
 Nor was that modern poet more fortunate whom Dryden 
 quotes, and who, trying his genius upon the same subject, 
 supposed winter 
 
 To perriwig with snow the baldpate woods. 
 
 With the same class of wits we may arrange that pleasant 
 fellow, who, speaking of an old lady whom he had affronted, 
 gave us in one short sentence no less than three choice me- 
 taphors. " I perceive," 1 said he, " her back is up ; I must curry 
 favour, or the fat will be in the fire." 
 
 Nor can we omit that the same word, when transferred to 
 different subjects, produces metaphors very different, as to pro- 
 priety or impropriety. 
 
 It is with propriety that we transfer the word, to embrace, 
 from human beings to things purely ideal. The metaphor ap- 
 pears just, when we say, " to embrace a proposition ; to embrace 
 an offer ; to embrace an opportunity." Its application perhaps 
 was not quite so elegant when the old steward wrote to his lord, 
 upon the subject of his farm, that " if he met any oxen, he would 
 not fail to embrace them." 1 
 
 If then we are to avoid the turgid, the enigmatic, and the 
 base or ridiculous, no other metaphors are left, but such as may 
 be described by negatives ; such as are neither turgid, nor 
 enigmatic, nor base and ridiculous. 
 
 Such is the character of many metaphors already alleged, 
 among others that of ShakspeareX where tides are transferred 
 to speedy and determined conduct. 1 " Nor does his Wolsey with 
 less propriety moralize upon his fall in the following beautiful 
 metaphor, taken from vegetable nature. 
 
 This is the state of man ; to day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
 And nips his root. 
 
 1 The species of metaphors here con- and tragical : there are likewise the obscure, 
 
 demned, are thus enumerated : Elal yap Kal if they are fetched from too great a distance." 
 
 (jisTcupopal aTrpeTms, at /m,ev Sia rb ysXoiov Arist. Rhet. 1. iii. c. 3. p. 124. edit. Sylb. 
 
 a! Se Sta r5 af^v^v &yav KOI TpayiK6v See Cic. de Oratore, 1. iii. p. 155, &c. 
 dcra</>eis Se, Uv ir6ppoo0V, K. r. A.. " For k Sup. p. 439. Philos. Arrangements, p. 
 
 metaphors are unbecoming, some from being 340. 
 ridiculous, and others from being too solemn 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 443 
 
 In such metaphors (besides their intrinsic elegance) we may 
 say the reader is flattered ; I mean flattered, by being left to 
 discover something for himself. 
 
 There is one observation, which will at the same time shew 
 both the extent of this figure, and how natural it is to all men. 
 
 There are metaphors so obvious, and of course so naturalized, 
 that ceasing to be metaphors, they are become (as it were) the 
 proper words. It is after this manner we say, a sharp fellow ; 
 a great orator ; the foot of a mountain ; the eye of a needle ; 
 the bed of a river ; to ruminate, to ponder, to edify, &c. 
 
 These we by no means reject, and yet the metaphors we 
 require we wish to be something more ; that is, to be formed 
 under the respectable conditions here established. 
 
 We observe, too, that a singular use may be made of metaphors, 
 either to exalt, or to depreciate, according to the sources from 
 which we derive them. In ancient story, Orestes was by some 
 called " the murderer of his mother ;" by others, " the avenger 
 of his father." The reasons will appear by referring to the fact. 
 The poet Simonides was offered money to celebrate certain 
 mules that had won a race. The sum being pitiful, he said, 
 with disdain, he should not write upon demi-asses. A more 
 competent sum was offered, he then began, 
 
 Hail ! Daughters of the generous horse, 
 That skims, like wind, along the course. 1 
 
 There are times, when, in order to exalt, we may call beggars, 
 petitioners ; and pick-pockets, collectors ; other times, when, in 
 order to depreciate, we may call petitioners, beggars ; and col- 
 lectors, pick-pockets. But enough of this. 
 
 We say no more of metaphors, but that it is a general caution 
 with regard to every species, not to mix them, and that more 
 particularly, if taken from subjects which are contrary. 
 
 Such was the case of that orator, who once asserted in his ora- 
 tion, that, " if cold water were thrown upon a certain measure, 
 it would kindle a flame that would obscure the lustre," &c. 
 
 A word remains upon enigmas and puns. It shall indeed be 
 short, because, though they resemble the metaphor, it is as 
 brass and copper resemble gold. 
 
 A pun seldom regards meaning, being chiefly confined to sound. 
 
 Horace gives a sad sample of this spurious wit, where (as 
 Dryden humorously translates it) he makes Persius the buffoon 
 exhort the patriot Brutus to kill Mr. King, that is Rupilius 
 Rex, because Brutus, when he slew Caesar, had been accustomed 
 to king-killing. 
 
 Hunc regem occicle ; operum hoc mihi crede tuorum est. Sat. lib. i. vii. 
 
 1 For these two facts, concerning Orestes 6 Tlarphs a/jLvvrup. Simonides called the 
 
 and Simonides, see Arist. Rhet. 1. iii. c. 2. mules ^ttcW at first ; and then began, 
 p. 1'22. edit. Sylb. The different appella- Xa/per' aeAAo7ro'5a>i' Bvyarpts 'ii 
 tions of Orestes were, 6 M^Tpo^oVrTjs, and 
 
444 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 We have a worse attempt in Homer, where Ulysses makes 
 Polypheme believe his name was OTTI2 ; and where the dull 
 Cyclops, after he had lost his eye, upon being asked by his 
 brethren who had done him so much mischief, replies, it was 
 done by OTTI2 ; that is, by nobody." 1 
 
 Enigmas are of a more complicated nature, being involved 
 either in pun or metaphor, or sometimes in both. 
 
 "Aj/8/>' elSov -rrvpl 
 
 " I saw a man, who, unprovok'd with ire, 
 Stuck brass upon another's back by fire." n 
 
 This enigma is ingenious, and means the operation of cupping, 
 performed in ancient days by a machine of brass. 
 
 In such fancies, contrary to the principles of good metaphor 
 and good writing, a perplexity is caused, not by accident, but by 
 design, and the pleasure lies in the being able to resolve it. 
 
 Aulus Gellius has preserved a Latin enigma, which he also 
 calls a sirpus or sirpos, a strange thing, far below the Greek, 
 and debased with all the quibble of a more barbarous age. 
 
 Semel minusne, an bis minus, (non sat scio) 
 
 An utrumque eorum (ut quondam audivi dicier) 
 
 Jovi ipsi regi noluit concedere ? Aul. Gell. xii. 6. 
 
 This, being sifted, leaves in English the following small 
 quantity of meaning. 
 
 " Was it once minus, or twice minus, (I am not enough in- 
 formed,) or was it not rather the two taken together, (as I have 
 heard it said formerly,) that would not give way to Jove himself, 
 the sovereign T 
 
 The two taken together, (that is, " once minus and twice 
 minus,") make, when so taken, thrice minus ; and thrice minus 
 in Latin is ter minus, which, taken as a single word, is Ter- 
 minus, the god of boundaries. 
 
 Here the riddle, or conceit, appears. The Pagan legend says, 
 that, when in honour of Jove the capitol was founded, the other 
 gods consented to retire, but the god Terminus refused. 
 
 The story is elegantly related in the Fasti of Ovid, iii. 667. 
 
 Quid nova cum fierent capitolia ? nempe deorum 
 Cuncta Jovi cessit turba, locumque dedit. 
 Terminus (ut veteres memorant) conventus in aede 
 Restitit, et magno cum Jove templa tenet. 
 
 The moral of the fable is just and ingenious ; that boundaries 
 are sacred, and never should be moved. 
 
 The poet himself subjoins the reason, with his usual address. 
 
 Termine, post illud le vitas tibi libera non est ; 
 
 Qua positus fueris in statione, mane. 
 Nee tu vicino quicquam concede roganti, 
 
 Ne videare hominem praeposuisse Jovi. 
 
 And so much for the subject of puns and enigmas ; to which, 
 
 m Homer, Odyss. i. 366 408, &c. " Arist, Rhetor. 1. iii. c. 2. p. 121. edit. Sylb. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 445 
 
 like other things of bad taste, no age or country can give a 
 sanction. 
 
 Much still remains upon the subject of diction, but, as much 
 has been said already, we here conclude. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 RANK OR PRECEDENCE OF THE CONSTITUTIVE PARTS OF THE DRAMA 
 
 REMARKS AND CAUTIONS BOTH FOR JUDGING AND COMPOSING. 
 
 THE four constitutive parts of dramatic poetry, which properly 
 belong to the poet, p have appeared to be the fable, the manners, 
 the sentiment, and the diction ; and something has been sug- 
 gested to explain the nature of each. 
 
 Should we be asked, to which we attribute the first place, we 
 think it due to the fabled 
 
 If the fable be an action, having a necessary reference to some 
 end, it is evident that the manners and the sentiment are for 
 the sake of that end ; the end does not exist for the sake of the 
 manners and the sentiment/ 
 
 Again, the finest unconnected samples either of manners or of 
 sentiment, cannot of themselves make a drama without a fable. 
 But, without either of these, any fable will make a drama, and 
 have pretensions (such as they are) to be called a play. s 
 
 A third superiority is, that the most affecting and capital 
 parts of every drama arise out of its fable ; by these, I mean 
 
 See chapters ii. iii. iv. colouring ; the dramatic fable to drawing ; 
 P Sup. p. 428. and ingeniously remarks, el yap ris eva- 
 
 1 'Apx?? /*" olv, fal olov ^vx'h & fjivdos Aetyeie rois /caAA/o-Tots (papnaKois X^ v -> 
 rrjs rpayySias : " The fable therefore is the OVK tu> o/aotus evfypdveitv, Kal \*vKoypa<p-fi- 
 principle, and (as it were) the soul of eras fiitdva : " if any one were to make a 
 tragedy." And not long before, after the confused daubing with the most beautiful 
 constituent parts of the drama have been colours, he would not give so much delight, 
 enumerated, we read, ^ytarrov 5e rovrcav as if he were to sketch a figure in chalk 
 f(T-r\v f) TUIV irpaynd-rw orixTraffis : "but alone." Arist. Poet. c. 6. p. 231. edit, 
 the greatest and the most important of all Sylb. 
 
 these is the combining of the incidents, "En tdv ns tye^ris By pTjtrejs T^JKOS, Kal 
 
 that is to say, the fable." Arist. Poet. Ae^cis, Kal Smi/oias, eu TrcTro^eVas, ou 
 
 cap. 6. p. 231. edit. Sylb. iroi-ficrei ft $v TTJS rpayc^Sias tpyov, a\\a 
 
 r OVK ovv oirus ra ij6r) /j-i/j.-fiaaivrai, TTO\V /uaAAoi/ rf KaraSffffrepots rovrois 
 
 TrpaTTOiKTiv, ctAAci TO ij6y (TUyUTreptAa/xjSa- KfX.pfHJ.4vt} Tpaycffiia, e^oi'tro Se ^.vQov Kal 
 
 vovffiv 5m ras irpdl-fis : " The persons of ffvcnaffiv Trpayfj-druv : " Were any one to 
 
 the drama do not act, that they may ex- arrange in order the best formed expressions 
 
 hibit manners, but they include manners, relative to character, as well as the best 
 
 on account of the incidents in the fable." diction and sentiments, he would not attain 
 
 Arist. Poet. c. 6. p. 230. edit. Sylb. what is the business of a tragedy ; but 
 
 * The Stagirite often illustrates his poetic much more would that tragedy attain it, 
 
 ideas from painting, an art at that time which, having these requisites in a very 
 
 cultivated by the ablest artists, Zeuxis, inferior degree, had at the same time a just 
 
 Polygnotus, and others. In the present fable, and combination of incidents." Arist. 
 
 case, he compares the dramatic manners to Poet. c. 6. p. 230. edit. Sylb. 
 
446 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 every unexpected discovery of unknown personages, and every 
 unexpected revolution 1 from one condition to another. The re- 
 volutions and discoveries in the (Edipns and the Fatal Curiosity 
 have been mentioned already. We add to these, the striking 
 revolution in the Samson Agonistes ; where, while every thing 
 appears tending to Samson's release, a horrible crash announces 
 his destruction." 
 
 These dramatic incidents are properly tragic ; but there are 
 others of similar character, not wanting even to comedy. To 
 refer to a modern drama : what discovery more pleasing than 
 that, where, in the Drummer of Addison, the worthy lost master 
 is discovered in the supposed conjuror? or, to refer still to the 
 same drama, what revolution more pleasing, than where, in con- 
 sequence of this discovery, the house of disorder and mourning 
 changes into a house of order and joy ? Now these interesting 
 incidents, as well comic as tragic, arise neither from manners, 
 nor from sentiment, but purely from the fable. 
 
 It is also a plausible argument for the fablers superiority, that, 
 from its superior difficulty, more poets have excelled in drawing 
 manners and sentiment, than there have in the forming of per- 
 fect fables. x 
 
 But although we give a superiority to the fable, yet the other 
 constitutive parts, even supposing the fable bad, have still an 
 important value ; so important, indeed, that through them, and 
 them alone, many dramas have merited admiration. 
 
 And here, next to the fable, we arrange the manners. The 
 manners, if well formed, give us samples of human nature, and 
 seem in poetry as much to excel sentiment, as the drawing in 
 painting to excel the colouring. 
 
 The third place, after the manners, belongs to the sentiment, 
 and that before the diction, however they may be united : it 
 being evident that men speak, because they think ; they seldom 
 think, because they speak. 
 
 After this, the fourth and last place falls to the diction. 
 
 Having settled the rank of these several constitutive parts, 
 a few cursory remarks remain to be suggested. 
 
 One is this : that if all these parts are really essential, no 
 drama can be absolutely complete which in any one of them is 
 deficient. 
 
 Another remark is, that though a drama be not absolutely 
 complete in every part, yet from the excellence of one or two 
 
 1 " A revolution," irepiTrereta ; " a dis- tempt to write dramatically, are first able 
 covery," avayvcapicris. See before, what is to be accurate in the diction and the man- 
 said about these two, p. 429, 430. ners, before they are able to combine in- 
 u Sams. Agon. 481, and 1452 to 1507. cidents, [and form a fable,] which was 
 x Ot e7X6ipowTes iroielv, irp6repov Swav- indeed the case of almost all the first 
 rai rfj Ae|6i ical TO?S tf6e<riv aKpi/Bouv, ^ TO, poets." Arist. Poet. c. 6. p. 230. edit. 
 TrpdyiJiara. (rvviffracrdai, olov Kal ol irpwrot Sylb. 
 airctVTes : " Those who at- 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 447 
 
 parts it may still merit praise. y It is thus in painting, there are 
 pictures admired for colouring, which fail in the drawing ; and 
 others for drawing, which fail in the colouring. 
 
 The next remark is, in fact, a caution ; a caution not to mis- 
 take one constitutive part for another, and still, much more, not 
 to mistake it for the whole. We are never to forget the es- 
 sential differences between fable, manners, sentiment, and dic- 
 tion. 
 
 If, without attending to these, we presume to admire, we act, 
 as if in painting we admired a Rembrandt for grace, because we 
 had been told that he was capital in colouring. 
 
 This caution, indeed, applies not only to arts, but to philo- 
 sophy. For here if men fancy, that a genius for science, by 
 having excelled in a single part of it, is superlative in all parts ; 
 they insensibly make such a genius their idol, and their admira- 
 tion soon degenerates into a species of idolatry. 
 
 Decipit exemplar, vitiis imitabile. Hor. 
 
 It is to be hoped that our studies are at present more liberal, 
 and that we are rather adding to that structure which our fore- 
 fathers have begun, than tamely leaving it to remain, as if no- 
 thing further were wanting. 
 
 Our drama, among other things, is surely capable of improve- 
 ment. Events from our own history (and none can be more in- 
 teresting) are at hand to furnish fables, having all the dramatic 
 requisites. Indeed, should any of them be wanting, invention 
 may provide a remedy, for here we know poets have unbounded 
 privilege. 2 
 
 In the mean time, the subjects, by being domestic, would be 
 as interesting to us, as those of Ajax or Orestes were of old to 
 the Greeks. Nor is it a doubt, that our drama, were it thus ra- 
 tionally cultivated, might be made the school of virtue even in 
 a dissipated age. 
 
 And now, having shewn such a regard for dramatic poetry, 
 and recommended so many different rules, as essential to its per- 
 fection ; it may not, perhaps, be improper to say something in 
 their defence, and, when that is finished, to conclude this part of 
 our inquiries. 
 
 y This is a case expressly decided by Which may be thus paraphrased : 
 
 that able critic, Horace, as to the manners "A fable (or dramatic story) of no 
 
 and the sentiment. beauty, without dignity or contrivance, if it 
 
 Speciosa locis, morataque recte, excel in sentiment, and have its characters 
 
 Fcibula nullius veneris, sine pondere et well drawn, will please an audience much 
 
 arte, more than a trifling piece barren of inci- 
 
 Valdius oblectat populum, meliusqm mo- dents, and only to be admired for the har- 
 
 ratur, mony of its numbers." See p. 449. 
 
 Quam versus inopes rerum, nugceque ca- z Infra, 449. 
 norcB. Art. Poet. 320. 
 
448 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 RULES DEFENDED DO NOT CRAMP GENIUS, BUT GUIDE IT FLATTERING 
 
 DOCTRINE THAT GENIUS WILL SUFFICE FALLACIOUS, AND WHY 
 
 FURTHER DEFENCE OF RULES NO GENIUS EVER ACTED WITHOUT 
 
 THEM ; NOR EVER A TIME WHEN RULES DID NOT EXIST CONNEC- 
 TION BETWEEN RULES AND GENIUS THEIR RECIPROCAL AID END 
 
 OF THE SECOND PART PREPARATION FOR THE THIRD. 
 
 HAVING mentioned rules, and indeed our whole theory having 
 been little more than rules developed, we cannot but remark 
 upon a common opinion, which seems to have arisen either from 
 prejudice or mistake. 
 
 Do not rules, say they, cramp genius ? Do they not abridge 
 it of certain privileges \ 
 
 It is answered, if the obeying of rules were to induce a tyranny 
 like this, to defend them would be absurd, and against the 
 liberty of genius. But the truth is, rules, supposing them good, 
 like good government, take away no privileges. They do no 
 more than save genius from error, by shewing it, that a right 
 to err is no privilege at all. 
 
 It is surely no privilege to violate, in grammar, the rules of 
 syntax; in poetry, those of metre ; in music, those of harmony; 
 in logic, those of syllogism ; in painting, those of perspective ; in 
 dramatic poetry, those of probable imitation. 
 
 If we enlarge on one of these instances, we shall illustrate the 
 rest. 
 
 The probable imitation just now mentioned, like that of every 
 other kind, is, when the imitation resembles the thing imitated 
 in as many circumstances as possible ; so that the more of those 
 circumstances are combined, the more probable the resem- 
 blance. 
 
 It is thus in imitation by painting the resemblance is more 
 complete, when to the outline we add light and shade ; and more 
 complete still, when to light and shade we add the colours. 
 
 The real place of every drama is a stage ; that is, a space of a 
 few fathoms deep, and a few fathoms broad. Its real time is 
 the time it takes in acting, a limited duration, seldom exceeding 
 a few hours. 
 
 Now imagination, by the help of scenes, can enlarge this stage 
 into a dwelling, a palace, a city, &c.; and it is a decent regard to 
 this which constitutes probable place. 
 
 Again, the usual intervals between the acts, and even the at- 
 tention paid by the mind to an interesting story, can enlarge 
 without violence a few hours into a day or two ; and it is in a 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 449 
 
 decent regard to this, we may perceive the rise of probable 
 time. a 
 
 Now it is evident that the above probabilities, if they belong- 
 to the fable, cannot but affect us, because they are both of them 
 requisites which heighten the resemblance, and because resem- 
 blance is so universally an essential to imitation. 
 
 If this doctrine want confirming, we may prove it by the con- 
 trary; I mean, by a supposition of such time and such place as 
 are both of them improbable. 
 
 For example, as to time, we may suppose a play, where lady 
 Desmond, in the first act, shall dance at the court of Richard the 
 Third, and be alive, in the last act, during the reign of James the 
 First. b 
 
 As to place, we may suppose a tragedy, where Motesuma 
 shall appear at Mexico, in the first act ; shall be carried to 
 Madrid, in the third ; and be brought back again, in the fifth, 
 to die at Mexico. 
 
 It is true, indeed, did such plays exist, and were their other 
 dramatic requisites good, these improbabilities might be en- 
 dured, and the plays be still admired. Fine manners and senti- 
 ment, we have already said, c may support a wretched fable, as 
 a beautiful face may make us forget a bad figure. But no au- 
 thority for that reason can justify absurdities, or make them not 
 to be so, by being fortunately associated. 
 
 Nor is it enough to say, that by this apparent austerity many 
 a good play would have been spoilt. d The answer is obvious : 
 choose another and a fitter subject. Subjects are infinite. Con- 
 sult the inexhaustible treasures of history ; or, if these fail, the 
 more inexhaustible fund of invention. 6 Nay, more ; if you are 
 distressed, bring history and invention together, and let the 
 richness of the last embellish the poverty of the former. Poets, 
 though bound by the laws of common sense, are not bound to 
 the rigours of historical fact. 
 
 It must be confessed, it is a flattering doctrine to tell a young 
 beginner, that he has nothing more to do, than to trust his own 
 genius, and to contemn all rules as the tyranny of pedants. 
 
 a What this implies, we are told in the taste made them more correct. Aristot 
 
 following passage : "Ori fj.d\i(TTa ireipara* Poet. c. 5. p. 229. edit. Sylb. 
 I/TTO niav TTfpi6Sov T)\iov eTvcu, fy p.iKpbv c See p. 447, in the note, 
 e|aAAaTTeji/ : " Tragedy aims, as far as d Aristotle, speaking about introducing 
 
 possible, to come within a single revolution any thing irrational into the drama, adds, 
 
 of the sun, (that is, a natural day,) or but "Clffre rb \cyeiv, frrt avpprjTo b.v 6 MD0os, 
 
 a little to exceed." Arist. Poet. c. 5. p. ycXdiov e| apx^s yap ov Se? (rvviffracrdai 
 
 229. edit. Sylb. TOIOVTOVS : " That to say (by this restric- 
 
 *> Aristotle, speaking upon the indefinite tion) the fable would have been destroyed, 
 
 duration of the epopee, which is sometimes is ridiculous ; for they ought not, from the 
 
 extended to years, adds, Kairoi rb Trpwrov very beginning, to form fables upon such a 
 
 6/jLolus eV rcus TpayySiais rovro tiroiovv: plan." Arist. Poet. c. 24. p. 253. edit. 
 
 " at first they did the same in tragedies ;" Sylb. 
 that is, their duration, like that of the e Sup. p. 447. 
 epopee, was alike undefined, till a better 
 
450 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 The painful toils of accuracy by this expedient are eluded, 
 for geniuses (like Milton's harps f ) are supposed to be ever 
 tuned. 
 
 But the misfortune is, that genius is something rare, nor can 
 he, who possesses it, even then, by neglecting rules, produce 
 what is accurate. Those, on the contrary, who, though they 
 want genius, think rules worthy their attention, if they cannot 
 become good authors, may still make tolerable critics ; may be 
 able to shew the difference between the creeping and the simple; 
 the pert and the pleasing ; the turgid and the sublime ; in short, 
 to sharpen, like the whetstone, that genius in others, which na- 
 ture in her frugality has not given to themselves. 
 
 Indeed, I have never known, during a life of many years, and 
 some small attention paid to letters and literary men, that 
 genius in any art had been ever cramped by rules. On the 
 contrary, I have seen great geniuses miserably err by trans- 
 gressing them, and, like vigorous travellers who lose their way, 
 only wander the wider on account of their own strength. 
 
 And yet it is somewhat singular in literary compositions, and 
 perhaps more so in poetry than elsewhere, that many things 
 have been done in the best and purest taste, long before rules 
 were established, and systematized in form. This we are cer- 
 tain was true with respect to Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, and 
 other Greeks. In modern times it appears as true of our ad- 
 mired Shakspeare ; for who can believe that Shakspeare studied 
 rules, or was ever versed in critical systems ? 
 
 A specious objection then occurs. "If these great writers 
 were so excellent before rules were established, or, at least, were 
 known to them, what had they to direct their genius, when rules 
 (to them at least) did not exist?" 
 
 To this question it is hoped the answer will not be deemed 
 too hardy, should we assert, that there never was a time when 
 rules did not exist ; that they always made a part of that im- 
 mutable truth, the natural object of every penetrating genius ; 
 and that, if at that early Greek period, systems of rules were 
 not established, those great and sublime authors were a rule to 
 themselves. They may be said indeed to have excelled, not by 
 art, but by nature ; yet by a nature which gave birth to the 
 perfection of art. 
 
 The case is nearly the same with respect to our Shakspeare. 
 There is hardly any thing we applaud, among his innumerable 
 beauties, which will not be found strictly conformable to the 
 rules of sound and ancient criticism. 
 
 That this is true with respect to his characters and his senti- 
 ment, is evident hence, that, in explaining these rules, we have 
 so often recurred to him for illustrations. g 
 
 f Par. Lost, iii. 365, 366. 
 
 s See before, of these Inquiries, p. 403. 415. 418. 430. 433, 434. 439. 442. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 451 
 
 Besides quotations already alleged, we subjoin the following 
 as to character. 
 
 When Falstaff and his suite are so ignominiously routed, and 
 the scuffle is by Falstaff so humourously exaggerated ; what 
 can be more natural than such a narrative to such a character, 
 distinguished for his humour, and withal for his want of veracity 
 and courage 2 h 
 
 The sagacity of common poets might not perhaps have sug- 
 gested so good a narrative, but it certainly would have suggested 
 something of the kind, and it is in this view the essence of 
 dramatic character, which is, when we conjecture what any one 
 will do or say, from what he has done or said already. 1 
 
 If we pass from characters (that is to say, manners) to senti- 
 ment, we have already given instances, 1 " and yet we shall still 
 give another. 
 
 When Rosencrantz and Guilderstern wait upon Hamlet, he 
 offers them a recorder, or pipe, and desires them to play; they 
 reply, they cannot : he repeats his request ; they answer, they 
 have never learned: he assures them nothing was so easy; 
 they still decline. It is then he tells them, with disdain, " There 
 is much music in this little organ, and yet you cannot make it 
 speak ; Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? 1 
 
 This I call an elegant sample of sentiment, taken under its 
 comprehensive sense. 111 But we stop not here ; we consider it as 
 a complete instance of Socratic reasoning, though it is probable 
 the author knew nothing, how Socrates used to argue. 
 
 To explain : Xenophon makes Socrates reason as follows with 
 an ambitious youth, by name Euthydemus. 
 
 "It is strange, (says he,) that those who desire to play upon 
 the harp, or upon the flute, or to ride the managed horse, should 
 not think themselves worth notice, without having practised 
 under the best masters : while there are those who aspire to the 
 governing of a state, and can think themselves completely 
 qualified, though it be without preparation or labour."" 
 
 Aristotle's illustration is similar in his reasoning against men 
 chosen by lot for magistrates. "It is (says he) as if wrestlers 
 were to be appointed by lot, and not those that are able to 
 wrestle : or, as if from among sailors we were to choose a pilot 
 by lot, and that the man so elected were to navigate, and not 
 the man who knew the business." 
 
 Nothing can be more ingenious than this mode of reasoning. 
 The premises are obvious and undeniable ; the conclusion cogent, 
 and yet unexpected. It is a species of that argumentation, 
 called in dialectic eVo^wyr), or " induction." 
 
 h See Hen. IV. part ii. m See before, p. 436, 437. 
 
 1 See before, p. 434. n Xenoph. Mem. iv. c. 2. s. 6. 
 
 k See before, p. 436. Arist. Rhetor. 1. ii. c. 20. p. 94. edit. 
 
 1 Hamlet, act iii. Sylb. 
 
 22 
 
452 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, (as above quoted,) calls such reason- 
 ings ra 2a)KpaTiica, " the Socratics ;" in the beginning of his 
 Poetics he calls them the ^coKpan/coi \6<yoi, the " Socratic dis- 
 courses ;" and Horace, in his Art of Poetry, calls them the " So- 
 craticse chart3e." p 
 
 If truth be always the same, no wonder geniuses should co- 
 incide, and that, too, in philosophy as well as in criticism. 
 
 We venture to add, returning to rules, that if there be any 
 things in Shakspeare objectionable, (and who is hardy enough 
 to deny it ?) the very objections, as well as the beauties, are to 
 be tried by the same rules; as the same plummet alike shews, 
 both what is out of the perpendicular, and in it ; the same ruler 
 alike proves, both what is crooked and what is straight. 
 
 We cannot admit that geniuses, though prior to systems, 
 were prior also to rules, because rules from the beginning existed 
 in their own minds, and were a part of that immutable truth, 
 which is eternal and every where. q Aristotle, we know, did not 
 form Homer, Sophocles, and Euripides ; it was Homer, Sopho- 
 cles, and Euripides, that formed Aristotle. 
 
 And this, surely, should teach us to pay attention to rules, 
 inasmuch as they and genius are so reciprocally connected, that 
 it is genius which discovers rules, and then rules which govern 
 genius. 
 
 It is by this amicable concurrence, and by this alone, that 
 every work of art justly merits admiration, and is rendered as 
 highly perfect, as by human power it can be made/ 
 
 But we have now (if such language may be allowed) travelled 
 over a vast and mighty plain ; or, (as Virgil better expresses it,) 
 
 Immensum spatio confecimus sequor. 
 
 It is not however improbable, that some intrepid spirit may 
 demand again, 3 What avail these subtleties ? Without so much 
 trouble, I can be full enough pleased. I know what I like. 
 We answer, And so does the carrion-crow, that feeds upon a 
 carcase. The difficulty lies not in knowing what we like ; but 
 in knowing how to like, and what is worth liking. Until these 
 
 P See a most admirable instance of this true, that the time and place of every drama 
 
 induction, quoted by Cicero from the So- should be circumscribed, the contrary can- 
 
 cratic /Eschines. Cic. de Invent, lib. i. s. 51. not be true, that its time and place need 
 
 1 The author thinks it superfluous to not to be circumscribed. See p. 423. 
 
 panegyrize truth ; yet in favour of sound r This is fairly stated and decided by 
 
 and rational rules, (which must be founded Horace : 
 
 in truth, or they are good for nothing,) he Natura fieret laudabile carmen, an arte, 
 
 ventures to quote the Stagirite himself : Quasitum est. Ego nee studium sine divite 
 
 5 AA7j0f) aA.7j0e? OVK ei/Sc^erai fvavriav elvai vena, 
 
 O#T 86av, OUT' avri^affiv : " It is not pos- Nee rude quid prosit video ingenium ; al- 
 
 sible for a true opinion, or a true contra- terms sic 
 
 dictory proposition, to be contrary to an- Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice. 
 
 other true one." Aristot. de Interpret, c. 19. Art. Poet. v. 408, &c. 
 
 p. 78. edit. Sylb. 9 See p. 418. 
 
 This may be thus illustrated : If it be 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 458 
 
 ends are obtained, we may admire Durfey before Milton; a 
 smoking boor of Hemskirk, before an apostle of Raphael. 
 
 Now as to the knowing how to like, and then what is worth 
 liking ; the first of these, being the object of critical disquisition, 
 has been attempted to be shewn through the course of these in- 
 quiries. 
 
 As to the second, what is worth our liking, this is best known 
 by studying the best authors, beginning from the Greeks, then 
 passing to the Latins ; nor on any account excluding those who 
 have excelled among the moderns. 
 
 And here, if, while we peruse some author of high rank, we 
 perceive we do not instantly relish him, let us not be disheartened; 
 let us even feign a relish, till we find a relish come. A morsel 
 perhaps pleases us ; let us cherish it : another morsel strikes us ; 
 let us cherish this also. Let us thus proceed, and steadily per- 
 severe, till we find we can relish, not morsels, but wholes ; and 
 feel, that what began in fiction, terminates in reality. The film 
 being in this manner removed, we shall discover beauties which 
 we never imagined ; and contemn for puerilities, what we once 
 foolishly admired. 
 
 One thing, however, in this process is indispensably required : 
 we are on no account to expect that fine things should descend 
 to us ; our taste, if possible, must be made ascend to them. 
 
 This is the labour, this the work; there is pleasure in the 
 success, and praise even in the attempt. 
 
 This speculation applies not to literature only : it applies to 
 music, to painting, and, as they are all congenial, to all the liberal 
 arts. We should in each of them endeavour to investigate what is 
 best, and there, (if I may so express myself,) there to fix our 
 abode. 
 
 By only seeking and perusing what is truly excellent, and by 
 contemplating always this, and this alone, the mind insensibly 
 becomes accustomed to it, and finds that in this alone it can 
 acquiesce with content. It happens, indeed, here, as in a subject 
 far more important, I mean in a moral and a virtuous conduct. 
 If we choose the best life, use will make it pleasant. 4 
 
 And thus having gone through the sketch we promised, (for 
 our concise manner cannot be called any thing more,) we here 
 finish the second part of these Inquiries, and, according to our 
 original plan, proceed to the third part, the taste and literature 
 of the middle age. 
 
 1 'E\ov fiiov &piarov, rjSvv 5e a.in'bv i] ffwijdfia Troir]ffei. Plut. Mor. p. 602.ed.Wolfii. 
 
454 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DESIGN OF THE WHOLE LIMITS AND EXTENT OF THE MIDDLE AGE 
 
 THREE CLASSES OF MEN, DURING THAT INTERVAL, CONSPICUOUS I THE 
 BYZANTINE GREEKS ; THE SARACENS, OR ARABIANS ; AND THE LATINS, 
 
 OR FRANKS, INHABITANTS OF WESTERN EUROPE EACH CLASS IN THE 
 
 FOLLOWING CHAPTERS CONSIDERED APART. 
 
 WHEN the magnitude of the Roman empire grew enormous, and 
 there were two imperial cities, Rome and Constantinople, then 
 that happened which was natural ; out of one empire it became 
 two, distinguished by the different names of the Western and 
 the Eastern. 
 
 The Western empire soon sunk. So early as in the fifth 
 century, a Rome, once the mistress of nations, beheld herself at 
 the feet of a Gothic sovereign. The Eastern empire lasted many 
 centuries longer ; and though often impaired by external enemies, 
 and weakened as often by internal factions, yet still it retained 
 traces of its ancient splendour, resembling, in the language of 
 Virgil, some fair, but faded flower : 
 
 Ctri neque fulgor adhuc, necdum sua forma recessit. 
 
 At length, after various plunges and various escapes, it was 
 totally annihilated in the fifteenth century, by the victorious 
 arms of Mahomet the Great. b 
 
 The interval between the fall of these two empires, (the 
 Western or Latin in the fifth century, the Eastern or Grecian 
 in the fifteenth,) making a space of near a thousand years, con- 
 stitutes what we call the middle age. 
 
 Dominion passed, during this interval, into the hands of rude, 
 
 a About the year of Christ 475, An- sunk, that early in the seventh century they 
 
 gustulus was compelled to abdicate the ceased to speak Latin, even in Rome itself. 
 
 Western empire by Odoacer, king of the See Blair's Chronology. 
 
 Heruli. As Augustulus was the last Ro- b See the various histories of the Turkish 
 
 man who possessed the imperial dignity at empire. The unfortunate Greeks, at this 
 
 Rome, and as the dominion both of Rome period, when, to resist such an enemy as 
 
 and Italy soon after passed into the hands the Turks, they should have been firmly 
 
 of Theodoric the Goth, it has been justly combined, were never so miserably dis- 
 
 said, that then terminated the Roman em- tracted. An union with the church of Rome 
 
 pire in the West. was at the time projected. The Greeks 
 
 During these wretched times, Rome had who favoured it imputed their calamities to 
 
 been sacked not long before by Alaric, as it their nolruniting ; those who opposed it, to 
 
 was a second time (about the middle of the their uniting. Between the two factions 
 
 sixth century) by Totila ; after which events all was lost, and Constantinople taken in 
 
 the Roman name and authority were so far the year 1453. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 455 
 
 illiterate rnen ; men who conquered more by multitude than by 
 military skill; and who, having little or no taste either for 
 sciences or arts, naturally despised those things from which they 
 reaped no advantage. 
 
 This was the age of monkery and legends ; of Leonine verses, 
 (that is, of bad Latin put into rhyme ;) of projects to decide truth 
 by ploughshares and batoons ; d of crusades to conquer infidels 
 and extirpate heretics ; of princes deposed, not as Croesus was by 
 Cyrus, but by one who had no armies, and who did not even 
 wear a sword. 
 
 c See below, chap. xi. 
 
 d This alludes to the two methods of 
 trial, much practised in those dark times, 
 the trial by ordeal, and that by duel. 
 
 Heated ploughshares were often em- 
 ployed in trials by ordeal ; and it is remark- 
 able, that express mention is made of this 
 absurd method of purgation by fire, even in 
 the Antigone of Sophocles. The messenger 
 there says, in order to justify himself and 
 his companions, 
 
 v H/zei/ 8* erotjuot Kal p.vo'povs afpeiv x P ? y > 
 Kat Trvp Siepirfiv, KO! Oeovs opKcafj-OTfiv, 
 Tb fj.r]r Spaa'at, yUTjre, K.T. A. 
 
 Antig. v. 270. 
 
 Ready we were with both our hands to lift 
 The glowiny mass ; or sloiuly cross the fire. 
 And by the yods to sivear, we neither did 
 The deed, nor knew, &c. 
 
 This carries up the practice to the time 
 of Eteocles and Polynices, before the Trojan 
 war. 
 
 Perhaps the poet, by the incidental men- 
 tion of so strange a custom, intended to 
 characterize the manners of a ruder age ; 
 an age widely different from his own, which 
 was an age of science and philosophical dis- 
 quisition. 
 
 As to trials by battle, they were either 
 before the earl marshal, or the judges of 
 Westminster-hall. If before the earl mar- 
 shal, they were upon accusations of treason, 
 or other capital crimes, and the parties were 
 usually of high and noble rank. If before 
 the judges of Westminster-hall, the cause 
 was often of inferior sort, as well as the 
 parties litigating. 
 
 Hence the combats differed in their ends. 
 That before the earl marshal was victory, 
 often attended with slaughter ; that before 
 the judges was victory alone, with no such 
 consequence. 
 
 The weapons, too, differed, as well as the 
 ends. The weapons before the earl marshal 
 were a long sword, a short sword, and a 
 dagger ; that before the judges was a ba- 
 toon, above mentioned, called in barbarous 
 Latin druncus, but in words more intelli- 
 gible fastis tercs. 
 
 So late as the reign of queen Elizabeth, 
 
 an instance occurs of this trial being insisted 
 upon. But that wise princess, though she 
 permitted the previous forms, I mean that 
 of the lists being enclosed, of the judges 
 taking their seats there, of the champions 
 making their appearance, &c. (forms which 
 perhaps could not legally be prevented,) 
 had too much sense to permit so foolish a 
 decision. She compelled the parties to a 
 compromise, by the plaintiffs taking an 
 equivalent in money for his claim, and 
 making in consequence a voluntary default. 
 
 Wyvil, bishop of Salisbury, in the reign 
 of Edward the Third, recurred to trial by 
 battle in a dispute with the earl of Salis- 
 bury, and ordered public prayers through 
 his diocese for the success of his champion, 
 till the matter, by the king's authority, was 
 compromised. 
 
 But notwithstanding this bishop's con- 
 duct, it was a practice which the church 
 disapproved, and wisely, as well as hu- 
 manely, endeavoured to prevent. Trucu- 
 lentum morem in omni aevo acriter insecta- 
 runt theologi, prae aliis Agobardus, et plu- 
 rimo canone ipsa ecclessia. See Spelman, 
 under the words Campus^ Campsius, and 
 Campio. 
 
 I must not omit that there is a complete 
 history of such a duel, recorded by Wal- 
 singham, in the reign of Richard the Second, 
 between Aneslee a knight, and Karryngton 
 an esquire. Karryngton was accused by 
 the other of treason, for selling a castle to 
 the French, and, being defeated in the com- 
 bat, died the next day raving mad. Wal- 
 singham's narrative is curious and exact, 
 but their weapons differed from those above 
 mentioned, for they first fought with lances, 
 then with swords, and lastly with daggers. 
 Walsing. Histor. p. 237. 
 
 e Such was pope Innocent the Third, 
 who, besides his crusades to extirpate here- 
 tics by armies not his own, excommunicated 
 Philip king of France, Alphonso king of 
 Leon, Raimond earl of Toulouse, and John 
 king of England. 
 
 Nor is this wonderful, when we view in 
 his own language the opinion he had of his 
 own station and authority. 
 
456 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Different portions of this age have been distinguished by dif- 
 ferent descriptions ; such as Sceculum Monotheleticum, Bceculum 
 Eiconoclasticum, Bceculum Obscurum, Sceculum Ferreum, Scecu- 
 lum Hildibrandinum, &c.; strange names, it must be confessed, 
 some more obvious, others less so, yet none tending to furnish us 
 with any high or promising ideas/ 
 
 And yet we must acknowledge, for the honour of humanity, 
 and of its great and divine Author, who never forsakes it, that 
 some sparks of intellect were at all times visible, through the 
 whole of this dark and dreary period. It is here we must look 
 for the taste and literature of the times. 
 
 The few who were enlightened, when arts and sciences were 
 thus obscured, may be said to have happily maintained the con- 
 tinuity of knowledge ; to have been (if I may use the expression) 
 like the twilight of a summer's night ; that auspicious gleam be- 
 tween the setting and the rising sun, which, though it cannot 
 retain the lustre of the day, helps at least to save us from the 
 totality of darkness. 
 
 A cursory disquisition, illustrated by a few select instances, 
 will constitute the subject of the present essay; and these in- 
 stances we shall bring from among three classes of men, who had 
 each a large share in the transactions of those times : from the 
 Byzantine Greeks, from the Arabians or Saracens, and from the 
 inhabitants of Western Europe, at that time called the Latins. 
 We shall give precedence, as we think they merit it, to the 
 Greeks of Constantinople, although it is not always easy to pre- 
 serve an exact chronology, because in each of these three classes 
 many eminent men were contemporary. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONCERNING THE FIRST CLASS, THE BYZANTINE GREEKS SIMPLICIUS 
 
 AMMONIUS PHILOPONUS FATE OF THE FINE LIBRARY AT ALEX- 
 ANDRIA. 
 
 SIMPLICIUS and Ammonius were Greek authors, who flourished 
 at Athens, during the sixth century ; for Athens, long after her 
 trophies at Marathon, long after her political sovereignty was no 
 more, still maintained her empire in philosophy and the fine arts. 8 
 
 *'I am placed (says he) in the middle, Transubstantionis Joannis Cosin. Episcop. 
 
 between God and man ; on this side God, Dunelm. Lond. 1675. See also the church 
 
 but beyond man ; nay, I am greater than histories of this period, 
 
 man, as I can judge of all men, but can be f Those who would be further informed 
 
 judged by no one. Sum enim inter Deum concerning these Ssecula, may, among other 
 
 et hominem medius constitutus, citra Deum authors, consult two very learned ones*, 
 
 sed ultra hominem ; imo major homine, qui Cave,inhisHistoriaLitcraria,andMosheim, 
 
 de omnibus judicem, a nemine vero judicari in his Ecclesiastical History, 
 
 possim." Innocen. III. serm. 2. in Historia Soe below, chap. iii. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 457 
 
 Philosophy, indeed, when these authors wrote, was sinking 
 apace. The Stoic system, and even the Stoic writings were the 
 greater part of them lost.' 1 Other sects had shared the same 
 fate. None subsisted but the Platonic and the Peripatetic; 
 which, being both derived from a common source, (that is to say, 
 the Pythagorean,) were at this period blended, and commonly 
 cultivated by the same persons. 
 
 Simplicius and Ammonius, being bred in this school, and well 
 initiated in its principles, found no reason, from their education, 
 to make systems for themselves ; a practice referable sometimes 
 to real genius, but more often to not knowing what others have 
 invented before. 
 
 Conscious therefore they could not excel their great prede- 
 cessors, they thought, like many others, that the commenting of 
 their works was doing mankind the most essential service. 
 
 It was this which gave rise, long before their time, to that 
 tribe of commentators, who, in the person of Andronicus the 
 K-hodian, began under Augustus, and who continued, for ages 
 after, in an orderly succession. 
 
 Simplicius wrote a variety of comments upon different parts 
 of Aristotle, but his comment upon the Physics is peculiarly 
 valuable, as it is filled with quotations from Anaxagoras, De- 
 mocritus, Parmenides, and other philosophers, who flourished so 
 early as before the time of Aristotle, and whose fragments many 
 of them are not to be found elsewhere. 
 
 As this compilation must have been the result of extensive 
 reading, we may justly distinguish him by the title of a learned 
 commentator. 1 
 
 Ammonius wrote comments on the first and second tracts of 
 Aristotle's Logic, as likewise upon the Introductory Discourse 
 of the philosopher Porphyry. His manner of writing is orderly; 
 his style clear and copious ; copious in its better sense, by leav- 
 ing nothing unexplained, not copious by perplexing us with tire- 
 some tautology. 
 
 To those who wish for a taste of this literature, I know no 
 author who better merits perusal. The preface to his Comment 
 on Porphyry is a curious account of philosophy under its many 
 and different definitions, every one of which he explains with 
 perspicuity and precision. The preface to his Comment on the 
 Predicaments gives us an ingenious plan of critical scrutiny ; in 
 other words, furnishes us with a suite of leading queries, by 
 which, before we read a book, we may learn what it is, and 
 judge, when analyzed, if it be a legitimate composition. k 
 
 When things change by uninterrupted continuity, as (to use 
 an idea already suggested) the splendour of the day to the dark- 
 
 h See Philosoph. Arrangements, p. 323. vol. viii. p. 620, &c. 
 
 1 For a fuller and more accurate account k See Fabr. Biblioth. Graec. vol. iv. p. 
 of Simplicius, see Fabricii Biblioth. Graec. 161. 
 
458 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 ness of the night, it is hard to decide, precisely, where the one 
 concludes and the other commences. By parity of reasoning 
 it is difficult to determine, to what age we shall adjudge the two 
 philosophers just mentioned ; whether to the commencement of 
 a baser age, or rather (if we regard their merit) to the conclusion 
 of a purer. If we arrange them with the conclusion, it is, as 
 Brutus and Cassius were called the last of the Romans. 1 
 
 We can have less doubt about the disciple of Ammonius, 
 John the Grammarian, called Philoponus from his love of labour. 
 It was his misfortune to live during the time of Mahomet, and 
 to see Alexandria taken by the arms of one of his immediate 
 successors. What passed there on this occasion with regard to 
 the library, though recorded in modern books, is too curious to 
 be omitted here. I translate it from the accurate version of 
 Abulpharagius's History, made by that able orientalist, Po- 
 cocke. 
 
 " When Alexandria was taken by the Mahometans, Amrus, 
 their commander, found there Philoponus, whose conversation 
 highly pleased him, as Amrus was a lover of letters, and Philo- 
 ponus a learned man. On a certain day, Philoponus said to him, 
 ' You have visited all the repositories or public warehouses in 
 Alexandria, and you have sealed up things of every sort, that 
 are found there. As to those things that may be useful to you, 
 I presume to say nothing ; but as to things of no service to you, 
 some of them perhaps may be more suitable to me.' Amrus 
 said to him, 'And what is it you want? 1 'The philosophical 
 books (replied he) preserved in the royal libraries. 1 ' This, 1 says 
 Amrus, 'is a request upon which I cannot decide. You desire 
 a thing where I can issue no orders, till I have leave from Omar, 
 the commander of the faithful. 1 Letters were accordingly 
 written to Omar, informing him of what Philoponus had said, 
 and an answer was returned by Omar to the following purport. 
 ' As to the books of which you have made mention, if there be 
 contained in them what accords with the book of God, (meaning 
 the Alcoran,) there is without them, in the book of God, all 
 that is sufficient. But if there be any thing in them repugnant 
 to that book, we in no respect want them. Order them, there- 
 fore, to be all destroyed. 1 Amrus, upon this, ordered them to 
 be dispersed through the baths of Alexandria, and to be there 
 burned in making the baths warm. After this manner, in the 
 space of six months, they were all consumed. 11 
 
 The historian, having related the story, adds, from his own 
 feelings, "Hear what was done, and wonder. 11 " 1 
 
 1 See Tacit. Annal. iv. 34. make from Abulpharagius, we shall always 
 
 m Vid. Abulpharagii Dynastiar. p. 114. quote from the same edition ; that is, from 
 
 Oxon. 1663. the Latin version of the learned Pococke, 
 
 The reader will here observe, that in the subjoined to the original Arabic. 
 
 many quotations which we shall hereafter 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 459 
 
 Thus ended this noble library ; and thus began, if it did not 
 begin sooner, the age of barbarity and ignorance. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DIGRESSION TO A SHORT HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF ATHENS, FROM THE 
 TIME OF HER PERSIAN TRIUMPHS, TO THAT OF HER BECOMING SUB- 
 JECT TO THE TURKS. SKETCH, DURING THIS LONG INTERVAL, OF 
 HER POLITICAL AND LITERARY STATE ; OF HER PHILOSOPHERS ; OF 
 HER GYMNASIA ; OF HER GOOD AND BAD FORTUNE, &C. &C. MAN- 
 NERS OF THE PRESENT INHABITANTS. OLIVES AND HONEY. 
 
 HAVING mentioned Athens, I hope that celebrated city will 
 justify a digression, and the more so, as that digression will ter- 
 minate in events which belong to the very age of which we are 
 now writing. But it is expedient to deduce matters from a 
 much earlier period. 
 
 When the Athenians had delivered themselves from the 
 tyranny of Pisistratus, and after this had defeated the vast 
 efforts of the Persians, and that against two successive invaders, 
 Darius and Xerxes, they may be considered as at the summit 
 of their national glory. For more than half a century after- 
 wards they maintained, without control, the sovereignty of 
 Greece. 11 
 
 As their taste was naturally good, arts of every kind soon rose 
 among them, and flourished. Valour had given them reputa- 
 tion ; reputation gave them an ascendant ; and that ascendant 
 produced a security, which left their minds at ease, and gave 
 them leisure to cultivate every thing liberal or elegant. 
 
 It was then that Pericles adorned the city with temples, 
 theatres, and other beautiful and public buildings. Phidias, the 
 great sculptor, was employed as his architect, who, when he had 
 erected edifices, adorned them himself, and added statues and 
 basso-relievos, the admiration of every beholder. p It was then 
 that Polygnotus and Myro painted ; that Sophocles and Eu- 
 ripides wrote ; and, not long after, that they saw the divine 
 Socrates. 
 
 n For these historical facts, consult the See the note from a Greek manuscript 
 
 ancient and modern authors of Grecian in the Treatise on Music, Painting, &c. 
 
 history. p. 25, where the progress of arts and 
 
 It was in a similar period of triumph, sciences, from their dawn to their meri- 
 after a formidable adversary had been dian, is elegantly and philosophically ex- 
 crushed, that the Romans began to culti- hibited. 
 vate a more refined and polished literature. P See Plutarch's Life of Pericles, p. 350, 
 
 Post Punka bella quietus, quarere 351, 352, 353, 354, in the quarto Greek 
 
 cmpit, edition of Bryan, vol. i. and Stuart's An- 
 
 Quid Sophocles, ct Tltespis, ct JEschylus tiquities of Athens. 
 utile ferrcnt. Hor. Ep. ii. 1. ii. 162. 
 
460 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Human affairs are by nature prone to change ; and states, as 
 well as individuals, are born to decay. Jealousy and ambition 
 insensibly fomented wars, and success in these wars, as in others, 
 was often various. The military strength of the Athenians was 
 first impaired by the Lacedaemonians ; after that, it was again 
 humiliated, under Epaminondas, by the Thebans; and last of 
 all it was wholly crushed by the Macedonian, Philip. q 
 
 But though their political sovereignty was lost, yet, happily 
 for mankind, their love of literature and arts did not sink along 
 with it. 
 
 Just at the close of their golden days of empire flourished 
 Xenophon and Plato, the disciples of Socrates ; and from Plato 
 descended that race of philosophers called the Old Academy. 1 " 
 
 Aristotle, who was Plato^s disciple, may be said, not to have 
 invented a new philosophy, but rather to have tempered the 
 sublime and rapturous mysteries of his master with method, 
 order, and a stricter mode of reasoning. 3 
 
 Zeno, who was himself also educated in the principles of 
 Platonism, only differed from Plato in the comparative estimate 
 of things, allowing nothing to be intrinsically good but virtue, 
 nothing intrinsically bad but vice, and considering all other 
 things to be in themselves indifferent.* 
 
 He, too, and Aristotle, accurately cultivated logic, but in dif- 
 ferent ways ; for Aristotle chiefly dwelt upon the simple syl- 
 logism ; Zeno upon that which is derived out of it, the com- 
 pound or hypothetic. Both, too, as well as other philosophers, 
 cultivated rhetoric along with logic ; holding a knowledge in 
 both to be requisite for those who think of addressing mankind 
 with all the efficacy of persuasion. Zeno elegantly illustrated 
 the force of these two powers by a simile taken from the hand : 
 the close power of logic he compared to the fist, or hand com- 
 pressed ; the diffuse power of rhetoric to the palm, or hand 
 open." 
 
 I shall mention but two sects more, the New Academy, and 
 the Epicurean. 
 
 i See, as before, the several histories of illius similem eloquentiam esse dicebat. 
 
 Greece. Cicer. Orator, s. 113. 
 
 r See Cic. de Fin. 1. v. and Academ. 1. i. Both Peripatetics and Stoics wrote tracts 
 
 s. 5. p. 21. edit. Davisii. of rhetoric as well as logic. The Rhetoric 
 
 s See Hermes, p. 240. of Aristotle is perhaps one of the most 
 
 1 See Cicer. de Fin. 1. iii. s. 7, 8. 16. valuable remains of antiquity, and de- 
 
 The beginning of the Enchiridion of Epic- servedly worth studying, be it for specula- 
 
 tetus, Tuv OVTUV TO. [j^v <' Tjfjuv, K. r. A., tion or practice. 
 Diogen. Laert. in vita Zenon. 1. vii. s. 102. As for the rhetoric of the Stoics, there is 
 
 u Zeno quidem ille, a quo disciplina extant, among the Latin rhetoricians, pub- 
 
 Stoicorum est, manu demonstrare solebat, lished in a thin quarto, by Plantin, at Paris, 
 
 quid inter has artes [dialecticam scil. et an. 1599, a tract by Sulpitius Victor, called 
 
 eloquentiam] interesset. Nam, cum com- Institutiones Oratoriae, wherein he has this 
 
 presserat digitos, pugnumque fecerat, dia- expression at the beginning : Zenonis prae- 
 
 lecticam aiebat cjusmodi esse; cum autem cepta maxim e persecutus. See p. 187; 
 
 diduxerat, et manum dilataverat, palmae also p. 288, 193, of the said treatise. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 461 
 
 The New Academy, so called from the Old Academy, (the 
 name given to the school of Plato,) was founded by Arcesilas, 
 and ably maintained by Carneades. From a mistaken imitation 
 of the great parent of philosophy, Socrates, (particularly as he 
 appears in the Dialogues of Plato,) because Socrates doubted 
 some things, therefore Arcesilas and Carneades doubted all. x 
 
 Epicurus drew from another source ; Democritus had taught 
 him atoms and a void : by the fortuitous concourse of atoms, he 
 fancied he could form a world ; while by a feigned veneration he 
 complimented away his gods, and totally denied their provi- 
 dential care, lest the trouble of it should impair their uninter- 
 rupted state of bliss. Virtue he recommended, though not for 
 the sake of virtue, but pleasure ; pleasure, according to him, 
 being our chief and sovereign good. It must be confessed, how- 
 ever, that, though his principles were erroneous, and even bad, 
 never was a man more temperate and humane ; never was a 
 man more beloved by his friends, or more cordially attached to 
 them in affectionate esteem. y 
 
 We have already mentioned the alliance between philosophy 
 and rhetoric. This cannot be thought wonderful, if rhetoric be 
 the art by which men are persuaded, and if men cannot be per- 
 suaded without a knowledge of human nature: for what, but 
 philosophy, can procure us this knowledge ? 
 
 It was for this reason the ablest Greek philosophers not only 
 taught, (as we hinted before,) but wrote also treatises upon rhe- 
 toric. They had a further inducement, and that was the in- 
 trinsic beauty of their language, as it was then spoken among 
 the learned and polite. They would have been ashamed to have 
 delivered philosophy, as it has been too often delivered since, 
 in compositions as clumsy as the common dialect of the mere 
 vulgar. 
 
 The same love of elegance which made them attend to their 
 style, made them attend even to the places where their philo- 
 sophy was taught. 
 
 Plato delivered his lectures in a place shaded with groves, on 
 the banks of the river Ilissus ; and which, as it once belonged 
 to a person called Academus, was called, after his name, the 
 Academy. 2 Aristotle chose another spot of a similar character, 
 where there were trees and shade ; a spot called the Lycseum. 3 
 Zeno taught in a portico or colonnade, distinguished from other 
 buildings of that sort (of which the Athenians had many) by 
 the name of the Variegated Portico, the walls being decorated 
 with various paintings of Polygnotus and Myro, two capital 
 
 x Vid. Cic. Academ. 1. i. s. 13. p. 48. tending to establish his amiable character, 
 
 edit. Dav. Itaque Arcesilas negabat esse however erroneous and blameablc his doc- 
 
 quicquam, &c. trines. 
 
 y See Diogcn. Laert. 1. x. s. 9, &c. where z Vid. Diog. Laert. lib. iii. s. 7. Potter's 
 
 an ample detail is given of Epicurus, his Arch. Grsec. vol. i. p. 40. 
 friends, his last will, and his death ; all a See Potter's Arch. Grsec. vol. i. p. 40. 
 
462 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 masters of that transcendent period. 1 ' Epicurus addressed his 
 hearers in those well-known gardens, called, after his own name, 
 the Gardens of Epicurus. 
 
 Some of these places gave names to the doctrines which were 
 taught there. Plato's philosophy took its name of Academic 
 from the Academy ; c that of Zeno was called the Stoic, from a 
 Greek word, signifying a portico. d 
 
 The system indeed of Aristotle was not denominated from the 
 place, but was called Peripatetic, from the manner in which he 
 taught ; from his walking about at the time when he disserted. e 
 The term, Epicurean philosophy, needs no explanation. 
 
 Open air, shade, water, and pleasant walks, seem above all 
 things to favour that exercise, the best suited to contemplation, 
 I mean gentle walking without inducing fatigue. The many 
 agreeable walks in and about Oxford, may teach my own 
 countrymen the truth of this assertion, and best explain how 
 Horace lived, while a student at Athens, employed, (as he tells 
 us,) 
 
 Inter silvas academi quaerere verum. 
 
 These places of public institution were called among the 
 Greeks by the name of Gymnasia, in which, whatever that word 
 might have originally meant, were taught all those exercises, 
 and all those arts, which tended to cultivate not only the body 
 but the mind. As man was a being consisting of both, the 
 Greeks could not consider that education as complete, in which 
 both were not regarded, and both properly formed. Hence 
 their Gymnasia, with reference to this double end, were adorned 
 
 b Of these two artists, it appears that to their ships ; Miltiades and the Greek 
 
 Myro was paid, and that Polygnotus painted leaders being to be known by their por- 
 
 gratis, for which generosity he had the tes- traits. 
 
 timony of public honours. Plin. N. Hist. As the portico was large, and the pic- 
 
 1. xxxv. cap. 9. s. 35. tures were only four, these we may sup- 
 
 We learn from history, that the pictures pose must have been large likewise, for it 
 
 which adorned this portico were four ; two is probable they occupied the whole space, 
 
 on the back part of it, (open to the colon- Vid. Pausan. Attic, lib. i. c. 15. p. 36. edit, 
 
 nade) and a picture at each end, upon the Lips. 1696. 
 right and left. From the painting of this portico to the 
 
 We learn also the subjects : on one of time of Honorius, when it was defaced, 
 
 the sides, a picture of the Athenian and stripped, and its pictures destroyed, (Synes. 
 
 Lacedaemonian armies at CEnoe (an Argive Epist. 135.) was an interval of about eight 
 
 city) facing each other and ready to en- hundred years. 
 
 gage : on the back ground, or middle part It may merit inquiry among the curious, 
 
 of the portico, the battle between the upon what sort of surface, and with what 
 
 Athenians under Theseus, and the Ama- sort of colours, pictures were painted, that 
 
 zons: next to that, on the same middle, could endure so long, 
 the Grecian chiefs, after the taking of Troy, c See the note, next after the following, 
 deliberating upon the violence offered by d Sroa, ^rcaiKoi. 
 
 Ajax to Cassandra, Ajax himself being pre- e Qui erant cum Aristotele, Peripatetici 
 
 sent, together with Cassandra and other dicti sunt, quia disputabant inambulantes in 
 
 captive Trojan women : lastly, on the other Lyceo ; illi autem, qui Platonis instituto 
 
 side of the portico opposite to the first, the in academia, quod est alterum gymnasium, 
 
 triumphant victory at Marathon, the Bar- costus erant et sermones habere soliti, e 
 
 barians pushed into the morass, or demo- loci vocabulo nomen habuerunt. Cic. Aca- 
 
 lishcd, while they endeavoured to escape dem. 1. i. c. 4. p. 21. edit. Davis. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 463 
 
 with two statues, those of Mercury and of Hercules ; the corpo- 
 real accomplishments being patronised (as they supposed) by 
 the god of strength, the mental accomplishments by the god of 
 ingenuity. f 
 
 It is to be feared, that many places, now called academies, 
 scarce deserve the name upon this extensive plan, if the pro- 
 fessors teach no more than how to dance, fence, and ride upon 
 horses. 
 
 It was for the cultivation of every liberal accomplishment that 
 Athens was celebrated (as we have said) during many centuries, 
 long after her political influence was lost and at an end. 
 
 When Alexander the Great died, many tyrants, like many 
 hydras, immediately sprung up. Athens then, though she still 
 maintained the form of her ancient government, was perpetually 
 checked and humiliated by their insolence. Antipater destroyed 
 her orators, and she was sacked by Demetrius. 8 At length she 
 became subject to the all-powerful Romans, and found the cruel 
 Sylla her severest enemy. 
 
 His face (which perhaps indicated his manners) was of a 
 purple red, intermixed with white. This circumstance could not 
 escape the witty Athenians : they described him in a verse, and 
 ridiculously said, 
 
 Sylla's face is a mulberry, sprinkled with meal. h 
 
 The devastations and carnage which he caused soon after, 
 gave them too much reason to repent their sarcasm. 
 
 The civil war between Caesar and Pompey soon followed, and 
 their natural love of liberty made them side with Pompey. 
 Here again they were unfortunate, for Caesar conquered. But 
 Csesar did not treat them like Sylla. With that clemency, 
 which made so amiable a part of his character, he dismissed 
 them by a fine allusion to their illustrious ancestors, saying, that 
 he spared the living for the sake of the dead. 1 
 
 Another storm followed soon after this, the wars of Brutus 
 and Cassius with Augustus and Antony. Their partiality for 
 liberty did not here forsake them : they took part in the contest 
 with the two patriot Romans, and erected their statues near 
 their own ancient deliverers, Harmodius and Aristogiton, who 
 had slain Hipparchus. But they were still unhappy, for their 
 enemies triumphed. 
 
 f Vid. Athen. Deipnos. 1. xiii. p. 561. edit. Bryan, quarto. 
 
 edit. Lugduni, 1657, fol. Sometimes the For his devastations of the groves in the 
 
 two gods were made into one statue. Such Academy and Lyceum, his demolition of 
 
 compound statues were called epfj.epa.K\ai. their fine buildings, and, above all, his cruel 
 
 See Cic. ad Atticum, 1. i. epist. 10. massacre of the inhabitants, when he took 
 
 % See the writers (ancient and modern) the city, see pages 61, 63, 64, 65, of the 
 
 of Grecian history. same work, in the same edition. 
 
 h The original verse is a Trochaic : ' Vid. Meursium de Fortuna Athenarum, 
 
 ~2,vK&iJ.ivov (rO' 6 2uAA.cr, aA^try Tre-Tracr- in Gronov. Thesaur. Antiquitat. Gnecar. 
 
 yueW. vol. v. p. 1745, 1746. 
 
 Plutarch, in vit. Syllae, vol. iii. p. 44. 
 
464 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 They made their peace however with Augustus, and having 
 met afterwards with different treatment under different emperors, 
 sometimes favourable, sometimes harsh, and never more severe 
 than under Vespasian, their oppressions were at length relieved 
 by the virtuous Nerva and Trajan. k 
 
 Mankind during the interval, which began from Nerva, and 
 which extended to the death of that best of emperors Marcus 
 Antoninus, felt a respite from those evils which they had so 
 severely felt before, and which they felt so severely revived 
 under Commodus, and his wretched successors. 
 
 Athens, during the above golden period, enjoyed more than 
 all others the general felicity, for she found in Adrian so generous 
 a benefactor, that her citizens could hardly help esteeming him 
 a second founder. He restored their old privileges ; gave them 
 new ; repaired their ancient buildings, and added others of his 
 own. Marcus Antoninus, although he did not do so much, still 
 continued to shew them his benevolent attention. 1 
 
 If from this period we turn our eyes back, we shall find, for 
 centuries before, that Athens was the place of education, not 
 only for Greeks, but for Romans. It was hither that Horace 
 was sent by his father; it was here that Cicero put his son 
 Marcus under Cratippus, one of the ablest philosophers then 
 belonging to that city. 1 " 
 
 The sects of philosophers, which we have already described, 
 were still existing, when St. Paul came thither. We cannot 
 enough admire the superior eloquence of that apostle, in his 
 manner of addressing so intelligent an audience. We cannot 
 enough admire the sublimity of his exordium ; the propriety of 
 his mentioning an altar, which he had found there ; and his 
 quotation from Aratus, one of their well-known poets." 
 
 Nor was Athens only celebrated for the residence of philoso- 
 phers, and the institution of youth : men of rank and fortune 
 found pleasure in a retreat which contributed so much to their 
 liberal enjoyment. 
 
 The friend and correspondent of Cicero, T. Pomponius, from 
 his long attachment to this city and country had attained such 
 a perfection in its arts and language, that he acquired to himself 
 the additional name of Atticus. This great man may be said to 
 have lived during times of the worst and crudest factions. His 
 youth was spent under Sylla and Marius ; the middle of his life 
 during all the sanguinary scenes that followed ; and, when he 
 was old, he saw the proscriptions of Antony and Octavius. Yet 
 though Cicero and a multitude more of the best men perished, 
 
 k See the same tract, in the same m See Horat. Epist. ii. 1. ii. 43, and 
 
 volume of Gronovius's collection, p. 174G, the beginning of Cicero's Offices, addressed 
 
 1747. to his son Quamquam, Marce Fili, &c. 
 
 1 See the same author, in the same " Acts xvii. 22, &c. 
 volume, p. 1748, 1749. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 465 
 
 he had the good fortune to survive every danger. Nor did he 
 seek a safety for himself alone ; his virtue so recommended him 
 to the leaders of every side, that he was able to save not himself 
 alone, but the lives and fortunes of many of his friends. 
 
 When we look to this amiable character, we may well sup- 
 pose, that it was not merely for amusement that he chose to live 
 at Athens ; but rather that, by residing there, he might so far 
 realize philosophy, as to employ it for the conduct of life, and 
 not merely for ostentation. 
 
 Another person, during a better period, (that I mean between 
 Nerva and Marcus Antoninus.) was equally celebrated for his 
 affection to this city. By this person I mean Herodes Atticus, 
 who acquired the last name from the same reasons for which it 
 had formerly been given to Pomponius. p 
 
 We have remarked already, that vicissitudes befall both men 
 and cities, and changes too often happen from prosperous to 
 adverse. Such was the state of Athens under the successors of 
 Alexander, and so on from Sylla down to the time of Augustus. 
 It shared the same hard fate with the Roman empire in general 
 upon the accession of Commodus. 
 
 At length, after a certain period, the Barbarians of the north 
 began to pour into the south. Rome was taken by Alaric, and 
 Athens was besieged by the same. Yet here we are informed 
 (at least we learn so from history) that it was miraculously 
 saved by Minerva and Achilles. The goddess, it seems, and the 
 hero both of them appeared, compelling the invader to raise the 
 siege. q 
 
 It was thus, we are told, that, many years before, Castor and 
 Pollux had fought for the Romans ; r and that, many centuries 
 afterwards, St. George, at Iconium, discomfited the Saracens ; s 
 nay, so late as in the sixteenth century, a gallant Spaniard, 
 Peter de Paz, was seen to assist his countrymen, some months 
 after his decease, when they made' an assault at the siege of 
 Antwerp. 4 
 
 The life of this extraordinary man is printed at Mentz, an. 1617. cum gratia et 
 finely and fully written by Cornelius Nepos, privilegio Caesar. Majest. together with the 
 a life well worthy of perusal. See filso the approbation of Oliverius Manarcus, vice- 
 large and valuable collection of confidential provincial of the Belgic Jesuits, and Guliel- 
 letters, addressed to him by Cicero. mus Fabricius, styled Apostolicus et regius 
 
 i> See Fabric. Bibl. Graec. vol. iv. p. 371. librorum censor; and attested also by the 
 and Suidas, under the word Herodes. evidence Multorum gravium militum, qui 
 
 1 See Zosimi Histor. 1. v. c. 5, 6. p. 511, vidisse se sancte jurabant 
 
 &c. edit. Gr. Lat. 8vo. 1679. where the The besieged, it seems, and their allies, 
 
 whole story is related at length. the Dutch and English, were uplm the point 
 
 r See Floras, 1. i. 2 ; 1. ii. 12. Justin, of forcing a post (aggerem) possessed by the 
 
 1. xx. 3. Spaniards, who besieged the city. Del- 
 
 8 Fuller's Holy War, p. 27. Matt. Rio's words after this are, Turn a regiis mi- 
 Paris, p. 43. According to this last author, litibus (Hispanis scil.) primo paucioribus 
 there were three that fought, St. George, conspectus prope aggerem Petrus de Paz, 
 St. Demetrius, and St. Mercury. Hispanus tribunus, vir et militarib. et 
 
 1 The following extract is taken from the pietatis ornamentis laudatissimus, qui, jam 
 
 jJisquisitiones Magicae of Martin Del-Rio, mensibus aliquot ante dcfunctus, visus his 
 
466 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Instead of giving my own sentiments upon these events, I 
 choose to give those of an abler man upon a similar subject. 
 After having related some singular stories of equal probability, 
 lord Bacon concludes with the following observation. 
 
 " My judgment (says he) is, that they (he means the stories) 
 ought all to be despised, and ought to serve but for winter-talk 
 by the fireside. Though when I say despised, I mean it as for 
 belief; for otherwise the spreading or publishing of them is in 
 no sort to be despised, for they have done much mischief."" 
 
 Synesius, who lived in the fifth century, visited Athens, and 
 gives in his Epistles an account of his visit. Its lustre appears 
 at that time to have been greatly diminished. Among other 
 things he informs us, that the celebrated portico or colonnade, 
 the Greek name of which gave name to the sect of Stoics, had 
 by an oppressive proconsul been despoiled of its fine pictures ; 
 and that, on this devastation, it had been forsaken by those 
 philosophers/ 
 
 In the thirteenth century, when the Grecian empire was 
 cruelly oppressed by the crusaders, and all things in confusion, 
 Athens was besieged by one Segurus Leo, who was unable to 
 take it ; and, after that, by a marquis of Montserrat, to whom 
 it surrendered. y 
 
 Its fortune after this was various ; and it was sometimes 
 under the Venetians, sometimes under the Catalonians, till 
 Mahomet the Great made himself master of Constantinople. 
 This fatal catastrophe (which happened near two thousand years 
 after the time of Pisistratus) brought Athens, and with it all 
 Greece, into the hands of the Turks, under whose despotic yoke 
 it has continued ever since. 
 
 The city from this time has been occasionally visited, and 
 descriptions of it published by different travellers. Wheeler was 
 there along with Spon, in the time of our Charles the Second, 
 and both of them have published curious and valuable narratives. 
 Others, as well natives of this island as foreigners, have been 
 there since, and some have given (as Monsr. Le Boy) specious 
 publications of what we are to suppose they saw. None how- 
 ever have equalled the truth, the accuracy, and elegance of 
 Mr. Stuart, who, after having resided there between three and 
 four years, has given us such plans and elevations of the capital 
 buildings now standing, together with learned comments to 
 elucidate every part, that he seems, as far as was possible for 
 
 armatus, ut solebat, legionem praecedere, et u Essays and Counsels by Lord Verulam, 
 
 Buis quondam militibus, manu advocatis, num. xxxv. 
 
 sequerentur ut se imperare. Indicant primi * See Synesii Epist. 135. in Gronovius's 
 
 secundis ; sic tertiis ; sic sequentibus ; vi- Collection, vol. v. (as before,) p. 1751, and 
 
 dent omnes idem, mirantur, animisque re- of this work, p. 461. 
 
 sumptis notum sequuntur ducem, &c. Dis- y See Gronovius's Collection, (as before,) 
 
 quisit. Mag. p. 262. p. 17511754. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 467 
 
 the power of description, to have restored the city to its ancient 
 splendour. 
 
 He has not only given ns the greater outlines and their mea- 
 sures, but separate measures and drawings of the minuter 
 decorations ; so that a British artist may (if he please) follow 
 Phidias, and huild in Britain as Phidias did at Athens. 2 
 
 Spon, speaking of Attica, says that the road near Athens was 
 pleasing, and the very peasants polished. Speaking of the 
 Athenians in general, he says of them, " Us ont une politesse 
 d'esprit naturelle, et beaucoup d'addresse dans toutes les affaires, 
 qiVils enterprenent." 3 
 
 Wheeler, who was Spoil's fellow-traveller, says as follows, 
 when he and his company approached Athens : " We began 
 now to think ourselves in a more civilized country than we had 
 yet passed: for not a shepherd that we met but bid us wel- 
 come, and wished us a good journey ." p. 335. Speaking of the 
 Athenians, he adds, " This must with great truth be said of 
 them, their bad fortune hath not been able to take from them 
 what they have by nature, that is, much subtlety or wit." p. 347. 
 And again, "The Athenians, notwithstanding the long pos- 
 session that barbarism hath had of this place, seem to be much 
 more polished in point of manners and conversation, than any 
 other in these parts ; being civil, and of respectful behaviour to 
 all, and highly complimental in their discourse." 5 
 
 Stuart says of the present Athenians, what Spon and Wheeler 
 said of their forefathers : he found in them the same address, 
 the same natural acuteness, though severely curbed by their 
 despotic masters. 
 
 One custom I cannot omit. He tells me, that frequently at 
 their convivial meetings, one of the company takes what they 
 now call a lyre, though it is rather a species of guitar, and after 
 a short prelude on the instrument, as if he were waiting for in- 
 spiration, accompanies his instrumental music with his voice, 
 suddenly chanting some extempore verses, which seldom exceed 
 two or three distichs; that he then delivers the lyre to his 
 neighbour, who, after he has done the same, delivers it to an- 
 other ; and that so the lyre circulates, till it has passed round 
 the table. 
 
 Nor can I forget his informing me, that, notwithstanding the 
 various fortune of Athens, as a city, Attica was still famous for 
 olives, and mount Hymettus for honey. Human institutions 
 perish, but nature is permanent. 
 
 2 This most curious and valuable book a Spon, vol. ii. p. 76, 92. edit. 8vo. 
 was published at London, in the year 1762. b Wheeler, p. 356. edit. fol. 
 
4G8 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ACCOUNT OP BYZANTINE SCHOLARS CONTINUED SUIDAS JOHN STOBJ5US, 
 
 OR OP STOBA PHOTIUS MICHAEL PSELLUS THIS LAST SAID TO HAVE 
 
 COMMENTED TWENTY-FOUR PLAYS OF MENANDER REASONS TO MAKE 
 
 THIS PROBABLE EUSTATHIUS, A BISHOP, THE COMMENTATOR OF 
 
 HOMER EUSTRATIUS, A BISHOP, THE COMMENTATOR OF ARISTOTLE 
 
 PLANUDES, A MONK, THE ADMIRER AND TRANSLATOR OF LATIN 
 CLASSICS, AS WELL AS THE COMPILER OF ONE OF THE PRESENT GREEK 
 
 ANTHOLOGIES CONJECTURES CONCERNING THE DURATION OF THE 
 
 LATIN TONGUE AT CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 THAT I may not be prolix, I hasten from the writers already 
 mentioned to Suidas, who is supposed to have lived during the 
 ninth or tenth centuries. In his Lexicon, which is partly histo- 
 rical, partly explanatory, he has preserved many quotations from 
 authors who lived in the earlier and politer ages, and from poets 
 in particular, whose works at present are for the greater part 
 lost. Kuster, an able critic in the beginning of the present 
 century, gave a fine edition of this author, at Cambridge, in three 
 volumes folio ; and Mr. Toupe of Cornwall (whom I have men- 
 tioned already, and cannot mention with too much applause) has 
 lately favoured the learned world with many valuable emenda- 
 tions. 
 
 John Stobseus, or of Stoba, (whose name John makes it 
 probable he was a Christian,) is of an uncertain age, as well as 
 Suidas ; though some imagine him to have lived during an earlier 
 period, by two or three centuries/ 1 His work is not a lexicon, 
 like that of the other, but an immense common-place, filled with 
 extracts upon various subjects, both ethical and physical, which 
 extracts he had collected from the most approved writers. As 
 this book is highly valuable, from containing such incredible va- 
 riety of sentiments upon interesting topics, and those taken from 
 authors many of whom are lost ; as it is at the same time so 
 incorrectly printed, that in too many places it is hardly intelli- 
 gible ; it would be a labour well worthy an able critic, by the 
 help of manuscripts and plausible conjecture, to restore it, as far 
 as possible, to its original purity. The speculations he chiefly 
 gives us are neither trivial nor licentious, but, in the language 
 of Horace, 
 
 Quod magis ad nos 
 Pertinet, et nescire malura est. 
 
 But to return from Stobaeus to Suidas. If we consider the 
 
 c Concerning this little-known author, d See Fabric. Biblioth. Graec. vol. viii. 
 see the preface of his learned editor, Kuster. 665. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 469 
 
 late age when Suidas lived ; if we consider, too, the authors 
 which he must needs have studied, in order to form his work ; 
 authors who, many of them, wrote in the most refined and po- 
 lished ages ; it will be evident, that even in those late centuries 
 the taste for a purer literature was by no means extinct, and 
 that even then there were readers who knew its value. 
 
 In the ninth century lived Photius, patriarch of Constanti- 
 nople. His most celebrated work may be called a journal of 
 his studies ; a journal where we learn the various authors he pe- 
 rused, the subjects they treated, the plans of their works, and 
 where sometimes, also, we have extracts. From him we are in- 
 formed, not only of many authors now lost, but what was in his 
 time the state of many that are now remaining. 
 
 Among the authors now lost, he perused Theopompus the 
 historian, and Hyperides the orator ; among those now mutilated 
 and imperfect, he perused entire Diodorus Siculus. Many others, 
 if necessary, might be added of either sort. 
 
 It is singular, with regard to Photius, that from a layman he 
 was raised at once to be patriarch of Constantinople. Yet his 
 studies evidently seem to have had such a rank in view, being 
 principally applied to theology, to history, and to oratory ; with 
 enough philosophy and medicine not to appear deficient, if such 
 subjects should occur. As to poetry, one might imagine, either 
 that he had no relish for it, or that, in the train of his inquiries, 
 lie did not esteem it a requisite. 6 
 
 Michael Psellus, of the eleventh century, was knowing in the 
 Greek philosophy and poetry of the purer ages, and for his various 
 and extensive learning was ranked among the first and ablest 
 scholars of his time. 
 
 Besides his treatise of Mathematics, his comments upon Ari- 
 stotle, and a number of other works, (many of which are printed,) 
 he is said to have commented and explained no less than twenty- 
 four comedies of Menander, a treatise now lost, though extant 
 as well as the comedies in so late a period. He must have had 
 a relish for that polite writer, or otherwise it is not probable he 
 would have undertaken such a labour/ 
 
 Nor need we wonder this should happen. Why should not the 
 polite Menander have had his admirers in these ages, as well as 
 the licentious Aristophanes ? Or rather, why not as well as So- 
 phocles and Euripides? The scholia upon these (though some, 
 
 e See Fabric. Bibl. Grsec. vol. ix. 3G9. from bigotry, perhaps from a consciousness 
 
 f See Fabric. Bibl. Grsec. vol. i. 769. of their own wretched inferiority in every 
 
 In the passage quoted by Fabricius upon species of elegant composition, but certainly 
 
 this subject, its author says, that the latter from no indignation against indecency and 
 
 Greek monks persuaded the latter Greek immorality. For if so, why preserve Lu- 
 
 emperors, to destroy Menander and many cian ? why preserve Aristophanes ? why 
 
 other of the old Greek poets, from the loose- preserve collections of epigrams, more in- 
 
 ness of their morals, and their great inde- decent and flagitious than the grossest 
 
 cencies. That the monks may have per- productions of the most licentious modern 
 
 suaded this, is not improbable ; perhaps ages ? 
 
470 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 perhaps may be more ancient) were compiled by critics, who 
 lived long after Psellus. s 
 
 We may add, with regard to all these scholiasts, (whatever 
 may have been their age,) they would never have undergone the 
 labours of compilation and annotation, had they not been en- 
 couraged by the taste of their contemporary countrymen. For 
 who ever published, without hopes of having readers ? 
 
 The same may be asserted of the learned bishop of Thessa- 
 lonica, Eustathius, who lived in the twelfth century. His ad- 
 miration of Homer must have been almost enthusiastic, to carry 
 him through so complete, so minute, and so vast a commentary 
 both upon the Iliad and the Odyssey, collected from such an 
 immense number both of critics and historians.' 1 
 
 Eustratius, the metropolitan of Nice, who lived a little earlier 
 in the same century, convinces us that he studied Aristotle with 
 no less zeal ; and that, not only in his logical pieces, but in his 
 ethical also, as may be seen by those minute and accurate com- 
 ments on the Nicomachean Ethics, which go under his name, 
 and in which, though others had their share, he still is found to 
 have taken so large a portion to himself. 1 
 
 Planudes, a monk of the fourteenth century, appears (which is 
 somewhat uncommon) to have understood and admired the Latin 
 classics, Cicero, Csesar, Ovid, Boethius, and others ; parts of 
 which authors he translated, such as the Commentaries of Caesar 
 relative to the Gallic wars, the Dream of Scipio by Cicero, the 
 Metamorphosis of Ovid, the fine tract of Boethius de Consolatione, 
 and (according to Spon) St. Augustine de Civitate Dei. Besides 
 this, he formed a Greek Anthology, (that well-known collection 
 printed by Wechelius in 1600,) and composed several original 
 pieces of his own. k 
 
 It appears from these examples, and will hereafter appear from 
 others, how much the cause of letters and humanity is indebted 
 to the church. 
 
 Having mentioned Latin classics, I beg leave to submit a con- 
 jecture concerning the state and duration of the Latin tongue at 
 Constantinople. 
 
 When Constantino founded this imperial city, he not only 
 adorned it with curiosities from every part of the Roman empire, 
 but he induced, by every sort of encouragement, many of the 
 first families in Italy, and a multitude more of inferior rank, to 
 leave their country, and there settle themselves. We may there- 
 fore suppose, that Latin was for a long time the prevailing lan- 
 guage of the place, till in a course of years it was supplanted by 
 
 s Demetrius Triclinius, the scholiast on ' See Fabric. Biblioth. Grsec. vol. ii. 
 
 Sophocles, lived after Planudes, for he men- p. 151. 
 tions him. See Fabric. Bibl. Grace, p. 634. k See Fabric. Biblioth. Grsec. vol. x. 
 
 h See Fabric. Biblioth. Grsec. vol. i. p. 533. 
 p. 289, &c. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 471 
 
 Greek, the common language of the neighbourhood, and the 
 fashionable acquired language of every polite Roman. 
 
 We are told, that soon after the end of the sixth century, 
 Latin ceased to be spoken at Rome. 1 Yet was it in the beginning 
 of that century that Justinian published his Laws in Latin at 
 Constantinople; and that the celebrated Priscian in the same 
 city taught the principles of the Latin grammar. 
 
 If we descend to a period still later, (so late, indeed, as to the 
 tenth and eleventh centuries,) we shall find, in the ceremonial of 
 the Byzantine court, certain formularies preserved, evidently con- 
 nected with this subject. 
 
 As often as the emperor gave an imperial banquet, it was the 
 custom for some of his attendants, at peculiar times during the 
 feast, to repeat and chant the following words: KcovcrepffeT 
 Aeovs rj/JLTrepiov/ju /3e<TTpov/j, /3?7/3?7Te, Ao^vi ijfATre par copes v 
 /zouXro? avvos' Aeovs o/Avrjirorevs TTpeo-reO 'JHV yavSico Trpav- 
 Setre, Ao/jurjvi. 
 
 It may possibly for a moment surprise a learned reader, when 
 he hears that the meaning of this strange jargon is, " May God 
 preserve your empire : live, imperial lords, for many years ; God 
 Almighty so grant : dine, my lords, in joy." 
 
 But his doubts will soon vanish, when he finds this jargon to 
 be Latin, and conies to read it exhibited according to a Latin 
 alphabet : 
 
 " Conservet Deus imperium vestrum vivite, domini impera- 
 tores, in multos anuos ; Deus Omnipotens praestet in gaudio 
 prandete, domini. 
 
 It is evident, from these instances, that traces of Latin were 
 still remaining at Constantinople during those centuries. It will 
 be then, perhaps, less wonderful, if Planudes upon the same spot 
 should, in the fourteenth century, appear to have understood it. 
 We may suppose, that by degrees it changed from a common 
 language to a learned one, and that, being thus confined to the 
 learned few, its valuable works were by their labours again made 
 known, and diffused among their countrymen in Greek transla- 
 tions. 
 
 This, too, will make it probable, that even to the lowest age 
 of the Greek empire their great libraries contained many valuable 
 Latin manuscripts ; perhaps had entire copies of Cicero, of Livy, 
 of Tacitus, and many others. Where else did Planudes, when 
 he translated, find his originals ? 
 
 1 Sec before, p. 454, note a. by Leichius and Reiskius, at Leipzic, in the 
 
 m These formularies are selected from a year 1751. See of this book, p. 215, 216. 
 
 ceremonial of the Byzantine court, drawn Many more traces of this Hellenistic Latin 
 
 np by the emperor Constantino Porphyro- occurs in other parts of it. In the Latin 
 
 genitus, who reigned in the beginning of types I have followed the commentator, and 
 
 the eleventh century. The book, being a not the translator ; and as the Greeks have 
 
 large folio, was published in the original no letter but B to denote the Latin V, have 
 
 Greek, with a Latin translation and notes, preferred vivite to bibitc. 
 
472 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NICETAS, THE CHONIATE HIS CURIOUS NARRATIVE OF THE MISCHIEFS 
 
 DONE BY BALDWYN^S CRUSADE, WHEN THEY SACKED CONSTANTINOPLE 
 
 IN THE YEAR 1205 MANY OF THE STATUES DESCRIBED, WHICH 
 
 THEY THEN DESTROYED A FINE TASTE FOR ARTS AMONG THE 
 
 GREEKS, EVEN IN THOSE DAYS, PROVED FROM THIS NARRATIVE NOT 
 
 8O AMONG THE CRUSADERS AUTHENTICITY OF NICETAS^S NARRATIVE 
 
 STATE OF CONSTANTINOPLE AT THE LAST PERIOD OF THE GRECIAN 
 
 EMPIRE, AS GIVEN BY CONTEMPORARY WRITERS, PHILELPHUS AND 
 
 AENEAS SYLVIUS NATIONAL PRIDE AMONG THE GREEKS NOT TOTALLY 
 
 EXTINCT EVEN AT THIS DAY. 
 
 BESIDES Plamides, a large number of the same nation might be 
 mentioned, but I omit them all for the sake of Nicetas, the 
 Choniate, in order to prove through him, that the more refined 
 part of that ingenious people had not even in the thirteenth 
 century lost their taste ; a taste not confined to literary works 
 only, but extended to works of other kinds and character. 
 
 This historian (I mean Nicetas ") was present at the sacking 
 of Constantinople by the Barbarians of Baldwyn's crusade, in 
 the year 1205. Take, by the way of sample, a part only of his 
 enumeration of the noble statues, which were probably brought 
 thither by Constantino to decorate his new city, and which 
 these adventurers then destroyed. 
 
 Among others, he mentions the colossian statue of Juno, 
 erected in the forum of Constantine ; the statue of Paris stand- 
 ing by Venus, and delivering to her the golden apple ; a square 
 and lofty obelisk, with a figure on it to indicate the wind ; the 
 figure of Bellerophon, riding upon Pegasus ; the pensive Hercules, 
 made by no less an artist than Lysippus ; the two celebrated 
 figures of the man and the ass, erected by Augustus after his 
 victory at Actium; the wolf, suckling Romulus and Remus; an 
 eagle destroying a serpent, set up by Apollonius Tyaneus ; and 
 an exquisite Helen, in all the charms of beauty and of elegance. 
 
 Speaking of the wind-obelisk, he relates with the greatest 
 feeling the curious work on its sides: the rural scene; birds 
 singing; rustics labouring, or playing on their pipes; sheep 
 bleating; lambs skipping; the sea, and a scene of fish and 
 
 n He was called the Choniate from ning from p. 405, and proceeding to p. 418. 
 Chonae, a city of Phrygia, and possessed, The author has endeavoured to make his 
 
 when in the court of Constantinople, some translated extracts faithful, but he thought 
 
 of the highest dignities. Fabric. Biblioth. the whole original Greek too much to be 
 
 Graec. vol. xi. p. 401, 402. inserted, especially as it may be found in 
 
 A large part of this chapter is extracted Fabricius's Bibliotheca, a book by no means 
 
 from the History of Nicetas, as printed by rare. A few particular passages he has 
 
 Fabricius in the tome above quoted, begfin- given in the original. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 473 
 
 fishing ; little naked Cupids, laughing, playing, and pelting each 
 other with apples; a figure on the summit, turning with the 
 slightest blast, and thence denominated the wind's attendant. 
 
 Of the two statues brought from Actium, he relates, that they 
 were set up there by Augustus on the following incident. As 
 he went out by night to reconnoitre the camp of Antony, he 
 met a man driving an ass. The man was asked, who he was, 
 and whither he was going ? My name, replied he, is Nico, my 
 ass's name Nicander ; and I am going to Caesar's army. The 
 story derives its force from the good omen of lucky names, and 
 may be found (though with some variation) both in Suetonius 
 and Plutarch. The real curiosity was, that statues so celebrated 
 should be then existing. 
 
 If the figures of the wolf and the founders of Rome were of 
 the same age, they might probably have been the very work to 
 which Virgil is supposed to have alluded, in describing the 
 shield of ./Eneas : 
 
 Illam tereti cervice reflexam 
 Mulcere alternos, et corpora fingere lingua. ^En. viii. 633. 
 
 But nowhere does the taste of Nicetas appear so strongly, as 
 when he speaks of the Hercules and the Helen. 
 
 " The Hercules is exhibited to us, as if he were actually pre- 
 sent immense in bulk, and, with an air of grandeur, reposing 
 himself his lionVskin (that looked formidable even in brass) 
 thrown over him himself sitting without a quiver, a bow, or a 
 club, but having the right leg bent at the knee ; his head gently 
 reclining on the hand of his left arm ; and a countenance full of 
 dejection, as if he were reflecting with indignation on the many 
 successive labours imposed on him by Eurystheus." p 
 
 For his person, we are informed he was ample in the chest ; 
 broad in the shoulders ; had hair that curled ; arms that were 
 strong and muscular ; and a magnitude, such as might be sup- 
 posed to belong to the original Hercules, were he to revive ; a 
 leg being equal in length to the stature of a common man. q 
 And yet adds Nicetas, filled with indignation, " this Hercules, 
 being such as here represented, this very Hercules did not these 
 men spare." 
 
 I can only subjoin, by way of digression, that there is a fine 
 Greek epigram describing the statue of a dejected Hercules, 
 sitting without his weapons, which exactly resembles this of 
 Nicetas, and which is said likewise to be the work of Lysippus, 
 only there the poet imputes his hero's dejection, not to the 
 tyranny of Eurystheus, but to the love of Omphale/ 
 
 If Nicetas speak with admiration of this statue, it is with 
 
 P 'E/ca07jTO Se, /UT) ycapvrbv e^Tjyu/Aei/os, ^ TrAarus, TTJV Tpix a o^Aos, K - T - A. Ibid. 
 
 r6ov TOLV xjepoiv <ppb)v, ft)), K. T. A. p. 409. 
 Fabr. as above, p. 408, 409. r Vid. Antholog. 1. iv. tit. 1. 
 
 1 T Hy Se rb vrepvov evpiis, rovs cffiovs 
 
474 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 rapture he mentions the other. " What (says he) shall I say of 
 the beauteous Helen ; of her who brought together all Greece 
 against Troy 1 Did she mitigate these immitigable, these iron- 
 hearted men ? No, (says he,) nothing like it could even she 
 affect, who had before enslaved so many spectators with her 
 beauty." 8 
 
 After this he describes her dress, and then proceeds to her 
 person ; which description, as it is something singular, I have 
 endeavoured to translate more strictly. 
 
 " Her lips, (says he,) like opening flowers, were gently 
 parted, as if she was going to speak : and as for that graceful 
 smile, which instantly met the beholder, and filled him with 
 delight ; those elegant curvatures of her eye-brows, and the re- 
 maining harmony of her figure ; they were what no words can 
 describe, and deliver down to posterity." 4 
 
 He then breaks into an exclamation : " But, ! Helen, thou 
 pure and genuine beauty ; offspring of the loves ; decorated by 
 the care of Venus; most exquisite of nature's gifts; prize of 
 contest between Trojans and Grecians; where was thy Ne- 
 penthes, that soothing draught which thou learnedst in Egypt 2 
 Where thy irresistible love-charms ? Why didst thou not em- 
 ploy them now, as thou didst in days of yore ? Alas ! I fear 
 it was destined by fate, that thou shouldst perish by flames; 
 thou, who didst not cease even in thy statue to inflame beholders 
 into love. I could almost say that these sons of ^Eneas had de- 
 molished thee by fire, as a species of retaliation for the burning 
 of their Troy, as those flames were kindled by thy unfortunate 
 amours." u 
 
 I have been thus particular in these relations, and have trans- 
 lated for the greater part the very words of the historian, not 
 only because the facts are little known, but because they tend 
 to prove, that even in those dark ages (as we have too many 
 reasons to call them) there were Greeks still extant, who had a 
 taste for the finer arts, and an enthusiastic feeling of their 
 exquisite beauty. At the same time, we cannot without indigna- 
 tion reflect on these brutal crusaders, who, after many instances 
 of sacrilegious avarice, related by Nicetas in consequence of their 
 success, could destroy all these, and many other precious re- 
 mains of antiquity, melting them down (for they were of brass) 
 into money to pay their soldiers, and exchanging things of 
 inestimable value for a poor pittance of contemptible coin. x 
 
 TOVS (TiOT}p6fypova.s ; ov fji/t]v ovv rr)s rrj/ieAouxrjyUa, irai/a/naToi/ ^versus 8co- 
 
 ouSe oAwy TOIOVTOV TI SeSuj^rat y iravra. p^a, Tpdauv Kal 'EXXfyw pa/3eu/<ia, irov 
 
 OeaT^jf rcf /cc^AAet SovXayuyfiaaffa, Kaiwep, ffoi rb Nr;7re;/0es, /c. T. A. Ibid. p. 413. 
 
 K. T. A. Fabric, ut supra, p. 412, 413. x Ke/ccty>a<riz/ [(ryaA^ara] els j/o/Jo>ta, 
 
 I ^Hv 5e Kal TO. xeiATj, KOAUKWI/ SLK-^V, avTa\affcr6/j.voi fjuKpiav ra /ie7aAa, Kal ra 
 7ipefj.a Trapai'oiySiJ.ei'a, ws Kal So/cetV, K. r. A. Sarrdvais TrovrjOtvTa /j-eyicrTais our iftaviav 
 Ibid. p. 413. dj/TtSiSiWes Kep/mTa>j>. Ibid. p. 408. 
 
 II 'AAA 5 *n 'wdaph 'EAeV??, 'caAAos 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 475 
 
 They surely were what Nicetas well calls them, rov /ca\ov 
 avepacrroi fidpfiapoi,, " barbarians devoid of taste for the beau- 
 tiful and fair." y 
 
 And yet it is remarkable, that these sad and savage events 
 happened more than a century after these adventurers had first 
 passed into the East, above four-score years of which time they 
 had possessed the sovereignty of Palestine. But 
 
 Ccelum, non animum mutant, &c. z Hor. 
 
 Though I have done with these events, I cannot quit the 
 Greeks without adding a word upon Constantinople, as to 
 literature and language, just before the fatal period when it was 
 taken by the Turks. There is more stress to be laid upon my 
 quotations, as they are transcribed from authors who lived at 
 the time, or immediately after. 
 
 Hear what Philelphus says, who was himself at Constantinople 
 in that part of the fifteenth century, while the Greek empire 
 still subsisted. " Those Greeks (says he) whose language has 
 not been depraved, and whom we ourselves both follow and 
 imitate, speak even at this time, in their ordinary talk, as the 
 comic Aristophanes did, or the tragic Euripides ; as the orators 
 would talk ; as the historians ; as the philosophers themselves, 
 even Plato and Aristotle. " a 
 
 Speaking afterwards of the corruption of the tongue in that city 
 by the concourse of traders and strangers, he informs us, that the 
 people belonging to the court still retained " the ancient dignity 
 and elegance of speech ; and, above all, the women of quality, 
 who, as they were wholly precluded from strangers, still pre- 
 served that genuine and pure speech of the ancient Greeks, 
 uncorrupted. r>b 
 
 y I have given the words of Nicetas Epist. in Hodii de Grsecis illustribus, lib. i. 
 
 himself, which precede the passage just p. 188. 
 
 quoted. In another part of his narrative b The same Philelphus, in the same 
 
 he styles them illiterate barbarians, who epistle, adds, Nam viri aulici veterem ser- 
 
 absolutely did not know their A B C. moms dignitatem atque elegantiam retine- 
 
 Trap a.ypaijLij.a.rois fiapfidpois, Kal reAeoi/ bant ; in primisque ipsae nobiles mulieres, 
 
 dz/aA.(pa/37jTots, p. 414. quibus cum nullum esset omnino cum viris 
 
 z It ought to be observed, that though the peregrinis commercium, merus ille ac purus 
 
 narrative of Nicetas, whence these extracts Grsecorum sermo servabatur intactus. Hod. 
 
 are taken, appear not in the printed editions, ut supra. 
 
 (being probably either through fraud, or It is somewhat singular, that what Phi- 
 shame, or both, designedly omitted,) yet lelphus relates concerning the women of 
 has it been published by that honest and rank at the court of Constantinople, should 
 learned critic Fabricius, in the sixth volume be related by Cicero concerning the women 
 of his Bibliotheca Graeca here quoted, and of rank in the polished days of the Roman 
 is still extant in a fair and ancient manu- commonwealth ; concerning Cornelia, mother 
 script of the two last books of Nicetas, of the Gracchi ; concerning Laelia, daughter 
 preserved in the Bodleian library. of the great Laelius ; concerning the Muciae, 
 
 a Graeci, quibus lingua depravata non sit, the Licinioc ; in short, the mothers, wives, 
 
 et quos ipsi turn sequimur, turn imitamur, and daughters of the most illustrious Romans 
 
 ita loquuntur vulgo hac etiam in tempestate, of that illustrious age. 
 ut Aristophanes comicus, ut Euripides Cicero accounts for the purity of their 
 
 tragicus, ut oratores omnes, ut philosophi language, and for its being untainted with 
 
 etiam ipsi et Plato et Aristotelcs. Phiiclph. vitious novelty, precisely as Philelphus 
 
476 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 .ZEneas Sylvius, afterwards pope by the name of Pius the 
 Second, was the scholar of this Philelphus. A long letter of his 
 is extant upon the taking of Constantinople by Mahomet ; a 
 letter addressed to a cardinal, just after that fatal event. 
 Speaking of the fortune of the city, he observes, that New 
 Home (for so they often called Constantinople) had subsisted, 
 from its foundation to its capture, nearly the same number of 
 years with Old Rome ; that between Romulus, the founder of 
 Old Rome, and the Goth, Alaric, who took it, was an interval 
 of about eleven hundred years ; and that there was nearly the 
 same interval between Constantine and Mahomet the Great. 
 
 He observes, that though this last city had been taken before, 
 it had never before suffered so total and so fatal a change. 
 " Till this period (says he) the remembrance of ancient wisdom 
 remained at Constantinople ; and, as if it were the mansion, the 
 seat of letters, no one of the Latins could be deemed sufficiently 
 learned, if he had not studied for some time at Constantinople. 
 The same reputation for sciences, which Athens had in the 
 times of ancient Rome, did Constantinople appear to possess in 
 our times. It was thence that Plato was restored to us; it 
 was thence that the works of Aristotle, Demosthenes, Xenophon, 
 Thucydides, Basil, Dionysius, Origen, and others, were in our 
 days made known ; and many more in futurity we hoped would 
 become so. But now, as the Turks have conquered," &c. c 
 
 A little further in the same epistle, when he expresses his 
 fears lest the Turks should destroy all books but their own, 
 he subjoins, " Now therefore both Homer, and Pindar, and 
 Menander, and all the more illustrious poets, will undergo a 
 second death. Now will a final destruction find its way to the 
 Greek philosophers. A little light will remain perhaps among 
 the Latins, but that I apprehend will not be long, unless God 
 from heaven will look upon us with a more favourable eye, and 
 grant a better fortune either to the Roman empire, or to the 
 apostolic see," &c. d 
 
 does. Facilius enim mulieres incorrnptam mosthcnis, Xenophon tis,Thucydidis,Basilii, 
 
 antiquitatem conservant, quod, multorum Dionysii, Origenis et aliorum multa Latinis 
 
 sermonis expertes, ea tenent semper, quae opera diebus nostris manifestata sunt ; 
 
 prima didicerunt. multa quoque in futurum manifcstanda 
 
 This passage is no small strengthening sperabamus. Nunc vero, vincentibus Turcis, 
 
 of Philelphus's authority. See Cicer. de &c. ./Enese Sylv. Epist. p. 704, 705. edit. 
 
 Oratore iiL 45. et de Claris Orator, s. 211. Basil. 1551. 
 
 c Itaque mansit in hunc diem vetustae d Nunc ergo et Homero, ct Pindaro, 
 
 sapientiae apud Constantinopolim monu- Menandro, et omnibus illustrioribus poetis 
 
 mentum : ac, velut ibi domicilium litcrarum secunda mors erit ; mine Grsecorum philo- 
 
 esset, et arx suimnae philosophise;, nemo sophorum ultima patebit interitus. Restabit 
 
 Latinorum satis doctus videri poterat, nisi aliquid lucis apud Latinos ; at, fateor, neque 
 
 Constantinopoli aliquandem studuisset ; id erit diuturnum, nisi mitiori nos oculo 
 
 quodque florente Roma doctrinarum nomen Deus ex alto respexerit, fortunamque vel 
 
 habuerunt Athenae, id teinpestatc nostra imperio Romano, vcl apostolicae sedi projbu- 
 
 videbatur Constantinopolis obtinere. Inde erit meliorem, &c. Ibid. p. 705, 706. 
 
 nobis Plato redditus : inclc Aristotelis, DC- Those who have not the old edition of 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 477 
 
 It must bo remarked, that, in this epistle, by Latins e he means 
 the Western Europeans, as opposed to the Greeks, or Eastern ; 
 and that by the Roman empire, (just before mentioned,) he 
 means the Germanic body. 
 
 The author's apprehensions for the fate of letters in the West 
 was premature ; for, upon the destruction of this imperial city, 
 the number of learned Greeks, which this event drove into those 
 Western parts of Europe ; the favour of the popes and the 
 Medici family, shewn at this period to literature ; together with 
 the then recent invention of printing, which, by multiplying 
 copies of books, made them so easy to be purchased ; all this (I 
 say) tended to promote the cause of knowledge and of taste, 
 and to put things into that train in which we hope they may 
 long continue. 
 
 Besides Philelphus, ^Eneas Sylvius, and many others, who 
 were Italians, I might mention two Greeks of the same age, 
 George Gemistus and cardinal Bessario, both of them deeply 
 knowing in Grecian literature and philosophy. 
 
 But as some account of these last and of their writings has 
 been already given/ I shall quit the Greeks, after I have related 
 a short narrative ; a narrative so far curious, as it helps to prove, 
 that even among the present Greeks, in the day of servitude, the 
 remembrance of their ancient glory is not yet totally extinct. 
 
 When the late Mr. Anson (lord Anson's brother) was upon 
 his travels in the East, he hired a vessel to visit the isle of 
 Tenedos. His pilot, an old Greek, as they were sailing along, 
 said, with some satisfaction, " There it was our fleet lay." Mr. 
 Anson demanded, "What fleet 2" "What fleet?" replied the 
 old man, (a little piqued at the question,) " Why, our Grecian 
 fleet, at the siege of Troy." g 
 
 But we must now quit the Greeks, and, in consequence of our 
 plan, pass to the Arabians, followers of Mahomet. 
 
 ./Eneas Sylvius, may find the above quota- f See Philosroph. Arrangements, p. 319, 
 
 tions in Hody de Graecis Illustribus, Lond. note. 
 
 1751. 8vo. e This story was told the author by Mr. 
 
 e Nicetas had before called them, sons of Anson himself. 
 ^Eneas. See p. 474. 
 
478 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONCERNING THE SECOND CLASS OF GENIUSES DURING THE MIDDLE 
 
 AGE, THE ARABIANS, OR SARACENS AT FIRST, BARBAROUS THEIR 
 
 CHARACTER BEFORE THE TIME OF MAHOMET THEIR GREATEST 
 
 CALIPHS WERE FROM AMONG THE ABASSID^E ALMANZUR ONE OF 
 
 THE FIRST OF THAT RACE ALMAMUN OF THE SAME RACE, A GREAT 
 
 PATRON OF LEARNING AND LEARNED MEN ARABIANS CULTIVATED 
 
 LETTERS, AS THEIR EMPIRE GREW SETTLED AND ESTABLISHED 
 
 TRANSLATED THE BEST GREEK AUTHORS INTO THEIR OWN LANGUAGE 
 
 HISTORIANS, ABULPHARAGIUS, ABULFEDA, BOHADIN EXTRACTS 
 
 FROM THE LAST CONCERNING SALADIN. 
 
 THE Arabians began ill. h The sentiment of their caliph Omar, 
 when he commanded the Alexandrian library to be burnt, (a fact 
 we have already related,') was natural to any bigot, when in 
 the plenitude of despotism. But they grew more rational, as 
 they grew less bigoted, and by degrees began to think that 
 science was worth cultivating. They may be said, indeed, to 
 have recurred to their ancient character ; that character which 
 they did not rest upon brutal force alone, but which they 
 boasted to imply three capital things hospitality, valour, and 
 eloquence. 1 * 
 
 When success in arms has defeated rivals, and empire be- 
 comes not only extended but established, then is it that nations 
 begin to think of letters, and to cultivate philosophy and liberal 
 speculation. This happened to the Athenians, after they had 
 triumphed over the Persians ; to the Romans, after they tri- 
 umphed over Carthage ; and to the Arabians, after the caliphate 
 was established at Bagdad. 1 
 
 And here, perhaps, it may not be improper to observe, that 
 after the four first caliphs, came the race of the Ommiadoc. 
 These, about thirty years after Mahomet, upon the destruction 
 of Ali, usurped the sovereignty, and held it ninety years. They 
 were considered by the Arabic historians as a race of tyrants, 
 and were in number fourteen." 1 Having made themselves, by 
 their oppressions, to be much detested, the last of them, Merwin, 
 was deposed by Al-Suffah, from whom began another race, the 
 
 h As many quotations are made in the in his preface the following passage from 
 
 following chapters from Arabian Avriters, Saphadius, an Arabic author. Arabes an- 
 
 and more particularly from Abulpharagius, tiquitus non habebant, quo gloriarentur, 
 
 Abulfeda, and Bohadin, a short account of quam gladio, hospite, ct eloquentia. 
 those three authors will be given in the l See before, p. 459. 
 notes of this chapter, where their names m See Herbelot's Bibliotheque Orientale, 
 
 come in course to be mentioned. under the word Ommiades; also Abulphara- 
 
 1 See before, p. 458. gius, p. 1 38, 160; and in particular Abulfeda, 
 
 k Schultens, in his Monumenta vetustiora p. 138, &c. 
 Arabise, (Lugdun. Batavor. 1740,) gives us 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 479 
 
 race of Abassidse," who claimed to be related in blood to Maho- 
 met, by descending from his uncle, Abbas. 
 
 As many of these were far superior in character to their pre- 
 decessors, so their dominion was of much longer duration, lasting 
 for more than five centuries. 
 
 The former part of this period may be called the era of the 
 grandeur and magnificence of the caliphate. 
 
 Almanzur, who was among the first of them, removed the im- 
 perial seat from Damascus to Bagdad, a city which he himself 
 founded upon the banks of the Tigris, and which soon after 
 became one of the most splendid cities throughout the East. 
 
 Almanzur was not only a great conqueror, but a lover of 
 letters and learned men. It was under him that Arabian litera- 
 ture, which had been at first chiefly confined to medicine and a 
 few other branches, was extended to sciences of every denomina- 
 tion. 
 
 His grandson, Almamun, (who reigned about fifty years 
 after,) giving a full scope to his love of learning, sent to the 
 Greek emperors for copies of their best books; employed the 
 ablest scholars that could be found to translate them ; and, 
 when translated, encouraged men of genius in their perusal, 
 taking a pleasure in being present at literary conversations. 
 Then was it that learned men, in the lofty language of Eastern 
 eloquence, were called " luminaries that dispel darkness ; lords 
 of human kind ; of whom, when the world becomes destitute, it 
 becomes barbarous and savage." p 
 
 The rapid victories of these Eastern conquerors soon carried 
 their empire from Asia even into the remote regions of Spain. 
 Letters followed them, as they went. Plato, Aristotle, and their 
 best Greek commentators, were soon translated into Arabic ; so 
 were Euclid, Archimedes, Apollonius, Diophantus, and the other 
 Greek mathematicians ; so Hippocrates, Galen, and the best pro- 
 fessors of medicine ; so Ptolemy, and the noted writers on the 
 subject of astronomy. The study of these Greeks produced 
 others like them ; produced others, who not only explained 
 them in Arabic comments, but composed themselves original 
 pieces upon the same principles. 
 
 Averroes was celebrated for his philosophy in Spain ; Alpha- 
 rabi and Avicenna were equally admired through Asia. q Science 
 (to speak a little in their own style) may be said to have ex- 
 tended 
 
 A Gadibus usque 
 Auroram ct Gangem. 
 
 n Abulphar. p. 138 150, &c. Abulfeda, stands thus in the Latin version of the page 
 
 p. 143. Herbelot's Bib. Orient, under the last quoted: Docti tenebrarum lumina sunt, 
 
 word Abassides. et generis humani domini, quibus destitu- 
 
 See Abulfeda, p. 144. Abulpharag. p. tus ferus evadit mundus. 
 
 139. 141. 160. q See Herbelot, under the several names 
 
 P See Abulfeda, p. 181. Abulpharag. p. here quoted. 
 160, 161. The lofty language alluded to 
 
480 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Nor, in this immense multitude, did they want historians, 
 some of which (such as Abulfeda, Abulpharagius, Bohadin/ and 
 others) have been translated, and are perused, even in their 
 translations, both with pleasure and profit, as they give not only 
 the outlines of amazing enterprises, but a sample of manners 
 and character widely differing from our own. 
 
 No history, perhaps, can be more curious than the Life of 
 Saladin by Bohadin. This author was a constant attendant 
 upon the person of this great prince through all his active and 
 important life, down to his last sickness, and the very hour of 
 his death. The many curious anecdotes which he relates, give 
 us the striking picture of an Eastern hero. 
 
 Take the following instance of Saladin's justice and affability. 
 
 " He was in company once with his intimate friends, enjoying 
 their conversation apart, the crowd being dismissed, when a slave 
 of some rank brought him a petition in behalf of a person op- 
 pressed. The Sultan said, that he was then fatigued, and 
 wished the matter, whatever it was, might for a time be de- 
 ferred. The other did not attend to what was desired, but on 
 the contrary almost thrust the petition into the sultan's face. 
 The sultan, on this, opening and reading it over, declared he 
 
 r Abulfeda was an Oriental prince, de- 
 scended from the same family with the 
 great Saladin. He died in the year 1345, 
 and published a general history, in which, 
 however, he is most particular and diffuse 
 in the narrative of Mahomet and his suc- 
 
 cessors. 
 
 Learned men have published different 
 parts of this curious author. Gagnier gave 
 us, in Arabic and Latin, as much of him aa 
 related to Mahomet. This was printed in 
 a thin folio at Oxford, in the year 1723. 
 
 The largest portion, and from which 
 most of the facts here related are taken, 
 was published by Reiske, or Reiskius, (a 
 very able scholar,) in Latin only, and in- 
 cludes the history of the Arabians and 
 their caliphs, from the first year of the 
 Mahometan era, An. Dom. 622, to their 
 406th year, An. Dom. 1015. This book, a 
 moderate or thin quarto, was printed at 
 Leipzic, in the year 1754. 
 
 We have another portion of a period 
 later still than this, published by Schultens 
 in Arabic and Latin ; a portion relative 
 to the life of Saladin, and subjoined by 
 Schultens to the Life of that great prince 
 by Bohadin, which he (Schultens) published. 
 But more of this hereafter. 
 
 Abulpharagius gave likewise a general 
 history, divided into nine dynasties, but is 
 far more minute and diffuse (as well as 
 Abulfeda) in his history of Mahomet and 
 the caliphs. 
 
 He was a Christian, and the son of a 
 Christian physician ; was an Asiatic by 
 
 birth, and wrote in Arabic, as did Abul- 
 feda. He brought down his history a 
 little below the time of the celebrated 
 Jingez Chan ; that is, to the middle of the 
 thirteenth century, the time when he lived. 
 A fine edition of this author was given in 
 Arabic and Latin, by the learned Pococke, 
 in two small quartos, at Oxford, 1663. 
 
 Bohadin wrote the Life of the celebrated 
 Saladin, but more particularly that part of 
 it which respects the crusades, and Saladin's 
 taking of Jerusalem. Bohadin has many 
 things to render his history highly valuable : 
 he was a contemporary writer ; was an eye- 
 witness of almost every transaction ; and 
 what is more, instead of being an obscure 
 man, was high in office, a favourite of 
 Saladin's, and constantly about his person. 
 This author flourished in the twelfth cen- 
 tury ; that is, in the time of Saladin and 
 king Richard, Saladin's antagonist. 
 
 Bohadin's history, in Arabic and Latin, 
 with much excellent erudition, was pub- 
 lished in an elegant folio, by that accurate 
 scholar, Schultens, at Leyden, in the year 
 1755. 
 
 It must be observed, that though Abul- 
 pharagius was a Christian, yet Abulfeda 
 and Bohadin were both Mahometans. All 
 three historians bear a great resemblance to 
 Plutarch, as they have enriched their his- 
 tories with so many striking anecdotes. 
 From Abulpharagius, too, and Abulfeda, 
 we have much curious information as to the 
 progress and state of literature in those 
 ages and countries. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 481 
 
 thought the petitioners cause a good one. ' Let, then, our sove- 
 reign lord,' says the other, 4 sign it.' * There is no inkstand,' 
 says the sultan, (who, being at that time seated at the door of 
 his tent, rendered it impossible for any one to enter.) ' You 
 have one,' replies the petitioner, 4 in the inner part of your tent,' 
 (which meant, as the writer well observes, little less than bidding 
 the prince go and bring it himself.) The sultan, looking back 
 and seeing the inkstand behind him, cries out, ' God help me, 
 the man says true,' and immediately reached back for it, and 
 signed the instrument." 
 
 Here the historian, who was present, spoke the language of a 
 good courtier. " God Almighty," said he, " bore this testimony 
 to our prophet, that his disposition was a sublime one : our so- 
 vereign lord, I perceive, has a temper like him." The sultan, 
 not regarding the compliment, replied coolly, " The man did 
 no harm ; we have despatched his business, and the reward is 
 'at hand." 8 
 
 After this fact we shall the more readily believe Bohadin, 
 when, speaking of the same illustrious person, he informs us, that 
 his conversation was remarkably elegant and pleasing ; that he 
 was a perfect master of the Arabian families, of their history, 
 their rites, and customs ; that he knew also the genealogies of 
 their horses, (for which we know that to this hour Arabia is 
 celebrated ;) nor was he ignorant of what was rare and curious 
 in the world at large ; that he was particularly affable in his in- 
 quiries about the health of his friends, their illness, their medi- 
 cines, &c.; that his discourse was free from all obscenity and 
 scandal ; and that he was remarkably tender and compassionate 
 both to orphans and to persons in years. 1 
 
 I may add from the same authority an instance of his 
 justice. 
 
 " As Bohadin, the historian, was one day exercising at Jeru- 
 salem his office of a judge, a decent old merchant tendered him 
 a bill or libel of complaint, which lie insisted upon having opened. 
 1 Who,' says Bohadin ' is your adversary?' ' My adversary/ re- 
 plies the merchant, 'is the sultan himself: but this is the seat 
 of justice, and we have heard that you (applying to Bohadin) 
 are not governed by regard to persons.' Bohadin told him the 
 cause could not be decided without his adversary's being first 
 apprized. The sultan accordingly was informed of the affair, 
 submitted to appear, produced his witnesses, and, having justly 
 defended himself, gained the cause. Yet so little did he resent 
 this treatment, that he dismissed his antagonist with a rich gar- 
 ment and a donation."" 
 
 His severity upon occasions was no less conspicuous than his 
 clemency. 
 
 8 See Bohadin, p. 22. the Excerpta from Abulfeda, p. 62, 63. 
 
 1 Ibid. p. 28. and at the end of Bohadin, u See Bohadin, p. 10. 
 
 2 i 
 
482 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 We learn from the same writer, that Arnold, lord of Cracks, 
 (called Reginald by M. Paris, and Rainold by Fuller,) had 
 thought proper, during the truce between the Christians and the 
 Saracens, to fall upon the caravan of travellers going to Mecca 
 from Egypt, whom he cruelly pillaged and thrust into dungeons, 
 and when they appealed to the truce for better usage, replied 
 with scorn, " Let your Mahomet deliver you. 1 " 
 
 Saladin, fired with indignation at this perfidy, vowed a vow 
 to despatch him with his own hand, if he could ever make him 
 prisoner. The event happened at the fatal battle of Hittyn, 
 where Guy king of Jerusalem, Arnold, and all the principal 
 commanders of the Christian army were taken. Saladin, as 
 soon as his tent could be erected, in the height of his festivity, 
 orders king Guy, his brother Geoffry, and prince Arnold into 
 his presence. 
 
 As Guy, the king, was nearly dying for thirst, Saladin pre- 
 sented him a delicious cup, cooled with snow, out of which the 
 king drank, and then transmitted it to Arnold. " Tell the 
 king," says the sultan, turning to his interpreter, "tell him, 
 Thou, king, art he, who hast given the cup to this man, and 
 not I." 
 
 Now it is a most admirable custom (observes Bohadin) among 
 the Arabians, a custom breathing their liberal and noble dis- 
 position, that a captive, the moment he has obtained meat or 
 drink from his captor, is by that very treatment rendered se- 
 cure of life, the Arabians being a people by whom hospitality 
 and the generous point of honour is most sacredly observed. 
 
 The prisoners, being dismissed, were soon remanded, when 
 only the sultan and a few of his ministers were left. Arnold 
 was the first brought in, whom the sultan reminding of his ir- 
 reverent speech, subjoined, " See me now act the part of Maho- 
 met's avenger." He then offers Arnold to embrace the Ma- 
 hometan faith ; which he refusing, the sultan with his drawn 
 scimitar gave him a stroke that broke the hilt, while the rest 
 of his attendants joined and despatched him. King Guy 
 thought the same destiny was prepared for him. The sultan, 
 however, bid him be of good cheer, observing, that " it was not 
 customary for kings to kill kings ; but that this man had brought 
 destruction upon himself, by passing the bounds of all faith and 
 honour."* 
 
 When princes are victorious, their rigour is often apt to ex- 
 tend too far, especially where religion, as in these wars called 
 holy, blends itself with the transaction. 
 
 More than fourscore years before Saladin's time, the crusaders, 
 when they took Jerusalem, had murdered every Mahometan 
 they found there. y 
 
 x See Bohadin, p. 27, 28. 70, 71. in anno 1099. p. 48. Fuller's Holy War, 
 
 y See Almlpharagius, p. 243, Matt. Par. b, i. c. 24. p. 141. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 483 
 
 When Saladin took Jerusalem, he had at first meditated 
 putting all the Franks to the sword, as a sort of retaliation for 
 what had been done there by these first crusaders. However, 
 he was persuaded to change his intention, and spare them : nay, 
 more, after he had turned the rest of their churches into mosques, 
 he still left them one, in which they had toleration to perform 
 their worship. 2 
 
 After the fatal battle of Hittyn, where Guy and Arnold (as 
 above mentioned) were taken, Saladin divided his prisoners; 
 some were sold, others put to death ; and among the last, all 
 the commanders of the hospitallers and templars. 
 
 On the taking of Ptolemais by the crusaders, some difference 
 arising between them and Saladin about the terms of the ca- 
 pitulation, the crusaders led the captive Mussulmans out of the 
 city into a plain, and there, in cold blood, murdered three thou- 
 sand. 3 
 
 Customs, in all times and in all countries, have a singular 
 effect. When the French ambassadors were introduced to 
 Saladin, he was playing with a favourite son, by name Elemir. 
 The child no sooner beheld the ambassadors with their faces 
 shaved, their hair cut, and their garments of an unusual form, 
 than he was terrified, and began to cry. A beard, perhaps, would 
 have terrified a child in France ; and yet, if beards are the gift 
 of nature, it seems easier to defend the little Arabian. 5 
 
 Bohadin, our historian, appears to have thought so; who, men- 
 tioning a young Frank, of high quality, describes him to be a 
 fine youth, except that his face was shaved ; a mark, as he calls 
 it, by which the Franks are distinguished. 
 
 We cannot quit Saladin, without a word on his liberality. 
 
 He used to say, it was possible there might exist a man (and 
 by such man it was supposed he meant himself) who with the 
 same eye of contempt could look on riches and on dirt. d 
 
 These seem to have been his sentiments, when some of his 
 revenue-officers were convicted of putting into his treasury purses 
 of brass for purses of gold. By the rigour of Eastern justice they 
 might have immediately been executed ; but Saladin did no more 
 than dismiss them from their office. 6 
 
 When his treasury was so empty that he could not supply his 
 largesses, in order to have it in his power, he sold his very fur- 
 niture.' 
 
 When his army was encamped in the plains of Ptolemais, it 
 was computed he gave away no less than twelve thousand horses; 
 
 z Sec Abulpharagius, p. 273. Bohadin, ler's Holy War, b. ii. c. 45. p. 105. 
 p. 73. Abulfedse Excerpta, p. 42. Matth. b See Bohadin, p. 270. 
 Paris, p. 145. Fuller's Holy War, b. ii. c Ibid. p. 193. 
 c. 46. p. 106. d Ibid. p. 13. 
 
 a See Bohadin, p. 70, for the Templars, e Ibid. p. 27. 
 and p. 183, for the Mussulmans ; also Ful- f Ibid. p. 12, 13. 
 
 2 i 2 
 
484 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 nay, it was said he never mounted a horse, which was not either 
 given away, or promised. 6 
 
 Bohadin, whom he employed in most of his acts of munificence, 
 relates, that all who approached him were sensible of its effects ; 
 nay, that he exceeded in his donations even the unreasonable 
 wishes of the petitioners, although he was never heard to boast 
 of any favour that he had conferred. 11 
 
 The effect of such immense liberality was, that, when he died, 
 out of all the vast revenues of Egypt, Syria, the Oriental Pro- 
 vinces, and Arabia Felix, there was no more left in his treasury 
 than forty-seven pieces of silver, and one of gold ; so that they 
 were forced to borrow money, to defray the expenses of his 
 funeral. 1 
 
 As to the facts respecting the Western crusaders at this pe- 
 riod, and particularly Saladin's great antagonist, Richard Coeur 
 de Leon, these are subjects reserved, till we come to the Latins, 
 or Franks. 
 
 We shall now say something concerning Arabian poetry and 
 works of invention, adding, withal, a few more anecdotes relative 
 to their manners and character. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ARABIAN POETRY, AND WORKS OF INVENTION FACTS RELATIVE TO 
 
 THEIR MANNERS AND CHARACTERS. 
 
 ARABIAN poetry is so immense a field, that he who enters it is in 
 danger of being lost. It was their favourite study long before 
 the time of Mahomet, and many poems are still extant of an 
 earlier era. k So much did they value themselves upon the ele- 
 gance of their compositions, that they called their neighbours, 
 and more particularly the Persians, Barbarians. 1 It seems un- 
 fortunate for these last, that the old Greeks should have distin- 
 guished them by the same appellation. 
 
 If we reckon among pieces of poetry, not the metrical only, 
 but those also the mere efforts of invention and imagination, 
 (such as the incomparable Telemachus, of the truly eloquent 
 Fenelon,) we may justly range in this class the Arabian Nights, 
 and the Turkish Tales. They are valuable, not only for ex- 
 
 8 See Bohadin, p. 13 ; the same book, in k See Schultens, in his Monumenta ve- 
 
 the extract from Abulfeda, p. 62. tustiora Arabiae, Lugd. Bat. 1740, where 
 
 h See Bohad. p. 1 3. there will be found fragments of poetry 
 
 1 See Bohadin, p. 5. 13. and, in the same many centuries before Mahomet, and some 
 
 book, the extracts from Abulfeda, p. 62. said to be as ancient as the days of Solo- 
 
 Abulpharagius, p. 277. See Fuller's cha- mon. 
 
 racter of Saladin, Holy War, b. iii. c. 14. as l Vid. Pocockii Not. in Camum Tograi, 
 
 also the above extracts, and Abulpharagius, p. 5 ; and Abulfed. p. 194. 
 
 both under the same pages. m See Isocrates, Plato, Demosthenes, &c. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 485 
 
 hibiting a picture of Oriental manners during the splendour of 
 the caliphate, but for inculcating, in many instances, a useful 
 and instructive moral. Nothing can be better written than the 
 Tale of Alnaschar, to illustrate that important part of the Stoic 
 moral, the fatal consequence of not resisting our fancies. 11 
 
 They were fond of the fabulous and allegorical, and loved to 
 represent under that form the doctrines they most favoured. 
 They favoured no doctrine more than that of each individual's 
 inevitable destiny. Let us see after what manner they conveyed 
 this doctrine. 
 
 " They tell us, that as Solomon (whom they supposed a ma- 
 gician from his superior wisdom) was one day walking with a 
 person in Palestine, his companion said to him with some horror, 
 4 What ugly being is that which approaches us 2 I do not like his 
 visage ; send me, I pray thee, to the remotest mountain of India. 1 
 Solomon complied, and the very moment he was sent off, the 
 ugly being arrived. l Solomon, (said the being,) how came that 
 fellow here? I was to have fetched him from the remotest 
 mountain of India. 1 Solomon answered, 'Angel of Death, thou 
 wilt find him there. 1 1lQ 
 
 I may add to this that elegant fiction concerning the self- 
 taught philosopher Hai Ebn Yokdan, who, being supposed to 
 have been cast an infant on a desert island, is made by various 
 incidents (some possible, but all ingenious) to ascend gradually, 
 as he grew up in solitude, to the sublime of all philosophy, 
 natural, moral, and divine. p 
 
 But this last was the production of a more refined period, when 
 they had adopted the philosophy of other nations. In their 
 earlier days of empire they valued no literature but their own, 
 as we have learned from the celebrated story, already related, 
 concerning Omar, Amrus, and the library at Alexandria.* 1 
 
 The same Omar, after the same Amrus had conquered the 
 vast province of Egypt, and given (according to the custom of 
 those early times) many proofs of personal strength and valour, 
 the same Omar (I say) was desirous to see the sword by which 
 Amrus had performed so many wonders. Having taken it into 
 his hand, and found it no better than any other sword, he re- 
 turned it with contempt, and averred, "it was good for nothing. 11 
 " You say true, sir, 11 replied Amrus; "for you demanded to see 
 the sword, not the arm that wielded it : while that was wanting, 
 the sword was no better than the sword of Pharezdacus. 11 
 
 Now Pharezdacus was, it seems, a poet, famous for his fine 
 
 n A curious and accurate version of this This tale was told me by Dr. Gregory 
 
 admirable tale is printed at Oxford, in a Sharpe, late master of the Temple, well 
 
 Grammar of the Arabic language ; a version known for his knowledge in Oriental lite- 
 
 which gives us too much reason to lament rature. 
 
 our imperfect view of those other ingenious P See Pococke's edition of this work, 
 
 fictions, so obscurely transmitted to us Oxon. 1671. 
 
 through a French medium. ' See before, p. 458. 478. 
 
486 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 description of a sword, but not equally famous for his personal 
 prowess. 1 
 
 It is a singular instance of their attention to hospitality, that 
 they used to kindle fires by night, upon hills near their camps, 
 to conduct wandering travellers to a place of refuge. 8 
 
 Such an attention to this duty naturally brings to our mind 
 what Eumseus in the Odyssey says to Ulysses : 
 
 UGIV otf (JLOI Oe fits ecrr', ou5' el KaKiosv ffeBev eA00i, 
 
 Eeli/op ari/j.rja'ai, irpbs yap AiJs eiffiv airavrcs 
 
 Ee/oi. 'O5u<r. E. 56. 
 
 " Stranger, I dare not with dishonour treat 
 
 A stranger, tho' a worse than thou should come ; 
 
 For strangers all belong to Jove." 
 
 Nor are there wanting other instances of resemblance to the 
 age of Homer. When Ibrahim, a dangerous competitor of the 
 caliph Almanzur, had in a decisive battle been mortally wounded, 
 and his friends were endeavouring to carry him off, a desperate 
 conflict ensued, in which the enemy prevailed, overpowered his 
 friends, and gained what they contended for, the body of Ibrahim. 
 The resemblance between this story, and that respecting the 
 body of Patroclus, is a fact too obvious to be more than hinted.* 
 
 In an earlier period, when Moawigea (the competitor of the 
 great Ali) was pressed in a battle, and had just begun to fly, he 
 is reported to have rallied upon the strength of certain verses, 
 which at that critical instant occurred to his memory. The 
 verses were these, as we attempt to translate them : 
 
 When direful scenes of death appear, 
 And fill thy fluttering heart with fear : 
 Say Heart ! be firm ; the storm endure ; 
 For evils ever find a cure. 
 Their mem'ry, should we 'scape, will please ; 
 Or, should we fall, we sleep at ease." 
 
 This naturally suggests to every lover of Homer, what is said 
 by Ulysses : 
 
 , KpaSiV fal KiWepov &\\o irS 
 "H/J.O.TI r$, gre, /c.T.A. 'OSvtr. Y. 18. 
 
 " Endure it, heart ; for worse thou hast endured 
 In days of yore, when," &c. 
 
 Such resemblances as these prove a probable connection be- 
 tween the manners of the Arabians, and those of the ancient 
 Greeks. There are other resemblances, which, as they respect 
 not only Greek authors, but Roman, are perhaps no more than 
 casual. 
 
 Thus an Arabian poet : 
 
 r Pocock. Notae in Carm. Togr. p. 184. ' See Abulfeda, p. 148. 
 
 s Ejusd. Carm. Tograi, p. 111. Ibid. p. 91. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 487 
 
 Horses and wealth we know you've none ; 
 Let then your eloquence atone 
 For fortune's failure." 
 
 What the Arabian says of his friend, Horace says of himself : 
 
 Donarem pateras, grataque commodus, 
 
 Censorine, meis, &c. Od. 8. 1. iv. 
 
 Another of their poets has the following sentiment : 
 
 Who fondly can himself deceive, 
 And venture reason's rules to leave ; 
 Who dares, thro' ignorance, aspire 
 To that, which no one can acquire ; 
 To spotless fame, to solid health, 
 To firm unalienable wealth ; 
 Each wish he forms, will surely find 
 A wish denied to human kind.y 
 
 Here we read the Stoic description of things not in our power, 
 and the consequence of pursuing them, as if they were things in 
 our power ; concerning which fatal mistake, see Epictetus, either 
 in the original, or in Mrs. Carter's valuable translation. The En- 
 chiridion, we know, begins with this very doctrine. 
 
 There is a fine precept among the Arabians : " Let him to 
 whom the gate of good fortune is opened, seize his opportunity; 
 for he knoweth not how soon it may be shut." 
 
 Compare this with those admired lines in Shakspeare, 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 
 Which taken at the flood, &c. Jul. Caes. act iv. sc. 5. 
 
 Though the metaphors differ, the sentiment is the same. 2 
 
 In the comment on the verses of Tograi we meet an Arabic 
 sentiment, which says, that " a friend is another self." The 
 same elegant thought occurs in Aristotle's Ethics, and that in 
 the same words : ".Eort <yap 6 </Xo9 a\\o<; avros* 
 
 After the preceding instances of Arabian genius, the following 
 perhaps may give a sample of their manners and character. 
 
 On a rainy day, the caliph Al-Mostasein happened, as he was 
 riding*, to wander from his attendants. While he was thus 
 alone, he found an old man, whose ass, laden with fagots, had 
 just cast his burden, and was mired in a slough. As the old man 
 was standing in a state of perplexity, the caliph quitted his horse, 
 and went to helping up the ass. " In the name of my father and 
 my mother, I beseech thee," said the old man, "do not spoil thy 
 clothes." " That is nothing to thee," replied the caliph ; who, 
 after having helped up the ass, replaced the fagots, and washed 
 his hands, got again upon his horse ; the old man in the mean 
 time crying out, "Oh youth, may God reward thee !" Soon after 
 
 x Abulfeda, p. 279. work, p. 439. 
 
 y Ibid. a Arist Ethic. Nieom. x. 4. and Not. 
 
 z Bohadin Vit. Salad, p. 73. Of this in Cam. Tograi, p. 25. 
 
488 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 this, the caliph's company overtook him, whom he generously 
 commanded to present the old man with a noble largess of gold. b 
 
 To this instance of generosity we subjoin another of resent- 
 ment. 
 
 The Grecian emperors used to pay the caliphs a tribute. This 
 the emperor Nicephorus would pay no longer ; and not only 
 that, but requiring the caliph in a haughty manner to refund all 
 he had received, added that, if he refused, the sword should de- 
 cide the controversy. The caliph had no sooner read the letter, 
 than, inflamed with rage, he inscribes upon the back of it the 
 following answer. 
 
 " In the name of the most merciful God : from Harun, prince 
 of the faithful, to Nicephorus, dog of the Romans. I have read 
 thy epistle, thou son of an unbelieving mother : to which, what 
 thou shalt behold, and not what thou shalt hear, shall serve for 
 an answer." 
 
 He immediately upon the very day decamped, marched as far 
 as Heraclia, and, filling all things with rapine and slaughter, ex- 
 torted from Nicephorus the performance of his contract. 
 
 The following is an instance of a calmer magnanimity. In the 
 middle of the third century after Mahomet, one Jacub, from 
 being originally a brazier, had made himself master of some fine 
 provinces, which he governed at will, though professing (like the 
 Eastern governors of later times) a seeming deference to his 
 proper sovereign. 
 
 The caliph, not satisfied with this apparent submission, sent a 
 legate to persuade him into a more perfect obedience. Jacub, 
 who was then ill, sent for the legate into his presence, and there 
 shewed him three things, which he had prepared for his inspec- 
 tion a sword, some black barley bread, and a bundle of onions. 
 He then informed the legate, that, should he die of his present 
 disorder, the caliph in such case would find no further trouble. 
 But if the contrary should happen, there could be then no arbi- 
 trator to decide between them, excepting that, pointing to the 
 sword. He added, that if fortune should prove adverse, should 
 he be conquered by the caliph, and stripped of his possessions, 
 he was then resolved to return to his ancient frugality, pointing 
 to the black bread and the bundle of onions. d 
 
 To former instances of munificence we add the following, 
 concerning the celebrated Almamun. e 
 
 Being once at Damascus, and in great want of money, he com- 
 plained of it to his brother Mostasem. His brother assured him 
 he should have money in a few days, and sent immediately for 
 thirty thousand pieces of gold from the revenues of those pro- 
 vinces which he governed in the name of his brother. When 
 the money arrived, brought by the royal beasts of burden, Al- 
 
 b Abulpharagius, p. 166. d Abulfeda, p. 214. 
 
 Abulfeda, p. 166, 167. c Ibid. p. 326. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 489 
 
 marnun invited Jahia the son of Actam, one of his favourites, to 
 attend him on horseback, and view what was brought. They 
 went, accordingly, and beheld the treasure arranged in the finest 
 order, and the camels, too, which had brought it, richly deco- 
 rated. The prince admired both the quantity of the money and 
 the elegance of the show ; and as his courtiers looked on with 
 no less admiration, he bid them be of good cheer. Then turning 
 about to Jahia, " O ! Abu Mahommed," says he, " we should be 
 sordid, indeed, were we to depart hence with all this money, as 
 if it were scraped up for ourselves alone, whilst our longing friends 
 look on to no purpose." Calling, therefore, immediately for a 
 notary, he commands him to write down for such a family so 
 many thousands, for such a family so many, and so on, never 
 stopping till, out of the thirty thousand pieces, he had given 
 away twenty-four thousand, without so much as taking his foot 
 out of the stirrup/ 
 
 From munificence we pass to another quality, which, though 
 less amiable, is not less striking and popular, I mean magni- 
 ficence. 
 
 The splendour of the caliph Moctader, when he received the 
 ambassador of the Greek emperor at Bagdad, seems hardly 
 credible. We relate it from one of their historians, precisely as 
 we find it. 
 
 The caliph's whole army, both horse and foot, were under 
 arms, which together made a body of one hundred and sixty 
 thousand men. His state-officers stood near him in the most 
 splendid apparel, their belts shining with gold and gems. Near 
 them were seven thousand eunuchs; four thousand white, the 
 remainder of them black. The porters, or door-keepers, were in 
 number seven hundred. Barges and boats with the most superb 
 decoration were swimming on the Tigris. Nor was the palace 
 itself less splendid, in which were hung up thirty-eight thousand 
 pieces of tapestry ; twelve thousand five hundred of which were 
 of silk, embroidered with gold. The carpets on the floor were 
 twenty-two thousand. An hundred lions were brought out, with 
 a keeper to each lion. 
 
 Among the other spectacles of rare and stupendous luxury, 
 was a tree of gold and silver, which opened itself into eighteen 
 larger branches, upon which, and the other less branches, sat 
 birds of every sort, made also of gold and silver. The tree glit- 
 tered with leaves of the same metals, and while its branches, 
 through machinery, appeared to move of themselves, the several 
 birds upon them warbled their proper and natural notes. 
 
 When the Greek ambassador was introduced to the caliph, he 
 was led by the vizier through all this magnificence. 2 
 
 But besides magnificence of this kind, which was at best but 
 
 f Abulfeda, p. 1 89. the Christian era, happened in the year 
 
 s Abulfeda, p. 237. This, according to 917. 
 
490 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 temporary, the caliphs gave instances of grandeur more perma- 
 nent. Some of them provided public buildings for the reception 
 of travellers, supplied the roads with wells and watering-places, 
 measured out the distances by columns of stone, and established 
 posts and couriers. Others repaired old temples, or built mag- 
 nificent new ones. The provision of snow (which in hot countries 
 is almost a necessary) was not forgotten. Add to this, forums, 
 or public places for merchants to assemble ; infirmaries ; ob- 
 servatories, with proper instruments for the use of astronomers ; 
 libraries, schools, and colleges for students ; together with so- 
 cieties, instituted for philosophical inquiry. 11 
 
 In the account of the Escurial Arabic manuscripts, lately given 
 by the learned Casiri, it appears that the public libraries in Spain, 
 when under the Arabian princes, were no fewer than seventy : a 
 noble help this to literature, when copies of books were so rare 
 and expensive. 1 
 
 A transaction between one of the caliph of Bagdad's ambas- 
 sadors and the court of Constantinople is here subjoined, in order 
 to illustrate the then manners, both of the ambassador and the 
 court. 
 
 As this court was a remnant of the ancient imperial one under 
 the Caesars, it still retained, (as was natural,) after its dominions 
 were so much lessened, an attachment to that pomp and those 
 minute ceremonials, which in the zenith of its power it had been 
 able to enforce. It was an affection for this shadow of grandeur, 
 when the substance was in a manner gone, that induced the em- 
 peror Constantino Porphyrogenitus to write no less than a large 
 folio book upon its ceremonials. 14 
 
 It was in consequence of the same principles, that the above 
 ambassador, though coming from the caliph, was told to make a 
 humble obeisance, as he approached the Grecian emperor. This 
 the ambassador (who had his national pride also) absolutely re- 
 fusing, it was ingeniously contrived that he should be introduced 
 to the emperor through a door so very low, as might oblige him, 
 however unwillingly, to make the obeisance required. The am- 
 bassador, when he arrived, no sooner saw the door, than he com- 
 
 h Many things are enumerated in this For infirmaries, Abulphar. p. 210. 343. 
 
 paragraph, to confirm which we subjoin For observatories, public schools, &c. 
 
 the following references among many Abulphar. p. 216. 
 
 omitted. For learned societies, Abulphar. p. 217. 
 
 For buildings to accommodate travel- Abulfed. p. 181, 182, 183. 210. 274. Bo- 
 
 lers. Abulfed. p. 154. Abulphar. p. 315, hadin Vit. Salad, p. 25. 
 
 316. Among their philosophical transactions 
 
 For wells upon the road, watering-places, was a mensuration of the earth's circum- 
 and mile-stones, Abulfed. p. 154 ; for posts ference, made by order of the caliph Al- 
 and couriers, the same, p. 157. 283. mamun, which they brought to about twenty- 
 
 For temples, Abulfed. p. 125. Abulphar. four thousand miles. 
 
 p. 210. 315, 316. ' Vid. Biblioth. Arabico-Hispan. vol. ii. 
 
 For snow, Abulfed. p. 154. Abulphar. p. 71. Matriti, 1770. 
 
 p. 261. Bohadin, p. 70. k See before, p. 47 1 , note m. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 491 
 
 prehended the contrivance, and with great readiness turned about, 
 and entered the room backward. 1 
 
 We have said little concerning eminent Arabians during this 
 period in Spain. Yet that we may not be wholly silent, we 
 shall mention one fact concerning Averroes, the famous philoso- 
 pher and lawyer, who was born at Corduba in the eleventh 
 century. 
 
 As he was lecturing one day in the college of lawyers, a slave, 
 belonging to one who was his enemy, came and whispered him. 
 Averroes turning round, and saying, " Well, well," the company 
 believed the slave had brought him a message from his master. 
 The next day the slave returned, implored his pardon, and 
 publicly confessed that, when he had whispered him, he had 
 spoken a slander. " God forgive thee," replied Averroes ; " thou 
 hast publicly shewn me to be a patient man ; and as for thy in- 
 jury, it is not worthy of notice." Averroes after this gave him 
 money, adding withal this monition, " What thou hast done to 
 me, do not do to another." m 
 
 And here, before we conclude this chapter, we cannot help 
 confessing, that the facts we have related are not always ar- 
 ranged in the strict order of chronology. 
 
 The modes, indeed, of history (if these chapters merit that 
 name) appear to be different. There is a mode which we may 
 call historical declamation ; a mode where the author, dwelling 
 little upon facts, indulges himself in various and copious re- 
 flections. 
 
 Whatever good (if any) may be derived from this method, it 
 is not likely to give us much knowledge of facts. 
 
 Another mode is that which I call general, or rather public 
 history ; a mode abundant in facts, where treaties and alliances, 
 battles and sieges, marches and retreats, are accurately retailed ; 
 together with dates, descriptions, tables, plans, and all the col- 
 lateral helps, both of chronology and geography. 
 
 In this, no doubt, there is utility. Yet the sameness of the 
 events resembles not a little the sameness of human bodies. One 
 head, two shoulders, two legs, &c. seem equally to characterize 
 an European and an African ; a native of Old Rome, and a native 
 of Modern. 
 
 A third species of history still behind, is that which gives a 
 sample of sentiments and manners. 
 
 If the account of these last be faithful, it cannot fail being in- 
 structive, since we view through these the interior of human na- 
 ture. It is by these we perceive what sort of animal man is ; 
 so that while not only Europeans are distinguished from Asiatics, 
 but English from French, French from Italians, and (what is 
 still more) every individual from his neighbour, we view at the 
 same time one nature, which is common to them all. 
 
 1 Abulphar. m Fabric. Bibl. Graec. vol. xiii. p. 283, 284. 
 
492 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Horace informs us that a drama, where the sentiments and 
 manners are well preserved, will please the audience more than 
 a pompous fahle where they are wanting." Perhaps what is true 
 in dramatic composition, is not less true in historical. 
 
 Plutarch, among the Greek historians, appears in a peculiar 
 manner to have merited this praise. So likewise Bohadin among 
 the Arabians, and to him we add Abulpharagius and Abulfeda, 
 from whom so many facts in these chapters are taken. 
 
 Nor ought I to omit (as I shall soon refer to them) some of 
 our best monkish historians, though prone upon occasion to de- 
 generate into the incredible. As they often lived during the 
 times which they described, it was natural they should paint 
 the life and the manners which they saw. 
 
 A single chapter more will finish all we have to say concerning 
 the Arabians. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ARABIANS FAVOURED MEDICINE AND ASTROLOGY FACTS RELATIVE TO 
 
 THESE TWO SUBJECTS THEY VALUED KNOWLEDGE, BUT HAD NO IDEAS 
 
 OF CIVIL LIBERTY THE MEAN EXIT OF THEIR LAST CALIPH, MOS- 
 
 TASEM END OF THEIR EMPIRE IN ASIA AND IN SPAIN THEIR 
 
 PRESENT WRETCHED DEGENERACY IN AFRICA AN ANECDOTE. 
 
 THE Arabians favoured medicine and astrology, and many of 
 their princes had professors of each sort usually near their per- 
 sons. Self-love, a natural passion, led them to respect the art 
 of healing ; fear, another natural passion, made them anxious to 
 know the future ; and superstition believed there were men, who, 
 by knowing the stars, could discover it. 
 
 We shall first say something concerning medicine, which we 
 are sorry to couple with so futile an imposture. 
 
 It is commonly supposed that the prescriber of medicines and 
 the provider, that is to say, in common words, the physician and 
 the apothecary, were characters anciently united in the same 
 person. The following fact proves the contrary, at least among 
 the Orientals. 
 
 In an army commanded by Aphshin, an officer of the caliph 
 Al-Mostasem, it happened that Aphshin and the army physician, 
 Zacharias, were discoursing together. "I assert," says Zacharias, 
 " you can send for nothing from an apothecary, but, whether he 
 has it or has it not, he will affirm that he has." Aphshin, willing 
 to make the trial, bids them bring him a catalogue of unknown 
 people, and transcribing out of it about twenty of their names, 
 sends messengers to the apothecaries to provide him those medi- 
 n Sup. p. 445, in the note. Abulphar. p. 160. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 493 
 
 cines. A few confessed they knew no such medicines; others 
 affirmed they knew them well, and taking the money from the 
 messengers, gave them something out of their shops. Aphshin, 
 upon this, called them together, permitted those who said they 
 knew nothing of the medicines to remain in the camp, and com- 
 manded the rest that instant to depart. p 
 
 The following story is more interesting. 
 
 The caliph Mottawakkel had a physician belonging to him, 
 who was a Christian, named Hona'in. One day, after some other 
 incidental conversation, " I would have thee," says the caliph, 
 " teach me a prescription, by which I may take off any enemy I 
 please, and yet at the same time it should never be discovered." 
 Honain, declining to give an answer, and pleading ignorance, was 
 imprisoned. 
 
 Being brought again, after a year's interval, into the caliph's 
 presence, and still persisting in his ignorance, though threatened 
 with death, the caliph smiled upon him, and said, " Be of good 
 cheer; we were only willing to try thee, that we might have the 
 greater confidence in thee." 
 
 As Honain upon this bowed down and kissed the earth, 
 " What hindered thee," says the caliph, " from granting our re- 
 quest, when thou sawest us appear so ready to perform what we 
 had threatened 2" "Two things," replied Honain; "my reli- 
 gion, and my profession : my religion, which commands me to 
 do good to my enemies ; my profession, which was purely insti- 
 tuted for the benefit of mankind." "Two noble laws," said 
 the caliph ; and immediately presented him (according to the 
 Eastern usage) with rich garments and a sum of money. q 
 
 The same caliph was once sitting upon a bench with another 
 of his physicians, named Bactish, who was dressed in a tunic of 
 rich silk, but which happened on the edge to have a small rent. 
 The caliph, entering into discourse with him, continued playing 
 with this rent, till he had made it reach up to his girdle. In 
 the course of their conversation, the caliph asked him, " How he 
 could determine when a person was so mad as to require being 
 bound r " We bind him," replies Bactish, " when things proceed 
 to that extremity, that he tears the tunic of his physician up to 
 the girdle." The caliph fell backward in a fit of laughing, and 
 ordered Bactish (as he had ordered Honain) a present of rich 
 garments, and a donation in money . r 
 
 That such freedom of conversation was not always checked, 
 may appear from the following, as well as the preceding 
 narrative. 
 
 The caliph Al-wathick was once fishing with a rod and line, 
 upon a raft in the river Tigris. As he happened to catch 
 nothing, he turned about to his physician John, the son of 
 Misna, then sitting: near him, and said a little sharply, " Thou 
 
 P Abulphar. p. 167. Ibid. p. 172, 173. r Ibid. p. 171. 
 
494 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 unlucky fellow, get thee gone." " Commander of the faithful," 
 replies his physician, " say not what is absurd. That John, the 
 son of Misna, whose father was an obscure man, and whose 
 mother was purchased for a few pieces of silver ; whom fortune 
 has so far favoured, that he has been admitted to the society 
 and familiarity of caliphs ; who is so overpowered with the good 
 things of life, as to have obtained from them that to which even 
 his hopes did not aspire ; that he (I say) should be an unlucky 
 fellow, is surely something most absurd. 
 
 " However, if the commander of the faithful would have me 
 tell him, who is unlucky, I will inform him." " And who is he 2" 
 says the caliph. " The man," replied John, " who being sprung 
 from four caliphs, and being then raised through God to the 
 caliphate himself, can leave his caliphate and his palaces, and in 
 the middle of the Tigris sit upon a paltry raft, twenty cubits 
 broad and as many long, without the least assurance that a 
 stormy blast may not sink him ; resembling, too, by his employ, 
 the poorest, the worst fellows in the world ; I mean fishermen." 
 
 The prince on this singular discourse only remarked, " My 
 companion I find is moved, if my presence did not restrain 
 him." 8 
 
 Another instance of lenity I must not omit, though in a later 
 period, and in another country. When Al-azis was sultan of 
 Egypt, a poet there wrote a scandalous invective upon him and 
 his vizier. The vizier complained, and repeated the verses to 
 Al-azis, to whom the Sultan thus replied : " I perceive," says 
 he, " that in this invective I' have my share along with you : in 
 pardoning it, you shall have your share along with me." 1 
 
 We are now, as we promised, to mention astrology, which 
 seems to have been connected in its origin with astronomy. 
 Philosophers, men of veracity, studied the heavenly bodies ; and 
 it was upon their labours that impostors built astrology. 
 
 The following facts, however, notwithstanding its temporary 
 credit, seem not much in its favour. 
 
 When Al-wathick (the caliph whom we have just mentioned) 
 was dangerously ill, he sent for his astrologers, one of whom, 
 pretending to inquire into his destiny, pronounced that from that 
 day he would live fifty years. He did not however live beyond 
 ten days." 
 
 A few years after, the same pretenders to prediction said, 
 that a vast number of countries would be destroyed by floods ; 
 that the rains would be immense, and the rivers far exceed their 
 usual boundaries. 
 
 Men began upon this to prepare ; to expect inundations with 
 terror; and to betake themselves into places which might 
 protect them by their altitude. 
 
 The event was far from corresponding either to the threats of 
 8 Abulpharag. p. 168. ' Ibid. p. 219. Ibid. p. 168. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 495 
 
 the prophets or to the fears of the vulgar. The rain that 
 season was so remarkably small, and so many springs and 
 rivers were absorbed by the drought, that public supplications 
 for rain were many times made in the city of Bagdad/ 
 
 We must however confess that, notwithstanding these and 
 many other such failures, astrologers still maintained their 
 ground, gained admittance for many years into the courts of 
 these princes, and were consulted by many, who appear not to 
 have wanted abilities. 
 
 As the West of Europe learned astronomy from these Arabians, 
 so astrology appears to have attended it, and to have been much 
 esteemed during centuries not remote, through Germany, Italy, 
 France, &c. 
 
 Even so late as the days of cardinal Mazarine, when that 
 minister lay on his death-bed, and a comet happened to appear, 
 there were not wanting flatterers to insinuate, that it had refer- 
 ence to him, and his destiny. The cardinal answered them, 
 with a manly pleasantry, " Messieurs, la comete me fait trop 
 d'honneur."* 
 
 We cannot quit these Orientals without observing, that, though 
 they eagerly coveted the fair fruit of knowledge, they appear to 
 have had little relish for the fairer fruit of liberty. This valu- 
 able plant seems to have rarely flourished beyond the bounds of 
 Europe, and seldom even there, but in particular regions. 
 
 It has appeared, indeed, from the facts already alleged, that 
 these Eastern princes often shewed many eminent virtues ; the 
 virtues, I mean, of candour, magnanimity, affability, compassion, 
 liberality, justice, and the like. But it does not appear, that 
 either they or their subjects ever quitted those ideas of despotism 
 and servitude, which during all ages appear to have been the 
 characteristic of Oriental dominion. 
 
 As all things human naturally decay, so, after a period of 
 more than five centuries, did the illustrious race of the Abasidse. 
 The last reigning caliph of that family, Al-Mostasem, wasting 
 his time in idleness and luxury, and that without the least judg- 
 ment, or consistency in the conduct of his empire ; when he was 
 told of the formidable approach of the Tartars, and how neces- 
 sary it was, either to soothe them by submission, or to oppose 
 them by force, made, in answer to this advice, the following 
 mean reply : " For me, Bagdad suffices ; which they will not 
 surely think too much, if I yield them the other provinces. 
 They will not invade me while I remain there ; for this is my 
 mansion, and the place of my abode." 
 
 Little did these poor sentiments avail. Bagdad soon after 
 was taken, and he himself, having basely asked permission to 
 approach the Tartar prince, appeared, and offered him dishes, 
 filled with pearls and precious stones. These the Tartar dis- 
 
 x Abulpharag. p. 181. Abulfeda, p. 222. y Bayle, sur la Comdte. 
 
496 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 tributed among his attendants, and a few days after put the 
 unhappy caliph to death. 2 
 
 Bagdad being lost by this fatal event, the dignity and sove- 
 reignty of the caliphs were no more. 
 
 The name indeed remained in Egypt under the Mamlucs, but 
 it was a name merely of honour, as those other princes were 
 absolute. 
 
 It even continued in the same family to the time of Selim, 
 emperor of the Turks. When that emperor in 1520 conquered 
 Egypt, and destroyed the Mamlucs, he carried the caliph, 
 whom he found there, a prisoner to Constantinople. It was 
 partly in this last city and partly in Egypt that this caliph, 
 when degraded, lived upon a pension. When he died, the 
 family of the Abassidse, once so illustrious, and which had borne 
 the title of Caliph for almost eight hundred years, sunk with 
 him from obscurity into oblivion. 8 
 
 When the Tartars and the Turks had extinguished the 
 sovereignty of these Arabians in the East, and the descendants 
 of the ancient Spaniards had driven them out of Spain, the 
 remainder in Africa soon degenerated ; till at length, under the 
 celebrated Muly Ismael, in the beginning of this century, they 
 sunk into a state of ignorance, barbarity, and abject servitude, 
 hardly to be equalled either in ancient or in modern history. 
 
 But I say nothing concerning them during this unhappy 
 period. That which I have been treating, though in chronology 
 a middle period, was to them, in many respects, a truly golden 
 one. 
 
 I conclude this chapter with the following anecdote, so far 
 curious, as it proves that, even in our own century, the taste 
 among the Orientals for philosophy was not totally extinguished. 
 
 In the year 1721, a Turkish envoy came to the court of 
 France. As he was a man of learning, he searched through 
 Paris (though in vain) for the Commentary of Averroes upon 
 Aristotle, a large work in Latin, containing five folio volumes, 
 printed at Venice by the Juntse, in the years 1552, 1553. It 
 happened that, visiting the king^s library, he saw the book he 
 wanted ; and seeing it, he could not help expressing his ardent 
 wish to possess it. The king of France, hearing what had 
 happened, ordered the volumes to be magnificently bound, and 
 presented him by his librarian, the abbe Bignon. b 
 
 z Abulpharag. p. 3 1 8. 337, 338, 339. their extinction. 
 
 These events happened in the middle of the See also Herbelot's Biblioth. Orientale, 
 
 thirteenth century. under the word Abassides, with the several 
 
 a See the supplement of that excellent references to other articles in the same 
 
 scholar, Pococke, to his edition of Abul- work. 
 
 pharagius. In this supplement we have a b Vid. Reimanni Histor. Atheismi et 
 
 short but accurate account of the caliphs who Atheorum, 8vo. p. 537. 
 succeeded Mostasem, even to the time of 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 497 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONCERNING THE LATINS OR FRANKS BEDE, ALCU1N, JOANNES ERIGENA, 
 
 ETC. GERBERTUS, OR GIBERTUS, TRAVELLED TO THE ARABIANS IN 
 SPAIN FOR IMPROVEMENT SUSPECTED OF MAGIC THIS THE MIS- 
 FORTUNE OF MANY SUPERIOR GENIUSES IN DARK AGES ; OF BACON, 
 
 PETRARCH, FAUST, AND OTHERS ERUDITION OF THE CHURCH ; 
 
 IGNORANCE OF THE LAITY INGULPHUS, AN ENGLISHMAN, EDUCATED 
 
 IN THE COURT OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR ATTACHED HIMSELF TO 
 
 THE DUKE OF NORMANDY ACCOMPLISHED CHARACTER OF QUEEN 
 
 EGITHA, WIFE OF THE CONFESSOR PLAN OF EDUCATION IN THOSE 
 
 DAYS THE PLACES OF STUDY, THE AUTHORS STUDIED CANON LAW, 
 
 CIVIL LAW, HOLY WAR, INQUISITION TROUBADOURS WILLIAM OF 
 
 POICTOU DEBAUCHERY, CORRUPTION, AND AVARICE OF THE TIMES 
 
 WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, HIS CHARACTER AND TASTE HIS SONS, 
 
 RUFUS AND HENRY LITTLE INCIDENTS CONCERNING THEM HIL- 
 
 DEBERT, A POET OF THE TIMES FINE VERSES OF HIS QUOTED. 
 
 I PASS now to another race, the Latins, or inhabitants of 
 Western Europe, who in this middle age were often by the 
 Arabians, their contemporaries, called Franks. 
 
 Ignorance was their general character, yet individuals we 
 except in the enumeration which follows. 
 
 Bede, called the venerable from his respectable character, was 
 an Englishman ; was born in the seventh century, but nourished 
 in the eighth ; and left many works, critical, historical, and 
 theological, behind him. 
 
 Alcuin (sometimes called Alcuinus, sometimes Flaccus Al- 
 binus) was Bede's disciple, and like him an Englishman. He 
 was famous for having been preceptor to Charlemagne, and 
 much in his favour for many years. 
 
 Joannes Erigena, a native of Scotland, and who, about the 
 same period or a little later, lived sometimes in France and 
 sometimes in England, appears to have understood Greek; a 
 rare accomplishment for those countries in those days. 
 
 It is related of him, that when he was once sitting at table 
 over-against the emperor, Charles the Bald, the emperor asked 
 him, How far distant a Scot was from a sot? As far, sir, 
 replied he, as the table's length. d 
 
 c The grammatical works of these two, was, Tabula tantum. 
 
 together with those of other grammarians, We have translated sotum, sot, in order 
 
 were published in quarto by Putschius, at to preserve the emperor's dull pun, though 
 
 Hanover, in the year 1605. Those who perhaps not quite agreeably to its proper 
 
 would learn more concerning them, may meaning, 
 consult Fabricius and Cave. The word Scotum plainly .decides the 
 
 d In the original, taken from Roger do country of this learned man, which some 
 
 Hoveden, Annal. pars prior, it is, Quid dis- seem, without reason, to have doubted, 
 tat inter Sotum ct Scotum? The answer 
 
 2K 
 
498 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 A treatise of his, which appears to be metaphysical, entitled 
 De Divisione Naturae, was printed in a thin folio at Oxford, in 
 the year 1681. 
 
 Adelard, a monk of Bath, for the sake of mathematical 
 knowledge travelled into Spain, Egypt, and Arabia, and trans- 
 lated Euclid out of Arabic into Latin, about the year 1130. 
 Robert of Reading, a monk, travelled into Spain on the same 
 account, and wrote about the year 1143. e 
 
 They found, by fatal experience, that little information was 
 to be had at home, and therefore ventured upon these perilous 
 journeys abroad. 
 
 Gerbertus, or Gibertus, a native of France, flourished a little 
 before them in the tenth century, called (though not on his 
 account) sceculum obscurum, " the dark age." His ardent love 
 for mathematical knowledge carried him too from his own 
 country into Spain, that he might there learn science from the 
 learned Arabians. 
 
 After an uncommon proficiency in the mathematics, and after 
 having recommended himself for his learning and abilities both 
 to Robert, king of France, and to the emperor Otho, he became 
 first archbishop of Rheims, then of Ravenna, and at length pope, 
 by the name of Sylvester the Second. 
 
 His three capital preferments being at Rheims, Ravenna, and 
 Rome, each beginning with an R, gave occasion to the following 
 barbarous verse, 
 
 Transit ab R Gerbertus ad R, post papa viget R. f 
 
 It is singular that not his sacerdotal, nor even his pontifical 
 character could screen him from the imputation of magic, in- 
 curred merely, as it should seem, from his superior ingenuity. 
 
 A bishop Otho, who lived in the next century, gravely relates 
 of him, that he obtained the pontificate by wicked arts ; for 
 in his youth, when he was nothing more than a simple monk, 
 having left his monastery, he gave himself up wholly to the 
 devil, on condition he might obtain that which he desired. 
 
 Soon after this, the same historian, having given an account 
 of his gradual rise, subjoins, that at length, by the devil's help, 
 he was made Roman pontiff; but then it was upon compact, that 
 after his decease, he should wholly in body and soul belong to 
 him, through whose frauds he had acquired so great a dignity. 8 
 
 A cardinal Benno, of nearly the same age with this bishop 
 
 e See Wallis's preface to his Algebra, short narrative of his rise being given, the 
 
 fol. Lond. 1685. p. 5. historian subjoins Postremo Romanus 
 
 f See Brown's Fasciculus rerara expe- pontifex diabolo adjuvante fuit constitutus ; 
 
 tendar. et fugiendar. vol. ii. p. 83. hac tamen lege, ut post ejus obitum totus 
 
 Hie (scilicet Gerbertus) malis artibus illius in anima et corpore esset, cujus fraudi- 
 
 pontificatum obtinuit, eo quod ab adole- bus tantam adeptus esset dignitatem. See 
 
 scentia, cum monachus esset, relicto mo- Bishop Otho, in Brown's Fasciculus, just 
 
 nasterio, se totum diabolo obtulit, modo quoted, vol. ii. p. 88. 
 quod optabat obtineret. And soon after, a 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 499 
 
 Otho, speaking of the same great man, (Gerbertus, I mean,) 
 informs us, his demon had assured him, that he should not die 
 till he had celebrated mass at Jerusalem : that Gerbertus, mis- 
 taking this for the city so called, unwarily celebrated mass at 
 Rome, in a church called Jerusalem, and, being deceived by the 
 equivocation of the name, met a sudden and wretched end.' 1 
 
 As to these stories, they are of that vagabond sort, which 
 wander from age to age, and from person to person ; which find 
 their way into the histories of distant periods, and are sometimes 
 transferred from histories to the theatre. 
 
 The Jerusalem tale may be found in Shakspeare's Henry the 
 Fourth ; and for the compact, we have all seen it in the panto- 
 mime of Dr. Faustus. 
 
 One thing we cannot but remark : the dull contemporaries of 
 these superior geniuses, not satisfied with referring their supe- 
 riority to pre-eminence merely natural, recurred absurdly to 
 power supernatural, deeming nothing less could so far exceed 
 themselves. 
 
 Such was the case of the able scholar just mentioned. Such, 
 some centuries afterward, was the case of Roger Bacon, of 
 Francis Petrarch, of John Faust, and many others. 
 
 Bacon's knowledge of glasses, and of the telescope in par- 
 ticular, made them apply to him literally, what Virgil had said 
 poetically : 
 
 Carmina vel cselo possunt de<Jucere lunam. 
 
 Virgil himself had been foolishly thought a magician ; and 
 therefore, because Petrarch was delighted with the study of so 
 capital an author, even Petrarch also was suspected of magic. 
 
 For John Faust, as he was either the inventor, or among the 
 first practisers of the art of printing, it is no wonder the igno- 
 rant vulgar should refer to diabolical assistance, a power which 
 multiplied books in a manner to them so incomprehensible. 
 
 This digression has led us to examples rather against chrono- 
 logical order ; though all of them included within that age of 
 which we are writing. 1 For the honour, too, of the church, 
 these falsely-accused geniuses were all of them ecclesiastics. In- 
 deed, the rest of Western Europe was in a manner wholly bar- 
 barous, composed of ignorant barons, and their more ignorant 
 vassals ; men, like Homer's Cimmerians, 
 
 "Kept /ecu Vf<(>\r) KewaAu/x/ieVot. 
 " With fog and cloud enveloped." 
 
 From these we pass, or rather go back, to Ingulphus, an ec- 
 
 h See the same Fascicul. p. 88. Naude, a learned Frenchman of the last 
 
 1 Bacon lived in the thirteenth century ; century, entitled Apologie pour les grand 
 
 Petrarch, in the fourteenth ; Faust, in the Hoinmes, accuse'es de Magie. 
 
 fifteenth. See a curious book of Gabriel 
 
 2 K 2 
 
500 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 clesiastic, and an historian, valuable for having lived during an 
 interesting time, and in interesting places. 
 
 He was by birth an Englishman, and had been educated in 
 the court of Edward the Confessor ; went thence to the court of 
 the Duke of Normandy, to whose favour he was admitted, and 
 there preferred. Some time after this, when the successful ex- 
 pedition of that duke had put him in possession of the crown of 
 England, the duke (then William the Conqueror) recalled him 
 from Normandy ; took him into favour here, and made him at 
 length abbot of Croyland, where he died advanced in years. k 
 
 Ingulphus tells us, that king Edward's queen, Egitha, was 
 admirable for her beauty, her literary accomplishments, and her 
 virtue. 
 
 He relates, that being a boy he frequently saw queen Egitha, 
 when he visited his father in king Edward's court ; that many 
 times when he met her, as he was coming from school, she used 
 to dispute with him about his learning and his verses ; that she 
 had a peculiar pleasure to pass from grammar to logic, in which 
 she had been instructed ; and that, when she had entangled him 
 there with some subtle conclusion, she used to bid one of her 
 attendants give him two or three pieces of money, and carry 
 him to the royal pantry, where he was treated with a repast. 1 
 
 As to the manners of the times, he tells us, that the whole 
 nation began to lay aside the English customs, and in many 
 things to imitate the manners of the French ; all the men of 
 quality to speak the Gallic idiom in their houses, as a high 
 strain of gentility ; to draw their charters and public instru- 
 ments after the manner of the French ; and in these and many 
 other things to be ashamed of their own customs." 1 
 
 Some years before the conquest, the duke of Normandy 
 (whom Ingulphus calls most illustrious and glorious) made a visit 
 to England, attended with a grand retinue. King Edward re- 
 ceived him honourably, kept him a long while, carried him 
 round to see his cities and castles, and at length sent him home 
 with many rich presents." 
 
 Ingulphus says, that at this time duke William had no hopes 
 of his succession, nor was any mention made of it ; yet con- 
 sidering the settlement of the crown made upon him soon after- 
 ward, and the reception he then found, this should hardly seem 
 probable. 
 
 King Edward, according to Ingulphus, had great merit in re- 
 mitting the Dane-gelt, that heavy tax imposed upon the people 
 by the Danish usurpers, his immediate predecessors. 
 
 As to literary matters, it has appeared that the queen, besides 
 
 k Sec Ingulphus's History, in the pre- m Ibid. p. 62. 
 
 face to the Oxford edition of the year 1684. n Ibid. p. 65. 68. 
 
 See also p. 75 of the work itself. Ibid. p. 65. 
 
 1 See the same Ingulphus, p. 62. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 501 
 
 the usual accomplishments of the times, (which she undoubtedly 
 possessed,) had been instructed also in superior sorts of know- 
 ledge. She may be supposed, therefore, to have surpassed not 
 only her own court, but perhaps other courts since, as they have 
 seldom more to boast than the fashionable polish. 
 
 For the literary qualifications of our historian himself, we 
 perceive something of his education in what we have already 
 quoted from him. Pie is more particular afterwards, when he 
 tells that he was first bred at Westminster, and then sent to 
 Oxford; that in the first he learned grammar, in the last he 
 studied Aristotle and the rhetoric of Cicero : that finding him- 
 self superior to many of his contemporaries, and disdaining the 
 littleness of his own family, he left home, sought the palaces of 
 kings and princes, &c. &c. It was thus that, after a variety of 
 events, he became secretary to the duke of Normandy, after- 
 wards William the Conqueror, and so pursued his fortune till he 
 became abbot of Groyland. p 
 
 We shall only remark on this narrative, that Westminster and 
 Oxford seem to have been destined to the same purposes then 
 as now ; that the scholar at Westminster was to begin, and at 
 Oxford was to finish : a plan of education which still exists ; 
 which is not easy to be mended ; and which can plead so an- 
 cient and so uninterrupted a prescription. 
 
 Nearly the same time, a monk, by name Gratian, collecting 
 the numerous decrees of popes and synods, was the first who 
 published a body of canon law. q It was then, also, or a little 
 earlier, that Amalfi, a city of Calabria, being taken by the 
 Pisans, they discovered there, by chance, an original MS. of 
 Justinian's Code, which had been in a manner unknown from 
 the time of that emperor/ This curious book was brought to 
 Pisa ; and, when Pisa was taken by the Florentines, was trans- 
 ferred to Florence, and there has continued even to this day. 
 
 And thus it was, that by singular fortune the civil and canon 
 law, having been about the same time promulged, gradually 
 found their way into most of the Western governments, chang- 
 ing more or less their municipal laws, and changing with those 
 laws the very forms of their constitutions. 
 
 It was soon after happened that wild enthusiasm which 
 carried so many thousands from the West into the East, to 
 prosecute what was thought, or at least called, a holy war. 3 
 
 After the numerous histories, ancient and modern, of these 
 crusades, it would be superfluous to say more than to observe 
 that, by repeating them, men appear to have grown worse ; to 
 
 P See Ingulphus's History, p. 73. 75. Pisans in the year 1127. 
 
 9 This happened in the year 1157. See 8 It began in the year 1095. See Ful- 
 
 Duck De Auctoritate Juris Civilis Roma- ler's Holy War, book i. ch. 8. William 
 
 nor. p. GG. 88. edit. Lond. 1679. of Malmcsbury, lib. iv. c. *2. among the 
 
 r Ibid. p. 66. Amalfi was taken by the Scriptores post Bedam. 
 
502 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 have become more savage, and greater barbarians. It was so 
 late as during one of the last of them, that these crusaders 
 sacked the Christian city of Constantinople; 1 and that while these 
 were committing unheard-of cruelties in that capital of Chris- 
 tendom, another party of them, nearer home, were employed in 
 massacring the innocent Albigeois. u 
 
 So great was the zeal of extirpation, that when one of these 
 home crusades was going to storm the city of Bezieres, a city 
 filled with catholics as well as heretics, a scruple arose, that, 
 by such a measure, the good might perish as well as the bad. 
 " Kill them all," said an able sophist, " kill them all, and God 
 will know his own." v 
 
 To discover these Albigeois, the home crusades were attended 
 by a band of monks, whose business was to inquire after offenders 
 called heretics. When the crusade was finished, the monks, 
 like the dregs of an empty vessel, still remained, and deriving 
 from the crusade their authority, from the canon law their judi- 
 cial forms, became, by these two, (I mean the crusade and canon 
 law,) that formidable court, the court of inquisition. 
 
 But in these latter events we rather anticipate, for they did 
 not happen till the beginning of the thirteenth century, whereas 
 the first crusade was towards the end of the eleventh." 
 
 About the beginning of the eleventh century, and for a cen- 
 tury or two after, flourished the tribe of troubadours, or Pro- 
 vencal poets, y who chiefly lived in the courts of those princes 
 that had sovereignties in or near Provence, where the Provencal 
 language was spoken. It was in this language they wrote : a 
 language which, though obsolete now, was then esteemed the 
 best in Europe, being prior to the Italian of Dante and Pe- 
 trarch. 
 
 They were called troubadours from trouver, " to find " or " to 
 invent," 2 like the Greek appellation, poet, which means (we 
 know) " a maker." 
 
 Their subjects were mostly gallantry and love, in which their 
 licentious ideas, we are told, were excessive. Princes did not 
 
 e In the year 1204. See the same Fuller, nople, and the massacres of the Albigeois, 
 
 b. iii. c. 17 ; and Nicetas the Choniate, al- happened more than a hundred years after 
 
 ready quoted at large, from p. 472 to 475. this Holy War had been begun, and after 
 
 u The crusades against them began in its more splendid parts were past ; that is 
 
 the year 1206 ; the massacres were during to say, the taking of Jerusalem, the esta- 
 
 the whole course of the war ; see Fuller's blishment of a kingdom there, (which 
 
 Holy War, b. iii. from c. 18 to 22. espe- lasted eighty years,) and the gallant efforts 
 
 cially c. 21 ; and Mosheim's Church His- of Creur de Leon against Saladin. All 
 
 tory, under the article Albigenses. against the Saracens, that followed, was 
 
 v Tuez les tous : Dieu connoit ceux, qui languid, and, for the greater part of it, ad- 
 
 sont a lui. Plistoire de Troubadours, vol. i. verse. 
 p. 193. y See a work, 3 vols. 12mo. entitled, 
 
 x In the year 1095 or 1096. Fuller's Histoire Litteraire de Troubadours, printed 
 
 Holy War, p, 21; and William of Malmes- at Paris 1774, where there is an ample 
 
 bury, before quoted. detail both of them and their poems. 
 
 It is to be remarked, that these two z See Hist, de Troub. vol. i. Discours 
 
 events, I mean the sacking of Constant!- prelim, p. 25. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 503 
 
 disdain to be of their number ; a such, among others, as our 
 Richard Cceur de Leon, and the celebrated William count of 
 Poictou, who was a contemporary with William the Conqueror 
 and his sons. 
 
 A sonnet or two, made by Richard, are preserved ; but they 
 are obscure, and, as far as intelligible, of little value. b 
 
 The sonnets of William of Poictou, now remaining, are (as 
 we are informed) of the most licentious kind, for a more licen- 
 tious man never existed. 
 
 Historians tell us, that near one of his castles he founded a 
 sort of abbey for women of pleasure, and appointed the most 
 celebrated among his ladies to the offices of abbess, prioress, &c.; 
 that he dismissed his wife, and taking the wife of a certain 
 viscount, lived with her publicly; that being excommunicated 
 for this by Grirard, bishop of Angouleme, and commanded to 
 put away his unlawful companion, he replied, " Thou shalt 
 sooner curl hair upon that bald pate of thine, than will I submit 
 to a divorce from the viscountess ;" that having received a like 
 rebuke, attended with an excommunication from his own bishop, 
 the bishop of Poictou, he seized him by the hair, and was about 
 to despatch him, but suddenly stopped by saying, " I have that 
 aversion to thee, thou shalt never enter heaven through the as- 
 sistance of my hand. d 
 
 If I might be permitted to digress, I would observe that 
 Hamlet has adopted precisely the same sentiment. When he 
 declines the opportunity offered him of killing the king at his 
 prayers, he has the following expressions, among many others : 
 
 A villain kills my father, and for that 
 
 I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
 
 To heav'n ! this is hire and salary, 
 
 Not revenge. Act iii. sc. 10. 
 
 It is hard to defend so strange a sentiment either in Hamlet 
 or the count. We shall only remark, that Hamlet, when he de- 
 livered it, was perfectly cool ; the count, agitated by impetuous 
 rage. 
 
 This count, as he grew older, became, as many others have 
 done, from a profligate a devotee; engaged in one of the first 
 crusades ; led a large body of troops into the East ; from which, 
 however, after his troops had been routed, and most of them de- 
 stroyed, he himself returned with ignominy home. 6 
 
 a Hist, de Troub. vol. i. p. 25. Malmesbury begins with the words, Erat 
 
 b Ibid. p. 54. turn Willielmus, comes Pictavorum, &c. 
 
 c Ibid. p. 7. p. 96. edit. Londin. fol. 1596. 
 
 As to his famous abbey or nunnery, soon d The words in Malmesbury are, Nee 
 
 after mentioned, see the same work, p. 3, 4 ; coelum unquam intrabis meae manus minis- 
 
 but more particularly and authentically, see terio, p. 96. 
 
 William of Malmesbury, a writer nearly e See the same William of Malmesbury, 
 
 contemporary, and from whom the narra- p. 75. 84. 
 tive here given is taken. The passage in 
 
504 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 The loose gallantry of these troubadours may remind us of 
 the poetry during the reign of our second Charles ; nor were the 
 manners of one court unlike those of the other, unless that those 
 of the court of Poictou were more abandoned of the two. 
 
 Be that as it may, we may fairly, I think, conclude, if we 
 compare the two periods, there were men as wicked during the 
 early period, as during the latter ; and not only so, but wicked 
 in vices of exactly the same character. 
 
 If we seek for vices of another character, we read, at the 
 same era, concerning a neighbouring kingdom to Poictou, that 
 "all the people of rank were so blinded with avarice, that it 
 might be truly said of them, (according to Juvenal,) 
 
 Not one regards the method, how he gains, 
 But, fix'd his resolution, gain he must. 
 
 " The more they discoursed about right, the greater their in- 
 juries. Those who were called the justiciaries, were the head 
 of all injustice. The sheriffs and magistrates, whose duty was 
 justice and judgment, were more atrocious than the very thieves 
 and robbers, and were more cruel than others, even the most 
 cruel. The king himself, when he had leased his domains as 
 dear as was possible, transferred them immediately to another 
 that offered him more, and then again to another, neglecting 
 always his former agreement, and labouring still for bargains 
 that were greater and more profitable." f 
 
 Such were the good old times of good old England (for it is 
 of England we have been reading) during the reign of our con- 
 queror, William. 
 
 And yet if we measure greatness (as is too often the case 
 with heroes) by any other measure than that of moral rectitude, 
 we cannot but admit that he must have been great, who could 
 conquer a country so much larger than his own, and transmit 
 the permanent possession of it to his family. The numerous 
 Norman families with which he filled this island, and the very 
 few Saxon ones which he suffered to remain, sufficiently shew 
 us the extent of this revolution. 
 
 As to his taste, (for it is taste we investigate, as often as we 
 are able,) there is a curious fact related of him by John of 
 Salisbury, a learned writer, who lived as early as the times of 
 Stephen and Henry the Second. 
 
 This author informs us, that William, after he was once settled 
 in the peaceable possession of his kingdom, sent ambassadors to 
 foreign nations, that they should collect for him, out of all the 
 celebrated mansions, whatever should appear to them magnificent 
 or admirable. 
 
 f See Henrici Huntindoniensis Histor. from Juvenal is, 
 
 1. vii. p. 212, inter Scriptores post Bedam, Unde habeat, qucerit nemo, sed (portet 
 edit. London. 1594, beginning from the Jiabere. 
 
 words, Principes omnes, &c. The verse 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 505 
 
 Our author cannot help allowing that this was the laudable 
 project of a great man, desirous of pouring into his own dominions 
 all that was excellent in others. 8 
 
 It does not appear what these rarities were, but it sufficiently 
 shews the Conqueror to have had a genius superior to the bar- 
 barity of his age. 
 
 One may imagine he was not ignorant of Ovid, and the ancient 
 mythology, by his answer to Philip king of France. 
 
 William, as he became old, grew to an unwieldy bulk. The 
 king of France, in a manner not very polite, asked of him, (with 
 reference to this bulk,) " When, as he had been so long in breed- 
 ing, he expected to be brought to bed?" " Whenever that hap- 
 pens," replied William, "it will be, as Semele was, in flames and 
 thunder." France soon after that fell his devastations. 11 
 
 His son Rufus seems more nearly to have approached the cha- 
 racter of the times. 
 
 We have a sample of his manners in the following narrative. 
 Being immensely fond of expense in dress, when one of his at- 
 tendants brought him new shoes, and was putting them on, he 
 demanded, " How much they cost 2" " Three shillings, sir," re- 
 plied his attendant. " Son of a whore," says Rufus, " at so 
 pitiful a price to provide shoes for a king ! Go and purchase me 
 some for a mark of silver." ' 
 
 Matthew Paris writes, that he was once told of a formidable 
 dream, relative to his death, which had been dreamed by a 
 certain monk. Rufus, on hearing it, burst into laughter, and 
 said, " The man is a monk, and monk-like has dreamed, to get 
 a little money ; give him a hundred shillings, that he may not 
 think he has been dreaming for nothing." k 
 
 His historian, Malmesbury, after having related other facts of 
 him, adds, " that he had neither application enough, nor leisure, 
 ever to attend to letters." l 
 
 It was not so with his brother, Henry the First. He (as this 
 historian informs us m ) spent his youth in the schools of liberal 
 
 8 Simile aliquid fecisse visus est rex An- Semcles, respondit, cum flammis et fulmine. 
 glorum Vilhelmus Primus, cujus virtuti Nor- Panciroll. Nova Reperta, tit. x. p. 219. 
 mannia et tandem major Britannia cessit. edit. Francofurt. 1631. See this fact some- 
 Assumpto namque regni diademate, et paee what differently told by Matthew Paris. 
 composita, legates misit ad exteras nationes, p. 13. edit. fol. London, 1040. The de- 
 nt a praeclaris omnium domibus, quicquid vastations here mentioned are related in the 
 eis magnificum aut mirificum videretur, af- same page. 
 
 ferrent. Defluxit ergo in insulam opulen- * William of Malmesbury, p. 69. The 
 
 tarn, et quaa fere sola bonis suis est in orbe words of Rufus were, Fili meretricis, ex 
 
 contenta, quicquid magnificentiae, imo luxu- quo habet rex caligas tarn exilis pretii ! 
 
 ria3 potuit inveniri. Laudabile quidem fuit Vade et affer mihi emptas marca argenti. 
 magni viri propositum, qui virtutes omnium k Matthew Paris, p. 53. Rufus's words 
 
 orbi suo volebat infunderc. Joan. Sarisb. de were, Monachus est, et lucri causa mona- 
 
 Nugis Curialium, p. 480. edit. Lugd. 8vo. chiliter somniavit : da ei centum solidos, ne 
 
 1595. videatur inaniter somniasse. 
 
 h Quaerente, sc. Philippo, numquidnam ' William of Malmesbury, p. 70. 
 tandem parcret Guilielmus, qui tarn diu m Ibid. p. o7. 
 gessissct uterum : se pariturum, scd instar 
 
506 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 science, and so greedily imbibed the sweets of literature, that in 
 after- times, (as the same writer rather floridly relates,) no tumults 
 of war, no agitation of cares, could ever expel them from his il- 
 lustrious mind. 
 
 Soon after we meet the well-known saying of Plato, that it 
 was then states would be happy, if philosophers were to reign, 
 or kings were to philosophize. Our historian, having given this 
 sentiment, tells us, (to use his own expressions,) that Henry 
 fortified his youth with literature in a view to the kingdom ; and 
 ventured even in his father's hearing, to throw out the proverb, 
 Rex illiteratuS) asinus coronatus, " that an illiterate king was but 
 an ass crowned. 11 " 
 
 That the king his father, from perceiving his son's abilities, 
 had something like a presentiment of his future dignity, may ap- 
 pear from the following story. 
 
 When Henry was young, one of his brothers having injured 
 him, he complained of his ill-treatment to his father with tears. 
 " Do not crv, child, 11 says his father, " for thou, too, shalt be 
 king. 110 
 
 As Henry was a learned prince, we may suppose he was edu- 
 cated by learned men ; and perhaps, if we attend to the account 
 given by Ingulphus of his own education in the time of Edward 
 the Confessor, p it is probable there may have been among the 
 clergy a succession of learned men from the time of Venerable 
 Bede. 
 
 It is certain that, in England at least, during these middle 
 ages, learning never nourished more, than from the time of Henry 
 the First to the reign of his grandson Henry the Second, and 
 some years after. 
 
 The learned historian of the life of Henry the Second, (I mean 
 the first lord Lyttleton,) has put this beyond dispute. 
 
 Perhaps, too, the times which followed were adverse to the 
 cause of literature. The crusades had made the laity greater 
 barbarians, if possible, than they were before. Their cruelty 
 had been stimulated by acting against Greeks, whom they hated 
 for schismatics, and against Saracens, whom they hated for in- 
 fidels; although it was from these alone they were likely to 
 learn, had they understood (which few of them did) a syllable 
 of Greek or Arabic. 
 
 Add to this, the inquisition being then established in all its 
 terrors, q the clergy (from whom only the cause of letters could 
 hope any thing) found their genius insensibly checked by its 
 gloomy terrors. 
 
 This depraved period (which lasted for a century or two) did 
 not mend till the invention of printing, and the taking of Con- 
 
 n William of Malmesbury, p. 87. B. author in the same page, that is, p. 87. B. 
 
 The words of William were, Ne fleas, P Page 500, 501. 
 fili ; quoniam et tu rex eris. See the same 1 See before, p. 502. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 507 
 
 stantinople. Then it was that these, and other hidden causes, 
 roused the genius of Italy, and restored to mankind those arts 
 and that literature which to Western Europe had been so long 
 unknown. 
 
 Before I conclude this chapter, I cannot but remark, that, 
 during these inauspicious times, so generally tasteless, there were 
 even Latins as well as Greeks r whom the very ruins of antique 
 arts carried to enthusiastic admiration. 
 
 Hildebert, archbishop of Tours, who died in the year 1139, 
 in a fine poem, which he wrote upon the city of Borne, among 
 others has the following verses, in praise of the then remaining 
 statues and antiquities : 
 
 Non tamen annorum series, nee flamma, nee ensis, 
 
 Ad plenum potuit tale abolere decus. 
 Hie superum formas super! mirantur et ipsi, 
 
 Et cupiunt fictis vultibus esse pares. 
 Nee potuit natura deos hoc ore creare, 
 
 Quo miranda deum signa creavit homo. 
 Vultus s adest his numinibus, potiusque coluntur 
 
 Artificum studio, quam deitate sua. 1 
 
 It is worth observing, that the Latinity of these verses is in 
 general pure, and that they are wholly free from the Leonine 
 jingle. 
 
 They are thus attempted in English, for the sake of those who 
 do not read the original. 
 
 But neither passing years, nor fire, nor sword 
 
 Have yet avail'd such beauty to annul. 
 
 Ev'n gods themselves their mimic forms admire, 
 
 And wish their own were equal to the feign'd. 
 
 Nor e'er could nature deities create 
 
 With such a countenance, as man has giv'n 
 
 To these fair statues, creatures of his own. 
 
 Worship they claim, tho' more from human art, 
 
 Than from their own divinity, ador'd. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SCHOOLMEN THEIR RISE, AND CHARACTER THEIR TITLES OF HONOUR 
 
 REMARKS ON SUCH TITLES ABELARD AND HELOISA JOHN OF 
 
 SALISBURY ADMIRABLE QUOTATIONS FROM HIS TWO CELEBRATED 
 
 WORKS GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS WALTER MAPPS RICHARD CGEUR 
 
 DE LEON HIS TRANSACTIONS WITH SALADIN HIS DEATH, AND 
 
 THE SINGULAR INTERVIEW WHICH IMMEDIATELY PRECEDED IT. 
 
 WE are now to consider the state of literature with respect to 
 other geniuses, both before the conquest and after it, so low as 
 to the times of our first Richard. 
 
 r See before, what has been quoted from * William of Malmesbury, p. 76. Fabri- 
 Nicetas the Choniate, p. 301, &c. cii Bibliotheca med. et infim. setat. in voce 
 
 8 Forsan Cultus. Hildebert. 
 
508 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 It was during this period began the race of schoolmen ; a race 
 much admired and followed in their day. Their subtlety was 
 great ; and though that subtlety might sometimes have led them 
 into refinements rather frivolous, yet have they given eminent 
 samples of penetrating ingenuity. 
 
 They began in the eleventh century, and lasted to the four- 
 teenth, when new causes leading to new events, they gradually 
 decreased, and were no more. 
 
 That they had some merit must be allowed, when we are told 
 that the learned bishop Sanderson used constantly to read the 
 Secunda Secundse of Thomas Aquinas ; u and that this treatise, 
 together with Aristotle's Rhetoric, and Cicero's Offices, were 
 three books which he always had with him, and never ceased to 
 peruse. The scholastic tract must have been no bad one, which 
 was so well associated. 
 
 Various epithets at the time were bestowed upon these school- 
 men. There was the irrefragable doctor, the subtle, the seraphic^ 
 the angelic, &c. 
 
 There is certainly something exaggerated in the pomp of these 
 appellations. And yet, if we reflect on our modern titles of 
 honour, on our common superscriptions of epistles, on our com- 
 mon modes of concluding them, and mark how gravely we ad- 
 mit all this ; may we not suppose those other epithets appear 
 ridiculous, not so much from their being absurd, as from their 
 being unusual? x 
 
 Before we quit these schoolmen, we cannot omit the famous 
 Peter Abelard, who, when he taught at Paris, was followed by 
 thousands, and was considered almost as an oracle in discussing 
 the abstrusest of subjects. At present he is better known for his 
 unfortunate amour with the celebrated Heloisa, his disciple, his 
 mistress, and at length his wife. 
 
 Her ingenuity and learning were celebrated also, and their 
 epistolary correspondence, remarkably curious, is still extant. y 
 The religion of the times drove them at length to finish their 
 days in two separate convents. When Abelard died, (which 
 happened about the year 1 134,) his body was carried to Heloisa, 
 who buried it in the convent of the Paraclete, where she pre- 
 sided. 
 
 My countryman, John of Salisbury, comes next, who lived 
 in the reign of Stephen and Henry the Second. He appears 
 to have been conversant in all the Latin classics, whom he 
 not only quotes, but appears to understand, to relish, and to 
 admire. 2 
 
 u This able and acute man died, aged History, and Cave's Hist. Lit. vol. ii. p. 275. 
 
 forty-eight years, in the year 1274. y An octavo edition of their letters in 
 
 x For a fuller account of these schoolmen, Latin was published at London, in the year 
 
 see Scholastics Theologioe Syntagma, by 1718. 
 
 Prideaux bishop of Worcester, Mosheim's z See Philosophical Arrangements, p. 382. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 509 
 
 How far they sunk into his mind, and inspired him with senti- 
 ments similar to their own, the following passages may suffice to 
 shew. 
 
 Take his ideas of liberty and servitude. 
 
 " For as the true and only liberty is to serve virtue, and dis- 
 charge its various duties ; so the only true and essential slavery 
 is to be in subjection to the vices. He, therefore, is evidently 
 mistaken, who imagines that either of these conditions can pro- 
 ceed from any other cause : for, indeed, (if we except the dif- 
 ference of virtue and vice,) all men throughout the world pro- 
 ceed from a similar beginning ; consist of, and are nourished by 
 the same elements ; draw from the same principle the same vital 
 breath ; enjoy the same cope of heaven ; all alike live ; all alike 
 die." 3 
 
 Take his idea concerning the extensive influence of phi- 
 losophy. 
 
 " It is philosophy that prescribes a just measure to all things ; 
 and while she arranges moral duties, condescends to mix with 
 such as are plebeian and vulgar. No otherwise, indeed, can any 
 thing be said to proceed rightly, unless she herself confirm by 
 deeds, what she teaches us in words." 5 
 
 Speaking of virtue and felicity, he thus explains himself. 
 
 "But these (two possessions) are more excellent than any other, 
 because virtue includes all things that are to be done; felicity, 
 all things that are to be wished. Yet does felicity excel virtue, 
 because in all things the end is more excellent than the means. 
 Now no one is happy, that he may act rightly ; but he acts 
 rightly, that he may live happily." 
 
 The following distich is of his own age, but being difficult to 
 translate, is only given in its original, as a sample of elegant and 
 meritorious poetry. 
 
 It expresses a refined thought ; that as the soul of man ani- 
 mates the body, so is the soul itself animated by God. 
 
 Vita animae Deus est ; hsec, corporis ; hac fugiente, 
 Solvitur hoc ; perit haec, destituente Deo. d 
 
 The preceding quotations are taken from his tract De Nugis 
 Curialium ; those which follow are from another tract, called 
 
 a Sicut enim vera et unica libertas est, etiam plebeis et vulgaribus interesse dig- 
 
 servire virtuti, et ipsius exercere officia ; ita natur. Alioquin nihil aliud recte procedit, 
 
 unica et singularis servitus est vitiis subju- nisi et ipsa rebus asserat, quod verbis docet. 
 
 gari. Errat plane quisquis aliunde con- De Nugis Curial. p. 483. 
 ditionem alterutram opinatur accidere. Si c Sunt autem haec omnibus aliis praestan- 
 
 quidem omne hominum genus in terris siniili tiora, quia virtus omnia agenda, felicitas 
 
 ab ortu surgit, eisdem constat et alitur ele- omnia optanda complectitur. Felicitas ta- 
 
 mentis, eimdemque spiritum ab eodem prin- men virtuti prsestat, quia in omnibus prae- 
 
 cipio carpit, eodemque fruitur caelo, aeque stantius est propter quod aliquid, quam quod 
 
 moritur, seque vivit. De Nugis Curialium, propter aliquid. Non enim felix est quis, 
 
 p. 510. edit. Lugdun. 1595. ut recte agat ; eed recte agit, ut feliciter 
 
 b Ipsa (philosophia) est, quae universis vivat. DC Nugis Curial. p. 3G7, 368. 
 praescribit modum, et dum disponit officia, d Ibid. p. 127. 
 
and 
 
 510 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Metalogicus, so named from being subsequent to logic, as meta- 
 physics are to physics. 
 
 He makes three things requisite to the existence of every art, 
 and these are genius, memory, and the reasoning faculty ; and 
 these three he thus defines : 
 
 " Genius is a certain power, naturally implanted in the mind, 
 
 d which is of itself originally capable. 116 
 
 " Memory is (as it were) the mind's ark or chest ; the firm 
 and faithful preserver of things perceived. 11 f 
 
 " The reasoning faculty is a power of the mind, which examines 
 things that have occurred either to the senses or to the intellect, 
 and fairly decides in favour of the better ; which, well weighing 
 the similitudes and dissimilitudes of things, at length (after due 
 discussion) establishes art, and shews it to be (as it were) a finite 
 science of things infinite. 11 g 
 
 Our author concludes with telling us, that " as nature is the 
 mother of all arts, so the contempt of them surely redounds to 
 the injury of their parent. 11 " 1 
 
 I must not omit some of his grammatical ideas, because they 
 are of a superior sort; that is to say, they are logical and 
 philosophical. 
 
 He tells us, " For as [in nature] accidents clothe substances, 
 and give them a form ; so [in language] through a similar cor- 
 respondence are substantives vested with a form by adjectives. 
 And that this [grammatical] institution of reason may the more 
 easily coincide with nature, in the same manner as the substance 
 of every natural being knows nothing of intension and remis- 
 sion ; so likewise in language substantives admit no degree of 
 comparison. 11 ' 
 
 After this, he proceeds to shew that this imitation of nature 
 not only exists in nouns, but in the other parts of speech. He 
 
 e Est autcm ingenium vis quaedam, animoe Sounds articulate, which are infinite, 
 
 naturaliter insita, per se valens. Metalog. being reduced to the finite genera of vowels 
 
 p. 756. and consonants ; and vowels again being 
 
 f Memoria vero quasi mentis area, firma enlarged into the species of long, short, and 
 
 et fidelis custodia perceptorum. Metalog. middle ; consonants into the species of mutes 
 
 p. 757. and liquids ; in these limited reductions we 
 
 S Ratio eorum, quse sensibus aut animo behold the rise of grammar, through which, 
 
 occurrunt, examinatrix animi vis est, et by about twenty simple sounds, called let- 
 
 fidelis arbitra potiorum ; quae, rerum simili- ters, we form articulate sounds by millions, 
 
 tudines dissimilitudinesque perpendens, tan- h Quia artium natura mater est, merito 
 
 dem artem statuit quasi quandam infinitorum in injuriam parentis redundat contemptus 
 
 finitam esse scientiam. Metalog. 757. earum. Metalog. 757. 
 
 This may be illustrated from the arts of ' Sicut enim accidentia substantiam ves- 
 arithmetic and grammar. tiunt, et informant : sic quadam proper- 
 Numbers, which are infinite, being re- tione rationis ab adjectivis substantiva in- 
 duced to the finite genera of even and odd ; formantur. Et, ut familiarius rationis in- 
 and these again being divided into the few stitutio naturae cohaereat, sicut substantia 
 subordinate species ; in this limited reduc- cujusque rei intentionis et remissionis ignara 
 tion we behold the rise of arithmetic, and est : sic substantiva ad comparationis gra- 
 of all the various theorems contained in that dum non veniunt. Metalog. 561. 
 art. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 511 
 
 tells us, that verbs, as they denote time, are necessarily provided 
 with tenses ; and, as they always express something else in their 
 original meaning, he calls the additional denoting of time by a 
 truly philosophic word, a consignificationJ 
 
 The writer of these remarks cannot say he has transferred 
 any of them into his Hermes, because Hermes was written long 
 before he knew John of Salisbury. But that both writers drew 
 from the same source, he thinks sufficiently clear from the 
 similitude of their sentiments. k 
 
 I fear, I have dwelt too long on my countryman, perhaps, 
 because a countryman ; but more, in truth, because his works 
 are little known, and yet are certainly curious and valuable. 
 
 I shall only mention, that there were other respectable geniuses 
 of the same century, such as the epic poet, Joseph of Exeter ; 
 the pleasant archdeacon of Oxford, Walter Mapps; Giraldus 
 Cambrensis, &c. 
 
 But the eloquent author of the Life of Henry the Second has, 
 in his third volume, handled the state of our literature during 
 this period in so masterly a way, that the writer of these ob- 
 servations would not have said so much, had not the arrange- 
 ment of his remarks made it in some degree necessary. 1 
 
 We must not conclude this chapter without relating a few 
 facts, relative to the gallant Richard, called, from his mag- 
 nanimity, Coeur de Leon. Other heroes, long before him, had 
 been likened to lions ; and the celebrated Ali, in the lofty lan- 
 guage of Arabia, was called the Lion of God. 
 
 What Bohadin says of Richard is remarkable. " He was, as 
 that historian relates, uncommonly active ; of great spirit and 
 firm resolution ; one who had been signalized by his battles, 
 and who was of intrepid courage in war. By those whom he 
 led, he was esteemed less than the king of France on account of 
 his kingdom and dignity, but more abundant in riches, and far 
 more illustrious for military valour."" 1 
 
 This testimony receives no small weight, as it comes from a 
 contemporary writer, who was present ; and who, being likewise 
 a fast friend to Saladin, Richard's great antagonist, can hardly 
 be suspected of flattering an adversary. 
 
 In the following extracts from the same author, which ex- 
 tracts contain different conferences between Richard and Saladin, 
 we have a sample of their sentiments, and of the manner in 
 which they expressed them. 
 
 When Richard in Palestine was ill, he longed for fruit and 
 ice, and the fruits he desired were pears and peaches. He sent 
 for them to Saladin, and they were immediately given him. 
 
 J Motus non est sine tempore, nee verbum l See lord Ly ttleton's Life of Henry the 
 
 esse potuit sine temporis consignificatione. Second. 
 
 Metalog. 561. Aristot. de Interpret, c. 3. m Bohadin, vit. Salad, p. 160. 
 
 k See Hermes, p. 144. 
 
512 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Richard, in return, was equally bountiful, and entertained the 
 sultan's people magnificently. War between great men seldom 
 extinguishes humanity." 
 
 After a long and various war, Richard sent to Saladin the 
 following message. 
 
 " When you have greeted the prince, you will lay what 
 follows before him : the Mussulmans and Franks are both 
 perishing ; their countries laid waste, and completely passing to 
 ruin ; the wealth and lives of their people consumed on either 
 side. To this contest and religious war its proper rights have 
 been now paid. Nothing remains to be settled, but the affair of 
 the holy city of the cross, and of the several regions or countries. 
 As to the holy city, it being the seat of our worship, from that 
 indeed we can by no means recede, although not a single man of 
 us were to survive the attempt. As to the countries, those on 
 this side Jordan, shall be restored to us. As to the cross, it 
 being with you only a pitiful piece of wood, although to us of 
 value inestimable, this the sultan will give us ; and thus peace 
 being established, we shall all of us rest from this our uninter- 
 rupted fatigue." 
 
 SaladiiVs answer to Richard. 
 
 " The holy city is as much holy to us as to you ; nay, is 
 rather of greater worth and dignity to us than to you ; as it 
 was thence that our prophet took his journey by night to 
 heaven ; it is there the angels are wont solemnly to assemble 
 themselves. Imagine not therefore that we shall ever depart 
 thence. We dare not among the Mussulmans appear so aban- 
 doned, so neglectful of our affairs, as to think of this. As to 
 the regions or countries, these also you know were originally 
 ours, which you indeed have annexed to your dominions by the 
 imbecility of the Mussulmans at the period when you attacked 
 them. God has not suffered you to lay a single stone there, 
 ever since the war began ; while we, it is evident, enjoy all the 
 produce of our countries to the full. Lastly, as to the cross, 
 that in truth is your scandal, and a great dishonour to the 
 Deity; which, however, it does not become us, by giving up, to 
 neglect, unless it be for some more important advantage accruing 
 thence to the faith of Mahomet." p 
 
 It must be observed, that the cross here mentioned was sup- 
 posed to have been that on which Christ was crucified; and 
 which being in Jerusalem, when it was taken, had been from 
 that time in the hands of Saladin. 
 
 Though no peace was now made, it was made soon after, yet 
 without restoration either of Jerusalem or of the cross. 
 
 It was usual in those days to swear to treaties, and so did 
 the inferior parties ; but the two monarchs excused themselves, 
 saying, " it was not usual for kings to swear." q 
 
 " Bohadin, p. 176. Ibid. p. 207. P Ibid. p. 208. 1 Ibid. p. 261. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 513 
 
 When Richard was returning home, he was basely seized by 
 a duke of Austria, and kept prisoner for more than a year, till 
 by a large sum raised upon his people he was redeemed/ 
 
 This gallant prince, after having escaped for years the most 
 formidable perils, fell at length unfortunately by the arrow of 
 an obscure hand, in besieging an obscure castle, within his own 
 French domains. 
 
 He did not immediately die ; but as the wound began to 
 mortify, and his end to approach, he ordered the person who 
 had shot him (his name was Bertramn de Gurdun) to be brought 
 into his presence. 
 
 When he arrived, the king thus addressed him. t4 What 
 harm have I ever done thee ? for what reason hast thou slain 
 me ?" Bertramn replied, " Thou hast slain my father and two 
 brothers with thy own hand ; and now it was thy desire to slay 
 me. Take then any vengeance upon me thou wilt ; I shall 
 freely suffer the greatest tortures thou canst invent, so that 
 thou art but despatched, who hast done the world so much 
 mischief." 
 
 The king, on this intrepid answer, commanded his chains to 
 be taken off, forgave what he had done, and dismissed him 
 with a present. 
 
 But the king^s servants were not so generous as their master ; 
 for when the king was dead, (which soon happened,) they put 
 the prisoner to a cruel death. 
 
 A poet of the time compares, not improperly, the death of 
 Richard to that of a lion killed by an ant. The sentiment is 
 better than the metre. 
 
 Istius in morte perimit Formica Leonem. 8 
 
 It is somewhat singular, that in these periods, considered as 
 dark and barbarous, the same nations should still retain their 
 superiority of taste, though not perhaps in its original purity. 
 During the reign of Henry the Third, (which soon followed,) 
 when bishop Poore erected the cathedral of Salisbury, (which, 
 considering its lightness, its uniformity, and the height of its 
 spire, is one of the completest gothic buildings now extant,) we 
 are informed he sent into Italy for the best architects. 4 
 
 Long before this, in the eighth century, when one of the caliphs 
 erected a most magnificent temple, or mosque, at Damascus, he 
 procured for the building of it the most skilful architects, and 
 
 r See the histories of Richard's life, misti ? Cui ille respondit Tu interemisti 
 
 Rapin, Hume, &c. patrem meum, et duos fratres manu tua, et 
 
 s Rogeri de Hoveden Annalium pars me mine interimere voluisti. Sume ergo de 
 
 posterior, p. 791. edit. Francof. 1601. We me vindictam, quamcunque volueris: liben- 
 
 have transcribed from the original the dis- ter enim patiar, qusecunque excogitaveris 
 
 course which passed between Richard and majora tormenta, dummodo Tu interficiaris, 
 
 Bertramn, as it appears to be curious, and qui tot et tanta mala contulisti mundo. 
 the Latinity not to be despised. ' Matthew Paris. 
 
 Quid mali tibi feci? Quare me intcre- 
 
514 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 those not only from his own dominions, but (as the historian 
 informs us) from Greece." 
 
 From these accounts it is evident, that some knowledge of the 
 fine arts, even during this middle age, existed both in Italy and 
 Greece. 
 
 Should it be demanded, to which nation, in this respect, we 
 give the preference ; it is a question to be decided by recurring 
 to facts. 
 
 Italy at the beginning of her history was barbarous ; nor did 
 she emerge from her barbarity, till Greece, which she had 
 conquered, gave her poets, orators, philosophers, &c. 
 
 Grsecia captu ferum Victorem ccpit. Hor. 
 
 After a succession of centuries, the Roman empire fell. By 
 this fatal event the finer arts fell also, and lay for years in a 
 kind of torpid state, till they revived through the genial warmth 
 of Greece. 
 
 A few Greek painters, in the thirteenth century, came from 
 Greece into Italy, and taught their art to Cimabue, a Florentine/ 
 Cimabue was the father of Italian painters ; and from him came 
 a succession, which at length gave the Raphaels, the Michael 
 Angelos, &c. 
 
 The statues and ruined edifices with which Italy abounded, 
 and which were all of them by Greek artists, or after Grecian 
 models, taught the Italians the fine arts of sculpture apd 
 architecture.* 
 
 The Greek fugitives from Constantinople, after its unhappy 
 catastrophe, brought that superior literature into Italy, which 
 enabled the Italians to read in the original the capital authors 
 of Attic eloquence. 25 
 
 When literature, sculpture, architecture, and painting had 
 thus attained a perfection in Italy, we learn from history, they 
 were transplanted into the north, where they lived, though it 
 was rather like exotics than natives. 
 
 As therefore Northern Europe derived them from Italy, and 
 this last from Greece, the conclusion is evident, that not Italy, 
 but Greece was their common parent. And thus is the question 
 concerning preference to be decided. 
 
 " Abulfed. p. 125. warm verses of Hildebert quoted before, 
 
 x Cimabue died in 1300. p. 507. 
 y How early these fine remains began to z Sup. p. 477. 
 excite their admiration, we learn from those 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 515 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 CONCERNING THE POETRY OF THE LATTER LATINS, OR WESTERN 
 
 EUROPEANS ACCENTUAL QUANTITY RHYME SAMPLES OF RHYME 
 
 IN LATIN IN CLASSICAL POETS, ACCIDENTAL ; IN THOSE OF A LATER 
 
 AGE, DESIGNED RHYME AMONG THE ARABIANS ODILO, HUCBALDUS, 
 
 HtLDIGRIM, HALABALDUS, POETS OR HEROES OF WESTERN EUROPE 
 
 RHYMES IN MODERN LANGUAGES OF DANTE, PETRARCH, BOCCACCIO, 
 
 CHAUCER, ETC. SANNAZARIUS, A PURE WRITER IN CLASSIC LATIN 
 
 WITHOUT RHYME ANAGRAMS, CHRONOGRAMS, ETC., FINELY AND 
 
 ACCURATELY DESCRIBED BY THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THE 
 SCRIBLERIAD. 
 
 AND here, as we are about to speak upon the poetry of these 
 times, we wish our readers previously to review what we have 
 already said upon the two species of verbal quantity, the 
 syllabic and the accentual. 3 
 
 It will there appear, that till Greek and Latin degenerated, 
 accentual quantity was hardly known. But though degeneracy 
 spread it through these two languages, yet, with regard to 
 modern languages, it was the best that could be attained. Their 
 harsh and rugged dialects were in few instances suited to the 
 harmonious simplicity of the syllabic measure. 
 
 And yet, though this more perfect and elegant prosody was 
 rarely attainable, so strong was the love of mankind for rhythm, 
 so connate (if I may so say) with their very being, that metre 
 of some sort was everywhere cultivated, and even these northern 
 tribes had their bards, their minstrels, their troubadours, and 
 the like. 
 
 Now, though in the latter Latinity syllabic quantity was 
 little regarded, and the accentual more frequently supplied its 
 place, they did not esteem even this last always sufficient to 
 mark the measure. An expedient was therefore found, (flattering 
 to the ear, because it had something of harmony,) and this was, 
 to mark the last syllables of different verses with sounds that 
 were similar, so that the ear might not doubt a moment where 
 every verse ended. 
 
 And hence in modern verse these last syllables, which poets 
 of a purer age in a manner neglected, came to claim a peculiar 
 and superior regard, as helping to mark the rhythm through the 
 medium of the rhyme. 
 
 Si sol spendescat Maria purificawfe, 
 
 Major erit glacies post festum, quara fuit ante. b 
 
 a See from p. 408 to p. 413. whether classical or not classical, whether 
 
 b Rhyme is the similitude of sound at blank verse, or rhyme. In short, without 
 
 the ends of two verses. Rhythm is measured rhythm no verse can exist of any species ; 
 
 motion, and exists in verses of every sort, without rhyme they mav, and often do. 
 
516 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Nor was this practised in heroics only, but in trochaics also. 
 
 Suscitavit igitur || deus Hebrseonm 
 Christianos principes, || et robur eorum 
 Vindicare scilicet || sanguinem sanctorum, 
 Subvenire filiis || mortificaforMm. c 
 
 Nay, so fond were those poets of their jingle, that they not 
 only infused it into different verses, but into one and the same 
 verse; making the middle of each verse to rhyme with its end, 
 as well as one verse to rhyme with another. 
 
 Thus, in St. Edmund's epitaph, we read, 
 
 Hie erat Edmundus, anima cum corpore mundus, 
 Quern non immundus potuit pervertere mundus. d 
 
 And again, in those verses transcribed from an old monument, 
 
 Hie sunt con/bssa Bernoldi prassulis ossa ; 
 Laudet cum glossa, dedit hie quia munera grossa. 
 
 To these may be added the inscription upon the three wise 
 men of the East, buried (as they tell us) at Cologn in the West. 
 
 Corpora sanctorum recubant hie terna magorum, 
 Ex his sublatum nihil est, alibive locatum. 
 
 Verses of this sort, of which there are innumerable still ex- 
 tant, have been called Leonine verses, from Leo, a writer of the 
 twelfth century, who is supposed to have been their inventor. 
 But this should seem a mistake, if the inscription upon the image 
 of a king Dagobert, who lived in the seventh century, be of the 
 same period with that monarch. 
 
 Fingitur hac specie, bonitatis odore refertus, 
 Istius ecclesise fundator, rex Dagobertus. 
 
 It is true, there are verses of this sort to be found even among 
 poets, the first in classical rank. 
 Thus Virgil : 
 
 Trajicit : i, verbis virtutem illude superbis. 
 
 Thus Horace : 
 
 Fratrem mserentis, rapto de fratre dolentis. 
 
 Thus even Homer himself: 
 
 'E/c y&p KprjTAflN ysvos fv-^ofjion 
 
 The difference seems to have been, the rhymes, falling from 
 these superior geniuses, fell (it was probable) accidentally : with 
 the latter race of poets they were the work of labour and design. 
 They may well, indeed, be called works of labour and design, 
 when we reflect on the immense pains which their makers must 
 have taken, where their plan of rhyming was so complicated, as 
 they sometimes made it. 
 
 c Roger Hoveden. Anna!, p. 379. B. d Waverly, p. 202. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 517 
 
 Take a singular example of no fewer than three rhymes to 
 each verse. 
 
 Crimina crescere flete ; tepescere jus, decus, aequum; 
 Flete, gemiscite ; denique dicite, dicite mecum^ 
 Qui regis omnia, pelle tot impia, surge, perimus, 
 Nos, Deus, aspice, ne sine simplice lamine simus. 
 
 Fabricius, who gives these verses, remarks, that they were 
 written in the dactylic Leonine ; that is, they had every foot a 
 dactyl, excepting the last, and contained three rhymes in each 
 verse, two within the verse itself, and one referring to the verse 
 that followed. He adds, that their author, Bernardus Mor- 
 lanensis, a monk of the eleventh century, composed no less than 
 three books of this wonderful versification. What leisure must 
 he have had, and how was it employed ? e 
 
 Before we quit the subject of rhyme we may add, that rhyme 
 was used not only by the Latin, but by the Arabian poets, as we 
 may see by a tract upon the Arabic prosody, subjoined by Dr. 
 Pococke to his Carmen Togra'i. 
 
 Rhyme, however, was not so strictly followed, but that some- 
 times they quitted it. In the following heroics, the monk Odilo, 
 addressing himself to his friend Hucbaldus, appears so warm 
 in his wishes, as not only to forget rhyme, but even classical 
 quantity. 
 
 Hucbaldo Sopho Sophia sit semper arnica ; 
 Hucbaldus Sophus Sophiae semper amicus : 
 Exposco hoc Odilo, peccator cernuus ego. 
 
 This genius (over whose verses I have occasionally marked 
 the accentual quantity in contradistinction to the syllabic) is 
 supposed to have written in the tenth century. 
 
 Others, rejecting rhyme, wrote elegiacs ; as that monk who 
 celebrated Hildigrim and Halabuldus ; the one for building a 
 church, the other for consecrating it. 
 
 Hildigrim struxit ; Halabaldus episcopus archi 
 Sanctificavit : honor certus utrumque manet. 
 
 In the first of these two verses the word arcJii-episcopus is, by 
 a pleasant transposition, made into a dactyl and spondee, so as 
 to complete the hexameter/ 
 
 It was upon these principles of versification, that the early 
 poets of this era wrote much bad verse in much bad Latin. At 
 length they tried their skill in their vernacular tongues, intro- 
 ducing here also their rhyme and their accentual quantity, as 
 they had done before in Latin. 
 
 Through the southern parts of France, the troubadours (al- 
 ready mentioned g ) composed sonnets in the Provencal tongue. 
 
 e See Fabric. Biblioth. mod. et infim. de I'Eclaircissements a THistoire de France 
 
 aetatis, under the word, Bernardus Mor- par I'Abbe' de Beuf, p. 115. p. 106. 
 lanensis. * See before, p. 502. 
 
 f See Recueil de divers Ecrits pour servir 
 
518 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Soon after them, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio wrote poems in 
 Italian ; and soon after these, Chaucer flourished in England. 
 From Chaucer, through Rowley, we pass to lords Surry and 
 Dorset ; from them to Spencer, Shakspeare, and Johnson ; after 
 whom came Milton, Waller, Dryden, Pope, and a succession of 
 geniuses down to the present time. 
 
 The three Italian poets we have mentioned, were capital in 
 their kind, being not only strong and powerful in sentiment, but, 
 what is more surprising, elegant in their diction, at a time when 
 the languages of England and France were barbarous and un- 
 polished. This, in English, is evident from our countryman, 
 Chaucer, who, even to an English reader, appears so uncouth, 
 and who yet wrote later than the latest of these three. 
 
 It must, however, be acknowledged, that, if we except his 
 language, for learning and wit he appears equal to the best of 
 his contemporaries, and, I may add, even of his successors. 
 
 I cannot omit the following sample of his literature in the 
 Frankelein's Tale. In that poem, the fair Dorigen is made to 
 lament the absence of her much-loved Arveragus ; and, as she 
 sits upon a cliff, beholding the sea and the formidable rocks, she 
 breaks forth with terror into the following exclamation. 
 
 Eternal God ! that thro' thy purveyaunce 
 Leadest the world by certain governaunce ; 
 In idle, as men sayn, ye nothing make. 
 But, Lord, those griesly, fendly, rockis, blake, 
 That seem rathir a foul confusion 
 Of work, than any fair creatidn 
 Of such a perfect God, wise, and full stable : 
 Why have ye wrought this work unreasonable ? 
 
 Dorigen, after more expostulation of the same sort, adds, 
 
 I wote well clerkis woll sayn, as 'hem leste, 
 By arguments, that " All is for the beste," 
 Tho' I ne cannot well the causes know 
 But thilkd God, that make the winds to blow, 
 Ay keep my Lord, &c. 
 
 There is an elegant pathos in her thus quitting those deeper 
 speculations, to address a prayer for the safety of her Arveragus. 
 The verse, before quoted, 
 
 To lead the world by certain governaunce, 
 
 is not only a philosophical idea, but philosophically expressed. 
 The next verse, 
 
 In idle, as men sayn, ye nothing make, 
 
 is a sentiment translated literally from Aristotle, and which that 
 philosopher so much approved as often to repeat it. 
 
 Take one example : 
 
 'O e @eb$ Kal ^ ^ucrt? ovbev yLtar^v TTOIOVCTLV : "God and 
 nature make nothing in vain." g 
 
 s Arist. de Cselo, 1. i. c. 4. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 519 
 
 As to what follows, I mean that speculation of learned men, 
 that " All is for the best," this, too, we meet in the same philo- 
 sopher, annexed (as it were) to the sentiment just alleged. 
 
 f JEf 0ucrt5 ov6ev $r}/j,{,ovp<yei fjLaTrjv, waTrep eipirjrai Trporepov, 
 a\\a Trdvra TT/JO? TO fteknov IK TWV evBe^o/jievcov : " Nature 
 (as has been said before) creates nothing in vain, but all things 
 for the best, out of the contingent materials." 11 
 
 It may be fairly doubted, whether Chaucer took this from the 
 original Greek ; it is more probable he took it from the Latin 
 version of the Spanish Arabic version, which Latin was then 
 current, and admitted through Western Europe for the Ari- 
 stotelic text. 
 
 The same thought occurs in one of our most elegant modern 
 ballads ; though whence the poet took it, I pretend not to de- 
 cide. 
 
 How can they say, that nature 
 
 Has nothing made in vain ? 
 Why then beneath the water 
 
 Do hideous rocks remain ? 
 Those rocks no eyes discover, 
 
 Which lurk beneath the deep, 
 To wreck, &c. 
 
 But to return to Chaucer. 
 
 If in the tale we have just quoted, if in the tale of the 
 Nun's Priest, and in many other of his works, there are these 
 sprinklings of philosophy ; if to these we add the extensive 
 knowledge of history, mythology, and various other subjects, 
 which he everywhere shews : we may fairly, I think, arrange 
 him among our learned poets, and take from him an estimate of 
 the literature of the times, as far at least as possessed by men of 
 superior education. 
 
 After having mentioned (as we have lately done) Petrarch 
 and some of the Italians, I can by no means omit their country- 
 man Sannazarius, who nourished in the century following, and 
 whose eclogues in particular, formed on the plan of fishing life 
 instead of pastoral, cannot be enough admired both for their 
 Latinity and their sentiment. His fourth eclogue, called Pro- 
 teus, written in imitation of Virgil's eclogue called Silenus, may 
 be justly valued as a master-piece in its kind. The following 
 slight sketch of it is submitted to the reader. 
 
 " Two fishermen sailing during a dark night from Caprea into 
 the bay of Naples, as they silently approach the promontory of 
 Minerva, hear Proteus from the shore, singing a marvellous 
 narrative of the strange events of which those regions had been 
 the well-known scene. He concludes with the unhappy fate 
 of the poet's friend and patron, Frederic, king of Naples, 
 who, having been expelled his kingdom, died an exile in 
 France." 
 
 h De Animal, inccssu, c. 12. 
 
 
520 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 If I might be pardoned a digression, it should be on the ele- 
 gance of the numbers by which this unfortunate part of the tale 
 is introduced. 
 
 Addit tristia fata, et te, quern luget ademptum 
 Italia, &c. 
 
 The omission of the usual caesura, in the first of these verses, 
 naturally throws it into that anapaestic rhythm, so finely suited 
 to solemn subjects. 
 
 Addit tristia fata et te quern, &C.' 
 
 It may be observed, also, in how pathetic, and yet, withal, in 
 how manly a way Sannazarius concludes. Frederic died in a 
 remote region, and was buried where he died. " It is pleasing," 
 says Proteus, " for a man's remains to rest in his own country, 
 and yet for a tomb every land suffices."" 
 
 Grata quies patriae, sed et omnis terra sepulcrum. 
 
 Those who know how much sooner Italy emerged from bar- 
 barity than the rest of Europe, may choose to place Sannazarius 
 rather at the beginning of a good age, than at the conclusion of 
 a bad one. Their opinion, perhaps, is not without foundation, 
 and may be extended to Fracastorius, Politian, Poggius, and 
 many other eloquent authors, which that century then produced, 
 when eloquence was little known elsewhere. 
 
 Before we quit poetry, we shall say something upon its 
 lowest species, upon acrostics, chronograms, wings, altars, eggs, 
 axes, fec. 
 
 These were the poor inventions of men devoid of taste, and 
 yet absurdly aiming at fame by these despicable whims. Quitting 
 the paths of simplicity and truth, (of which it is probable they 
 were wholly ignorant,) they aspired, like rope-dancers, to merit, 
 which only lay in the difficulty. The wings, the axes, the 
 altars, &c. were wretched forms into which they tortured poor 
 words, just as poor trees in our gardens were formerly mangled 
 into giants, flower-pots, peacocks, obelisks, &c. 
 
 Whoever remembers that acrostics, in versification, are formed 
 from the initial letter of every verse, will see the force and in- 
 genuity of the following description. 
 
 Firm and compact, in three fair columns wove, 
 O'er the smooth plain the bold acrostics move : 
 High o'er the rest the tow'ring leaders rise, 
 With limbs gigantic and superior size. 
 
 Chronograms, by a different conceit, were not confined to 
 initial letters, but, as they were to describe dates, the numeral 
 letters, in whatever part of the word they stood, were distin- 
 guished from other letters by being written in capitals. 
 
 1 rio-ma flea M jitot ro'Se x^ - Horn. Odyss. E. 215. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 521 
 
 For example : I would mark by a chronogram the date 1506. 
 I take for the purpose the following words, 
 
 Feriam sidera vertice ; 
 
 and by a strange elevation of capitals, I compel even Horace to 
 give me the date required. 
 
 FeriaM siDera Vertice MDVI. 
 
 The ingenious author, whom I have quoted before, thus ad- 
 mirably describes this second species of folly. 
 
 Not thus the looser chronograms prepare ; 
 Careless their troops, undisciplined to war ; 
 With rank irregular, confused they stand, 
 The chieftains mingling with the vulgar band. 
 
 If I have dwelt too long on these trifles, it is not so much for 
 their merit, (of which they have none,) as for those elegant lines 
 in which they are so well described. 
 
 On the same motive I conclude this chapter with selecting a 
 few more lines from the same ingenious poem. 
 
 To join these squadrons, o'er the champain came 
 A numerous race, of no ignoble name ; 
 Riddle, and rebus, riddle's dearest son, 
 And false conundrum, and insidious pun ; 
 Fustian, who scarcely deigns to tread the ground, 
 And Rondeau, wheeling in repeated round. 
 
 On their fair standards, by the winds display'd, 
 Eggs, altars, wings, pipes, axes were pourtrayed.J 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PAUL THE VENETIAN, AND SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE, GREAT TRAVELLERS 
 
 SIR JOHN FORTESCUE, A GREAT LAWYER HIS VALUABLE BOOK 
 
 ADDRESSED TO HIS PUPIL THE PRINCE OF WALES KING^S COLLEGE 
 
 IN CAMBRIDGE FOUNDED BY HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 
 IT was during this middle period lived those celebrated travel- 
 lers, Paul the Venetian, and our countryman, sir John Man- 
 deville. 
 
 We have mentioned Chaucer before them, though he flourished 
 after both ; for Chaucer lived till past the year 1400, Paul began 
 his travels in the year 1272, and Mandeville began his in the 
 year 1322. The reason is, Chaucer has been arranged with the 
 poets already spoken of. 
 
 Marc Paul, who is the first writer of any note concerning the 
 Eastern countries, travelled into those remote regions as far as 
 
 J Sec the Scribleriad (book ii. 151, &c.) of my valuable friend, Mr. Cambridge of 
 Twickenham. 
 
522 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 the capital and court of Cublai Chan, the sixth from that tre- 
 mendous conqueror, Jingiz Chan. k Paul is a curious and minute 
 relator of what he saw there. 
 
 He describes the capital, Cambalu, to be a square, walled in, 
 of six miles on every side, having to each side three gates, and 
 the several streets rectilinear, and crossing at right angles. 
 
 The imperial palace, he tells us, was inclosed within a square 
 wall of a mile on every side, and was magnificently adorned 
 with gilding and pictures. It was a piece of state, that through 
 the grand or principal gate no one could enter but the emperor 
 himself. 
 
 Within the walls of this square there were extensive lawns, 
 adorned with trees, and stocked with wild animals, stags, goats, 
 fallow deer, &c. not to mention a river, which formed a lake, 
 filled with the finest fish. 
 
 Besides this, at a league's distance from the palace, he de- 
 scribes a small mountain, or hill, planted with evergreens, in cir- 
 cumference about a mile. " Here (he tells us) the emperor had 
 all the finest trees that could be procured brought to him, em- 
 ploying his elephants for that purpose, as the trees were ex- 
 tracted with their roots. 
 
 " The mountain, from its verdure, Was called the Green 
 Mountain. On its summit stood a fine palace, distinguished 
 also by its green colour, where he (the great Chan) often retired 
 to enjoy himself." l 
 
 Speaking of the person of Cublai, the then monarch, he thus 
 describes him. 
 
 " He is remarkably handsome ; of a moderate stature ; neither 
 too corpulent, nor too lean ; having a countenance ruddy and 
 fair ; large eyes ; a beautiful nose ; and all the lineaments of 
 his body formed in due proportion."" 1 
 
 We here quit our traveller, only observing, as we conclude, 
 that learned men have imagined this Cambalu to be Pekin in 
 China, founded there by Jingiz Chan, soon after he had con- 
 quered it. 
 
 When we consider the immense power of this mighty con- 
 queror, who in a manner subdued the vast tract of Asia, we 
 are the less difficult in believing such marvellous relations. The 
 city, the palace, and the territory around, teach us what was 
 
 k See Abulpharagius, from p. 281 to 306. For the imperial palace, lawns adjoining, 
 
 1 The preceding extracts are taken from and the Green Mountain, see p. 66, 67. 1. 
 
 a Latin edition of Paulus Venetus, pub- ii. c. 9. 
 
 lished, in a small quarto, Colonise Branden- m Rex Cublai est homo admodum pulcher, 
 
 burgicae, ex officina Georgii Schulzii, anno statura mediocri, non nimis pinguis, nee 
 
 1679. nimis macilentus, faciem habens rubicun- 
 
 As the book is not rare, nor the style dam atque candidam, oculos magnos, nasum 
 
 curious, we have only given the several pulchrum, et omnia corporis lineamenta 
 
 pages by way of reference. debita proportione consistentia. Mar. Pauli, 
 
 For the capital, Cambalu, see p. 68. 1. ii. 1. ii. c. 8. p. 65. , 
 c. 10. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 523 
 
 the taste of him and his family, whose boundless empire could 
 admit of nothing minute. 
 
 It is, too, an additional argument for credibility, that though the 
 whole is vast, yet nothing appears either foolish, or impossible. 
 
 One thing is worthy of notice, that though Paul resided in 
 China so long, he makes no mention of the celebrated wall. 
 Was this forgetfulness ? or was it not then erected ? 
 
 As to our countryman, sir John Mandeville, though he did 
 not travel so far as Marc Paul, he travelled into many parts of 
 Asia and Africa ; and, after having lived in those countries for 
 thirty- three years, died at Liege, in the year 1371. 
 
 He wrote his travels in three languages, Latin, French, and 
 English ; from the last of which languages we quote, taking the 
 liberty, in a few instances, to modernise the words, though not 
 in the minutest degree to change the meaning. 
 
 We confine ourselves, for brevity, to a single fact. 
 
 Travelling through Macedonia, he tells us as follows: "In 
 this country was Aristotle born ; in a city that men call 
 Strageris," a little from the city of Tragie, or Trakys ; and at 
 Strageris is Aristotle buried ; and there is an altar at his tomb, 
 where they make a great feast every year, as though he was a 
 saint. Upon this altar the lords (or rulers) hold their great 
 councils and assemblies, for they hope, that, through the inspira- 
 tion of God and of him, they shall have the better counsel." 
 
 Such was the veneration (for it was more than honour) paid 
 by the Stagirites to their countryman, more than eighteen 
 hundred years after his death. p 
 
 From these times we pass over the triumphant reign of Henry 
 the Fifth (a reign rather of action than of letters) to that of his 
 unfortunate son. This was a period disgraced by unsuccessful 
 wars abroad, and by sanguinary disorders at home. The king 
 himself met an untimely end, and so did his hopeful and high- 
 spirited son, the prince of Wales. Yet did not even these times 
 keep one genius from emerging, though plunged by his rank 
 into their most tempestuous part. By this I mean sir John 
 Fortescue, chancellor of England, and tutor to the young prince, 
 just mentioned. As this last office was a trust of the greatest 
 importance, so he discharged it not only with consummate 
 wisdom, but (what was more) with consummate virtue. 
 
 His tract in praise of the laws of England, q is written with 
 
 "Its ancient name in Greek was 2ra- Monboddo, which work he styles Ancient 
 
 7eipa, whence Aristotle was often called, Metaphysics, published in quarto at Edin- 
 
 by way of eminence, the Stagirite, as being burg, 1779. 
 
 a citizen there. 1 This book, which he styles De Laudibus 
 
 See Mandeville's Voyages, chap. 2. Legum Angliae, is written in dialogue, be- 
 
 P Those who desire a taste of this great tween himself and the young prince his 
 
 man's philosophy in English, may find their pupil, and was originally in Latin. The 
 
 curiosity amply gratified in the last work great Selden thought it worthy of a com- 
 
 of that learned and acute Grecian, lord mcntary ; and since that it has been pub- 
 
524 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 the noblest view that man ever wrote ; written to inspire his 
 pupil with a love of the country he was to govern, by shewing 
 him, that to govern by those admirable laws, would make him 
 a far greater prince than the most unlimited despotism/ 
 
 This he does not only prove by a detail of particular laws, 
 but by an accurate comparison between the state of England 
 and France, one of which he makes a land of liberty, the other 
 of servitude. His thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth chapters upon 
 this subject are invaluable, and should be read by every English- 
 man, who honours that name. 
 
 Through these and the other chapters, we perceive an in- 
 teresting truth, which is, that the capital parts of our constitu j 
 tion, the trial by juries, the abhorrence of tortures, the sovereignty 
 of parliament as well in the granting of money as in the making 
 and repealing of laws ; I say, that all these, and many other 
 inestimable privileges, existed then, as they do now ; were not 
 new projects of the day, but sacred forms, to which ages had 
 given a venerable sanction. 8 
 
 As for the literature of this great man, (which is more im- 
 mediately to our purpose,) he appears to have been a reader of 
 Aristotle, Diodorus Siculus, Cicero, Quinctilian, Seneca, Vege- 
 tius, Boethius, and many other ancients ; to have been not un- 
 informed in the authors and history of later ages ; to have been 
 deeply knowing, not only in the laws of his own country, (where 
 he attained the highest dignity they could bestow,) but in the 
 Roman, or civil law, which he holds to be far inferior ; * we must 
 add to this, a masterly insight into the state and policy of the 
 neighbouring nations. 
 
 Perhaps a person of rank, even at present, need not wish to 
 be better instituted, if he had an ambition to soar above the 
 fashionable polish. 
 
 We must not conclude without observing, that the taste for 
 gothic architecture seems never to have been so elegant as during 
 this period: witness that exquisite structure, built by Henry 
 the Sixth ; I mean, the chapel of King's college in Cambridge. 
 
 listed and enriched with additional notes s For trial by juries, see of this author 
 
 by Mr. Gregor. A new edition was given chap. xx. xxi. xxii. For his abhorrence of 
 
 ann. 1775, and the Latin text subjoined. torture, see chap.xxiii. For the sovereignty 
 
 r See of Fortescue's work, chap. ix. and of parliament, see chap. ix. xiii. xviiii. xxxvi. 
 
 xiii. and, above all, chap. xiv. where he particularly p. 118 of the English version, 
 
 tells us, the possibility of doing amiss (which For the high antiquity of our laws and 
 
 is the only privilege an absolute prince constitution, see chap. xvii. 
 
 enjoys above a limited one) can be called l The inferiority of the Roman law to 
 
 an addition of power, no other, than we so our own, is a doctrine he strongly inculcates, 
 
 call a possibility to decay, or to die. See See, above all, chap. ix. xix, &c., also chap, 
 
 p. 4 1 of the English version. xxxiv. where he nobly reprobates, as he 
 
 It is worth observing that Fortescue, in had done before in chap, ix, that infamous 
 
 his dialogue, gives these fine sentiments maxim, Quod principi placuit, legis habet 
 
 to the young prince, after he has heard vigorem ; a maxim well becoming an 
 
 much and due reasoning upon the excellence Oriental caliph, but hardly decent even in a 
 
 of our constitution. See chap, xxxiv. p. 119. degenerate Roman lawgiver. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 525 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CONCERNING NATURAL BEAUTY ITS IDEA THE SAME IN ALL TIMES 
 
 THESSALIAN TEMPLE TASTE OF VIRGIL AND HORACE OF MILTON, 
 
 IN DESCRIBING PARADISE EXHIBITED OF LATE YEARS FIRST IN 
 
 PICTURES THENCE TRANSFERRED TO ENGLISH GARDENS NOT 
 
 WANTING TO THE ENLIGHTENED FEW OF THE MIDDLE AGE PROVED 
 
 IN LELAND, PETRARCH, AND SANNAZARIUS COMPARISON BETWEEN 
 
 THE YOUNGER CYRUS AND PHILIP LE BEL OF FRANCE. 
 
 BUT let us pass for a moment from the elegant works of art to 
 the more elegant works of nature. The two subjects are so 
 nearly allied, that the same taste usually relishes them both. 
 
 Now there is nothing more certain, than that the face of 
 inanimate nature has been at all times captivating. The vulgar, 
 indeed, look no further than to the scenes of culture, because all 
 their views merely terminate in utility. They only remark, 
 that it is fine barley ; that it is rich clover ; as an ox or an ass, 
 if they could speak, would inform us. But the liberal have 
 nobler views ; and though they give to culture its due praise, they 
 can be delighted with natural beauties, where culture was never 
 known. 
 
 Ages ago they have celebrated, with enthusiastic rapture, " a 
 deep retired vale, with a river rushing through it ; a vale having 
 its sides formed by two immense and opposite mountains, and 
 those sides diversified by woods, precipices, rocks, and romantic 
 caverns. 1 ' Such was the scene produced by the river Peneus, 
 as it ran between the mountains Olympus and Ossa, in that 
 well-known vale, the Thessalian Tempe. u 
 
 Virgil and Horace, the first for taste among the Romans, 
 appear to have been enamoured with beauties of this character. 
 Horace prayed for a villa where there was a garden, a rivulet, 
 and above these a little grove. 
 
 Hortus ubi, et tecto vicinus jugis aquae fons, 
 
 Et paulura silvae super his foret Sat. vi. 2. 
 
 Virgil wished to enjoy rivers, and woods, and to be hid under 
 immense shade in the cool valleys of Mount HsBmus : 
 
 ! qui me gelidis in vallibus Haemi 
 Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra ? Georg. ii. 486. 
 
 The great elements of this species of beauty, according to 
 
 u Est nemus Ha:moni(B, prcerupta quod Dejectuque yravi, &c. Ovid. Met. i. 568. 
 
 undique daudit A fuller and more ample account of this 
 
 Silva: vacant Tempe. Per quee Pen'cus beautiful spot may be found in the first 
 
 ab imo chapter of the third book of JElian's Various 
 
 Ejfusus Pindo spumosis volvitur undis, History. 
 
526 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 these principles, were water, wood, and uneven ground ; to 
 which may be added a fourth, that is to say, lawn. It is the 
 happy mixture of these four that produces every scene of 
 natural beauty, as it is a more mysterious mixture of other 
 elements (perhaps as simple, and not more in number) that 
 produces a world or universe. 
 
 Virgil and Horace having been quoted, we may quote, with 
 equal truth, our great countryman, Milton. Speaking of the 
 flowers of Paradise, he calls them flowers 
 
 Which not nice art 
 
 In beds and curious knots, but nature boon 
 Pours forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain. Par. Lost, iv. 245. 
 
 Soon after this he subjoins, 
 
 This was the place 
 A happy rural seat, of various view. 
 
 He explains this variety, by recounting the lawns, the flocks, 
 the hillocks, the valleys, the grots, the waterfalls, the lakes, 
 &c. ; and in another book, describing the approach of Raphael, 
 he informs us, that this divine messenger passed 
 
 Through groves of myrrh, 
 And flow'ring odours, cassia, nard, and balm ; 
 A wilderness of sweets ; for nature here 
 Wanton'd as in her prime, and play'd at will 
 Her virgin-fancies, pouring forth more sweet, 
 Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss. Par. Lost, v. 292. 
 
 The painters in the preceding century seem to have felt the 
 power of these elements, and to have transferred them into their 
 landscapes with such amazing force, that they appear not so 
 much to have followed, as to have emulated nature. Claude de 
 Lorraine, the Poussins, Salvator Rosa, and a few more, may be 
 called superior artists in this exquisite taste. 
 
 Our gardens in the mean time were tasteless and insipid. 
 Those who made them, thought the further they wandered from 
 nature, the nearer they approached the sublime. Unfortunately, 
 where they travelled, no sublime was to be found; and the 
 further they went, the further they left it behind. 
 
 But perfection, alas ! was not the work of a day. Many 
 prejudices were to be removed ; many gradual ascents to be 
 made ; ascents from bad to good, and from good to better, before 
 the delicious amenities of a Claude or a Poussin could be rivalled 
 in a Stour-head, a Hagley, or a Stow ; or the tremendous 
 charms of a Salvator Rosa be equalled in the scenes of a 
 Piercefield or a Mount Edgecumb. 
 
 Not however to forget the subject of our inquiry. Though it 
 was not before the present century that we established a chaster 
 taste ; though our neighbours at this instant are but learning it 
 from us ; and though to the vulgar everywhere it is totally in- 
 comprehensible, (be they vulgar in rank, or vulgar in capacity ;) 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 527 
 
 yet even in the darkest periods we have heen treating, periods 
 when taste is often thought to have been lost, we shall still 
 discover an enlightened few, who were by no means insensible to 
 the power of these beauties. 
 
 How warmly does Leland describe Guy's Cliff; Sannazarius, 
 his villa of Mergilline ; and Petrarch, his favourite Vaucluse 2 
 
 Take Guy's Cliff from Leland in his own old English, mixed 
 with Latin : " It is a place meet for the Muses ; there is sylence ; 
 a praty wood ; antra in vivo saxo, (grottos in the living rock ;) 
 the river roling over the stones with a praty noyse." His Latin 
 is more elegant : Nemusculum ibidem opacum, fontes liquidi et 
 gemmei, prata florida, antra muscosa, rivi levis et per saxa 
 decursus, nee non solitudo et quies Musis amicissima. x 
 
 Mergilline, the villa of Sannazarius near Naples, is thus 
 sketched in different parts of his poems. 
 
 Exciso in scopulo, fluctus unde aurca canos 
 Despiciens, celso se culmine Mergilline 
 Attollit, nautisque procul venientibus offert. 
 
 Sannaz. De partu Virgin, i. 25. 
 
 Rupis ! sacrse, pelagique custos, 
 Villa, Nympharum custos et propinquae 
 
 Doridos 
 
 Tu mihi solos nemorum recessus 
 Das, et heerentes per opaca lauros 
 Saxa : Tu, fontes, Aganippedumque 
 
 Antra recludis. Ejusd. Epigr. i. 2. 
 
 Quseque in primis mihi grata ministrat 
 Otia, Musarumque cavas per saxa latebras, 
 Mergillina ; novos fundunt ubi citria flores, 
 Citria, Medorum sacros referentia lucos. 
 
 Ejusd. De partu Virgin, iii. sub fin. 
 
 De Fontc Mergillino. 
 Est mihi rivo vitreus perenni 
 Fons, arenosum prope littus, unde 
 Saepe descendens sibi nauta rores 
 
 Haurit amicos, &c. Ejusd. Epigr. ii. 36. 
 
 It would be difficult to translate these elegant morsels ; it is 
 sufficient to express what they mean, collectively : " that the 
 villa of Mergillina had solitary woods ; had groves of laurel and 
 citron; had grottos in the rock, with rivulets and springs; and 
 that, from its lofty situation, it looked down upon the sea, and 
 commanded an extensive prospect." 
 
 It is no wonder that such a villa should enamour such an 
 owner. So strong was his affection for it, that when, during the 
 subsequent wars in Italy, it was demolished by the imperial 
 troops, this unfortunate event was supposed to have hastened 
 his end. y 
 
 x See Leland's Itinerary, vol. iv. p. 6G. by Grsevius, in a small edition of some of 
 y So we learn from Paulus Jovius, the the Italian poets, at Amsterdam, in the 
 writer of his life, published" with his poems year 1695. 
 
528 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Vaucluse (Vallis Clausa) the favourite retreat of Petrarch, 
 was a romantic scene, not far from Avignon. 
 
 " It is a valley, having on each hand, as you enter, immense 
 cliffs, but closed up at one of its ends by a semi-circular ridge 
 of them ; from which incident it derives its name. One of the 
 most stupendous of these cliffs stands in the front of the semi- 
 circle, and has at its foot an opening into an immense cavern. 
 Within the most retired and gloomy part of this cavern is a 
 large oval bason, the production of nature, filled with pellucid 
 and unfathomable water ; and from this reservoir issues a river 
 of respectable magnitude, dividing, as it runs, the meadows 
 beneath, and winding through the precipices that impend from 
 above." 2 
 
 This is an imperfect sketch of that spot where Petrarch spent 
 his time with so much delight, as to say, that this alone was life 
 to him, the rest but a state of punishment. 
 
 In the two preceding narratives I seem to see an anticipation 
 of that taste for natural beauty which now appears to nourish 
 through Great Britain in such perfection. It is not to be doubted 
 that the owner of Mergillina would have been charmed with 
 Mount Edgecumb ; and the owner of Vaucluse have been de- 
 lighted with Piercefield. 
 
 When we read in Xenophon, a that the younger Cyrus had 
 with his own hand planted trees for beauty, we are not surprised, 
 though pleased with the story, as the age was polished, and Cyrus 
 an accomplished prince. But when we read that in the begin- 
 ning of the fourteenth century a king of France (Philip le Bell) 
 should make it penal to cut down a tree, qui a este garde pour sa 
 beaulte, " which had been preserved for its beauty ;" though we 
 praise the law, we cannot help being surprised that the prince 
 should at such a period have been so far enlightened. 5 
 
 * See Memoires pour la Vie de Frai^ois tions on the Statutes, chiefly on the ancient, 
 Petrarque, quarto, vol. i. p. 231. 341, 342. &c. p. 7, by the Hon. Mr. Barrington ; a 
 See also Plin. Nat. Hist. 1. xxviii. c. 22. work concerning which it is difficult to de- 
 Seethe (Economics of Xenoph on, where cide, whether it be more entertaining, or 
 this fact is related. more instructive. 
 b See a valuable work, entitled Observa- 
 

 
 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 529 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SUPERIOR LITERATURE AND KNOWLEDGE BOTH OP THE GREEK AND 
 
 LATIN CLERGY, WHENCE BARBARITY AND IGNORANCE OF THE 
 
 LAITY, WHENCE SAMPLES OF LAY-MANNERS, IN A STORY FROM 
 
 ANNA COMNENA'S HISTORY CHURCH AUTHORITY INGENIOUSLY 
 
 EMPLOYED TO CHECK BARBARITY THE SAME AUTHORITY EMPLOYED 
 
 FOR OTHER GOOD PURPOSES TO SAVE THE POOR JEWS TO STOP 
 
 TRIALS BY BATTLE MORE SUGGESTED CONCERNING LAY-MANNERS 
 
 FEROCITY OF THE NORTHERN LAYMEN, WHENCE DIFFERENT CAUSES 
 
 ASSIGNED INVENTIONS DURING THE DARK AGES GREAT, THOUGH 
 
 THE INVENTORS OFTEN UNKNOWN INFERENCE ARISING FROM THESE 
 
 INVENTIONS. 
 
 BEFORE I quit the Latins, I shall subjoin two or three observa- 
 tions on the Europeans in general. 
 
 The superior characters for literature here enumerated, whether 
 in the western or eastern Christendom, (for it is of Christendom 
 only we are now speaking,) were by far the greater part of them 
 ecclesiastics. 
 
 In this number we have selected from among the Greeks the 
 patriarch of Constantinople, Photius ; Michael Psellus ; Eusta- 
 thius and Eustratius, both of episcopal dignity ; Planudes ; car- 
 dinal Bessario. From among the Latins, Venerable Bede ; Ger- 
 bertus, afterwards pope Sylvester the Second ; Ingulphus, abbot 
 of Croyland ; Hildebert, archbishop of Tours ; Peter Abelard ; 
 John of Salisbury, bishop of Chartres ; Roger Bacon ; Francis 
 Petrarch ; many monkish historians ; ^Eneas Sylvius, afterwards 
 pope Pius the Second, &c. 
 
 Something has been already said concerning each of these, 
 and other ecclesiastics. At present we shall only remark, that it 
 was necessary, from their very profession, that they should read 
 and write; accomplishments at that time usually confined to 
 themselves. 
 
 Those of the western church were obliged to acquire some 
 knowledge of Latin; and for Greek, to those of the eastern 
 church it was still (with a few corruptions) their native lan- 
 guage. 
 
 If we add to these preparations their mode of life, which, being 
 attended mostly with a decent competence, gave them immense 
 leisure ; it was not wonderful that, among such a multitude, the 
 more meritorious should emerge, and soar, by dint of genius, above 
 the common herd. Similar effects proceed from similar causes. 
 
 c Those who wish to see more particulars may consult the third part of these In- 
 concerning these learned men, may recur to quiries, in chapters iv. ix. x. xi. xiv. 
 their names in the Index ; or, if he ploaso, 
 
 2M 
 
530 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 The learning of Egypt was possessed by their priests ; who were 
 likewise left from their institution to a life of leisure/ 1 
 
 For the laity, on the other side, who, from their mean educa- 
 tion, wanted all these requisites, they were in fact no better than 
 what Dry den calls them, "a tribe of Issachar ;" a race from their 
 cradle bred in barbarity and ignorance. 
 
 A sample of these illustrious laymen may be found in Anna 
 Comnena's History of her father Alexius, who was Grecian em- 
 peror in the eleventh century, when the first crusade arrived at 
 Constantinople. So promiscuous a rout of rude adventurers could 
 not fail of giving umbrage to the Byzantine court, which was 
 stately and ceremonious, and conscious withal of its internal 
 debility. 
 
 After some altercation, the court permitted them to pass into 
 Asia through the imperial territories, upon their leaders taking 
 an oath of fealty to the emperor. 
 
 What happened at the performance of this ceremonial, is thus 
 related by the fair historian above mentioned. 
 
 " All the commanders being assembled, and Godfrey of Bul- 
 loign himself among the rest, as soon as the oath was finished, 
 one of the counts had the audaciousness to seat himself beside 
 the emperor upon his throne. Earl Baldwin, one of their own 
 people, approaching, took the count by the hand, made him rise 
 from the throne, and rebuked him for his insolence. 
 
 " The count rose, but made no reply, except it was in his own 
 unknown jargon to mutter abuse upon the emperor. 
 
 " When all things were^despatched, the emperor sent for this 
 man, and demanded, ' who he was, whence he came, and of what 
 lineage T His answer was as follows: 'I am "a genuine Frank, 
 and in the number of their nobility. One thing I know, which 
 is, that in a certain part of the country I came from, and in a 
 place where three ways meet, there stands an ancient church, 
 where every one who has a desire to engage in single combat, 
 having put himself into fighting order, comes, and there implores 
 the assistance of the Deity, and then waits in expectation of 
 some one that will dare attack him. On this spot I myself waited 
 a long time, expecting and seeking some one that would arrive 
 and fight me. But the man that would dare this was no where 
 to be found. 1 e 
 
 d Aristotle, speaking of Egypt, informs us, Chevalerie, will perceive that the much-ad- 
 'EKC? ybp 7?(/>ei'0T7 <rxoA.ae/ rb rcav fcpeW mired Don Quixote is not an imaginary 
 eOvos^ " For there (meaning in Egypt) the character, but a character drawn after the 
 tribe of priests were left to lead a life of real manners of the times. It is true, in- 
 leisure." Arist. Metaph. 1. i. c. 1. deed, the character is somewhat heightened ; 
 
 e Those who attend to this story, and but even here the witty author has con- 
 
 who have perused any of the histories of trived to make it probable, by ingeniously 
 
 chivalry, in particular an ingenious French adding a certain mixture of insanity, 
 treatise upon the subject, in two small These romantic heroes were not wholly 
 
 volumes, 8vo. published at Paris in the year extinct even in periods far later than the 
 
 1759, entitled, Memoires sur 1'ancienne crusades. The Chevalier Bayard flourished 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 531 
 
 " The emperor, having heard this strange narrative, replied 
 pleasantly, ' If at the time when you sought war, you could not 
 find it, a season is now coming in which you will find wars 
 enough. I therefore give you this advice : not to place yourself 
 either in the rear of the army, or in the front, but to keep among 
 those who support the centre ; for I have long had knowledge 
 of the Turkish method in their wars.' ) ' nf 
 
 This was one of those counts, or barons, the petty tyrants of 
 western Europe; men, who, when they were not engaged in 
 general wars, (such as the ravaging of a neighbouring kingdom, 
 the massacring of infidels, heretics, &c.) had no other method of 
 filling up their leisure, than, through help of their vassals, by 
 waging war upon one another. 
 
 And here the humanity and wisdom of the church cannot 
 enough be admired, when by her authority (which was then 
 mighty) she endeavoured to shorten that scene of bloodshed, 
 which she could not totally prohibit. The truce of God (a name 
 given it purposely to render the measure more solemn) enjoined 
 these ferocious beings, under the terrors of excommunication, not 
 to fight from Wednesday evening to Monday morning, out of 
 reverence to the mysteries accomplished on the other four days ; 
 the ascension on Thursday, the crucifixion on Friday, the descent 
 to hell on Saturday, and the resurrection on Sunday. 8 
 
 I hope a further observation will be pardoned, when I 
 add, that the same humanity prevailed during the fourteenth 
 century, and that the terrors of church power were then held 
 forth with an intent equally laudable. A dreadful plague at 
 that period desolated all Europe. The Germans, with no better 
 reason than their own senseless superstition, imputed this ca- 
 lamity to the Jews, who then lived among them in great opu- 
 lence and splendour. Many thousands of these unhappy people 
 were inhumanly massacred, till the pope benevolently interfered, 
 and prohibited by the severest bulls so mad and sanguinary a 
 proceeding. 11 
 
 I could not omit two such salutary exertions of church power, 
 as they both occur within the period of this inquiry. I might 
 add a third, I mean the opposing and endeavouring to check 
 that absurdest of all practices, the trial by battle, which Spelman 
 expressly tells us that the church in all ages condemned. 1 
 
 It must be confessed, that the fact just related concerning the 
 unmannered count, at the court of Constantinople, is rather 
 
 under Francis the First of France, and lord and having the several years marked in the 
 
 Herbert of Cherbury under James and course of the narrative. Go to the years 
 
 Charles the First of England. 1027, 1031, 1041, 1068, 1080. 
 
 f See Anna Comnena's History of her h See the church histories about the 
 
 Father, fol. Gr. Lat. p. 300. middle of the fourteenth century, and Pe- 
 
 s See any of the church histories of the trarch's Life. 
 
 time, in particular an ingenious French ' Truculentum morem in omni aevo acriter 
 
 book, entitled Histoire Ecclesiastique, in insectarunt theologi, &c. See before, p. 455. 
 two volumes, 12mo. digested into annals, 
 
532 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 against the order of chronology, for it happened during the first 
 crusades. It serves however to shew the manners of the Latin, 
 or Western laity, in the beginning of that holy war. They did 
 not, in a succession of years, grow better, but worse. 
 
 It was a century after, that another crusade, in their march 
 against infidels, sacked this very city, deposed the then emperor, 
 and committed devastations which no one would have com- 
 mitted, but the most ignorant as well as cruel barbarians. If 
 we descend not at present to particulars, it is because we have 
 already quoted so largely from Nicetas in a former chapter. 1 " 
 
 But a question here occurs, easier to propose than to answer. 
 " To what are we to attribute this character of ferocity, which 
 seems to have then prevailed through the laity of Europe 2" 
 
 Shall we say, it was climate, and the nature of the country ? 
 These, we must confess, have in some instances great influence. 
 
 The Indians, seen a few years since by Mr. Byron in the 
 southern parts of South America, were brutal and savage to an 
 enormous excess. One of them, for a trivial offence, murdered 
 his own child, (an infant,) by dashing it against the rocks. The 
 Cyclopes, as described by Homer, were much of the same sort ; 
 each of them gave law to his own family, without regard for one 
 another ; and besides this, they were atheists and man-eaters. 
 
 May we not suppose, that a stormy sea, together with a 
 frozen, barren, and inhospitable shore, might work on the imagina- 
 tion of these Indians, so as, by banishing all pleasing and benign 
 ideas, to fill them with habitual gloom, and a propensity to be 
 cruel ? or might not the tremendous scenes of Etna have had a 
 like effect upon the Cyclopes, who lived amid smoke, thunderings, 
 eruptions of fire, and earthquakes ? If we may believe Fazelius, 
 who wrote upon Sicily about two hundred years ago, the in- 
 habitants near Etna were in his time a similar race. 1 
 
 If therefore these limited regions had such an effect upon their 
 natives, may not a similar effect be presumed from the vast 
 regions of the north ? May not its cold, barren, uncomfortable 
 climate have made its numerous tribes equally rude and savage ? 
 
 If this be not enough, we may add another cause, I mean 
 their profound ignorance. Nothing mends the mind more than 
 culture, to which these emigrants had no desire, either from ex- 
 ample or education, to lend a patient ear. 
 
 We may add a further cause still, which is, that, when they 
 had acquired countries better than their own, they settled under 
 the same military form through which they had conquered ; and 
 were, in fact, when settled, a sort of army after a campaign, 
 quartered upon the wretched remains of the ancient inhabitants, 
 
 k See part iii. chap. 5, and Abulpharagius, that nearly about the same time. See be- 
 
 p. 282, who describes their indiscriminate fore, p. 502. 
 
 cruelty in a manner much resembling that l See Fazelius de Rebus seculis, 1. ii. c. 4. 
 of their brother crusaders at Bezieres, and 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 533 
 
 by whom they were attended under the different names of serfs, 
 vassals, villains, &c. 
 
 It was not likely the ferocity of these conquerors should abate 
 with regard to their vassals, whom, as strangers, they were more 
 likely to suspect than to love. 
 
 It was not likely it should abate with regard to one another, 
 when the neighbourhood of their castles, and the contiguity of 
 their territories, must have given occasions (as we learn from 
 history) for endless altercation. But this we leave to the learned 
 in feudal tenures. 
 
 We shall add to the preceding remarks one more, somewhat 
 singular, and yet perfectly different ; which is, that though the 
 darkness in Western Europe, during the period here mentioned, 
 was (in scripture language) a darkness that might be felt, yet is 
 it surprising that, during a period so obscure, many admirable 
 inventions found their way into the world; I mean such as 
 clocks, telescopes, paper, gunpowder, the mariner's needle, print- 
 ing, and a number here omitted." 1 
 
 It is surprising, too, if we consider the importance of these 
 arts, and their extensive utility, that it should be either un- 
 known, or at least doubtful, by whom they were invented. 
 
 A lively fancy might almost imagine, that every art, as it was 
 wanted, had suddenly started forth, addressing those that sought 
 it, as .ZEneas did his companions : 
 
 Coram, quern quaeritis, adsum. Virg. 
 
 And yet, fancy apart, of this we may be assured, that though 
 the particular inventors may unfortunately be forgotten, the in- 
 ventions themselves are clearly referable to man ; to that subtle 
 and active principle, human wit, or ingenuity. 
 
 Let me then submit the following query : 
 
 If the human mind be as truly of divine origin as every other 
 part of the universe, and if every other part of the universe bear 
 testimony to its Author ; do not the inventions above mentioned 
 give us reason to assert, that God, in the operations of man, 
 never leaves himself without a witness ? 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OPINIONS ON PAST AGES AND THE PRESENT CONCLUSION ARISING 
 
 FROM THE DISCUSSION OF THESE OPINIONS CONCLUSION OF THE 
 
 WHOLE. 
 
 AND now having done with the middle age, we venture to say a 
 word upon the present. 
 
 m See two ingenious writers on this sub- ribus ; and Pancirollus, De Rebus perditis 
 ject, Polydore Virgil, De Rerum Invento- et inventis. 
 
534 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Every past age has in its turn been a present age. This, in- 
 deed, is obvious, but this is not all ; for every past age, when 
 present, has been the object of abuse. Men have been repre- 
 sented by their contemporaries not only as bad, but degenerate; 
 as inferior to their predecessors both in morals and bodily 
 powers. 
 
 This is an opinion so generally received, that Virgil, (in con- 
 formity to it,) when he would express former times, calls them. 
 simply better, as if the term better implied former of course. 
 
 Hie genus antiquum Teucri, pulcherrima proles, 
 
 Magnanimi heroes, nati melioribus annis. ./En. vi. 648. 
 
 The same opinion is ascribed by Homer to old Nestor, when 
 that venerable chief speaks of those heroes whom he had known 
 in his youth. He relates some of their names Perithous, Dryas, 
 Cseneus, Theseus ; and some also of their exploits as how they 
 had extirpated the savage Centaurs. He then subjoins, 
 
 Kelvoicri $* &j> O(/T*S, 
 Tuv ol vvv fipoToi flffiv iri-)(Q6vioi.) /uo^eotro. 'I A. A. 271. 
 
 " With these no one 
 Of earthly race, as men are now, could fight." 
 
 As these heroes were supposed to exceed in strength those of 
 the Trojan war, so were the heroes of that period to exceed 
 those that came after. Hence, from the time of the Trojan war 
 to that of Homer, we learn that human strength was decreased 
 by a complete half. 
 
 Thus the same Homer : 
 
 'O 8e 
 
 Tu8et5?js, fj.4ya epyov, & ov Svo y' 
 OToi vvv pporoi eiV' 6 5e iuv pea TroAAe Kal olos. 'I\. E. 302. 
 
 " Then grasp'd Tydides in his hand a stone, 
 A bulk immense, which not two men could bear, 
 As men are now, but he alone with ease 
 Hurl'd it." 
 
 Virgil goes further, and tells us, that not twelve men of his 
 time (and those, too, chosen ones) could even carry the stone 
 which Turnus flung. 
 
 Vix illud lecti bis sex cervice subirent, 
 
 Qualia nunc hominum producit corpora tellus : 
 
 Ille manu raptum trepida torquebat in hostem. ./En. xii. 899. 
 
 Thus human strength, which in Homer's time was lessened to 
 half, in Virgil's time was lessened to a twelfth. If strength and 
 bulk (as commonly happens) be proportioned, what pigmies in 
 stature must the men of Virgil's time have been, when their 
 strength, as he informs us, was so far diminished ? A man only 
 eight times as strong, (and not, according to the poet, twelve 
 times,) must, at least, have been between five and six feet 
 higher than they were. 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 535 
 
 But we all know the privilege claimed by poets and painters. 
 
 It is in virtue of this privilege that Horace, when he mentions 
 the moral degeneracies of his contemporaries, asserts, that " their 
 fathers were worse than their grandfathers ; that they were 
 worse than their fathers ; and that their children would be 
 worse than they were ;" describing no fewer, after the grand- 
 father, than three successions of degeneracy. 
 
 JEtas parentum, pejor avis, tulit 
 Nos nequiores, mox daturos 
 Progeniem vitiosiorem. Od. 1. iii. 6. 
 
 We need only ask, were this a fact, what would the Romans 
 have been, had they degenerated in this proportion for five or 
 six generations more ? 
 
 Yet Juvenal, subsequent to all this, supposes a similar pro- 
 gression ; a progression in vice and infamy, which was not com- 
 plete till his own times. 
 
 Then truly, we learn, it could go no further. 
 
 Nil erit ulterius, nostris quod moribus addat 
 
 Posteritas, &c. 
 
 Omne in praecipiti vitium stetit, &c. Sat. i. 147, &c. 
 
 But even Juvenal, it seems, was mistaken, bad as we must 
 allow his times to have been. Several centuries after, without 
 regard to Juvenal, the same doctrine was inculcated with greater 
 zeal than ever. 
 
 When the western empire began to decline, and Europe and 
 Africa were ravaged by barbarians, the calamities then hap- 
 pening (and formidable they were) naturally led men, who felt 
 them, to esteem their own age the worst. 
 
 The enemies of Christianity (for Paganism was not then extinct) 
 absurdly turned these calamities to the discredit of the Christian 
 religion, and said the times were so unhappy, because the gods 
 were dishonoured, and the ancient worship neglected. "Orosius, 
 a Christian, did not deny the melancholy facts, but, to obviate 
 an objection so dishonourable to the true religion, he endeavours 
 to prove from historians, both sacred and profane, that calamities 
 of every sort had existed in every age, as many and as great as 
 those that existed then. 
 
 If Orosius has reasoned right, (and his work is an elaborate 
 one,) it follows that the lamentations made then, and made 
 ever since, are no more than natural declamations incidental to 
 man ; declamations naturally arising, let him live at any period, 
 from the superior efficacy of present events upon present sensa- 
 tions. 
 
 There is a praise belonging to the past congenial with this 
 censure ; a praise formed from negatives, and best illustrated by 
 examples. 
 
 Thus a declaimer might assert, (supposing he had a wish, by 
 exalting the eleventh century, to debase the present,) that 
 
536 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 " in the time of the Norman conqueror we had no routs, no 
 ridottos, no Newmarkets, no candidates to bribe, no voters to 
 be bribed," &c. and string on negatives as long as he thought 
 proper. 
 
 What, then, are we to do, when we hear such panegyric? 
 Are we to deny the facts ? That cannot be. Are we to admit 
 the conclusion ? That appears not quite agreeable. No method 
 is left but to compare evils with evils, the evils of 1066 with 
 those of 3780, and see whether the former age had not evils of 
 its own, such as the present never experienced, because they do 
 not now exist. 
 
 We may allow the evils of the present day to be real ; we may 
 even allow, that a much larger number might have been added ; 
 but then we may allege evils, by way of return, felt in those 
 days severely, but now not felt at all. 
 
 " We may assert, we have not now, as happened then, seen 
 our country conquered by foreign invaders; nor our property 
 taken from us, and distributed among the conquerors ; nor our- 
 selves, from freemen, debased into slaves; nor our rights sub- 
 mitted to unknown laws, imported, without our consent, from 
 foreign countries." 
 
 Should the same reasonings be urged in favour of times 
 nearly as remote, and other imputations of evil be brought, 
 which, though well known now, did not then exist ; we may 
 still retort, that " we are no longer now, as they were then, 
 subject to feudal oppression ; nor dragged to war, as they were 
 then, by the petty tyrant of a neighbouring castle ; nor involved 
 in scenes of blood, as they were then, and that for many years, 
 during the uninteresting disputes between a Stephen and a 
 Maud." 
 
 Should the same declaimer pass to a later period, and praise 
 after the same manner the reign of Henry the Second, we have 
 then to retort, "that we have now no Beckets." Should he 
 proceed to Richard the First, " that we have now no holy wars;" 
 to John Lackland and his son Henry, " that we have now no 
 barons' wars;" and with regard to both of them, " that, though 
 we enjoy at this instant all the benefits of Magna Charta, we 
 have not been compelled to purchase them at the price of our 
 blood." 
 
 A series of convulsions brings us, in a few years more, to the 
 wars between the houses of York and Lancaster ; thence, from 
 the fall of the Lancaster family, to the calamities of the York 
 family, and its final destruction in Richard the Third ; thence to 
 the oppressive period of his avaricious successor ; and from him 
 to the formidable reign of his relentless son, when neither the 
 coronet, nor the mitre, nor even the crown, could protect their 
 wearers ; and when (to the amazement of posterity) those by 
 whom church authority was denied, and those by whom it was 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 537 
 
 maintained, were dragged together to Smithfield, and burnt at 
 one and the same stake." 
 
 The reign of his successor was short and turbid, and soon 
 followed by the gloomy one of a bigoted woman. 
 
 We stop here, thinking we have instances enough. Those 
 who hear any portion of these past times praised for the in- 
 vidious purpose above mentioned, may answer by thus retorting 
 the calamities and crimes which existed at the time praised, 
 but which now exist no more. A true estimate can never be 
 formed, but in consequence of such a comparison ; for if we drop 
 the laudable, and allege only the bad, or drop the bad, and 
 allege only the laudable, there is no age, whatever its real 
 character, but may be made to pass at pleasure, either for a 
 good one, or a bad one. 
 
 If I may be permitted in this place to add an observation, it 
 shall be an observation founded upon many years experience. 
 I have often heard declamations against the present race of 
 men ; declamations against them, as if they were the worst of 
 animals; treacherous, false, selfish, envious, oppressive, tyran- 
 nical, &c. This (I say) I have often heard from grave de- 
 claimers, and have heard the sentiment delivered with a kind of 
 oracular pomp. Yet I never heard any such declaimer say, 
 (what would have been sincere, at least, if it had been nothing 
 more,) " I prove my assertion by an example where I cannot 
 err; I assert myself to be the wretch I have been just 
 describing." 
 
 So far from this, it would be perhaps dangerous to ask him, 
 even in a gentle whisper, " You have been talking, with much 
 confidence, about certain profligate beings. Are you certain, 
 that you yourself are not one of the number I" 
 
 I hope I may be pardoned for the following anecdote, although 
 compelled in relating it to make myself a party. 
 
 " Sitting once in my library with a friend, a worthy but me- 
 lancholy man, I read him out of a book the following passage. 
 
 " ' In our time it may be spoken more truly than of old, that 
 virtue is gone ; the church is under foot ; the clergy is in error ; 
 the devil reigneth,' &c. My friend interrupted me with a sigh, 
 and said, ' Alas ! how true ! How just a picture of the times !' 
 I asked him, 'Of what times f ' Of what times V replied he, with 
 emotion ; ' Can you suppose any other but the present I Were 
 any before ever so bad, so corrupt, so,' &c. ? ' Forgive me,' said 
 I, ' for stopping you : the times I am reading of are older than 
 you imagine ; the sentiment was delivered above four hundred 
 years ago; its author sir John Mandeville, who died in 1371.'" 
 
 n Some of these unfortunate men denied the large octavo English edition of his 
 
 the king's supremacy, and others, the real Travels, published at London, in 1 727. 
 
 presence. See the histories of that reign. See also of these Philological Inquiries, p. 
 
 See this writer's own preface, p. 10, in 523. 
 
538 PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 As man is by nature a social animal, good humour seems an 
 ingredient highly necessary to his character. It is the salt 
 which gives a seasoning to the feast of life ; and which, if it be 
 wanting, surely renders the feast incomplete. Many causes 
 contribute to impair this amiable quality, and nothing perhaps 
 more than bad opinions of mankind. Bad opinions of mankind 
 naturally lead us to misanthropy. If these bad opinions go 
 further, and are applied to the universe, then they lead to some- 
 thing worse, for they lead to atheism. The melancholy and 
 morose character being thus insensibly formed, morals and piety 
 sink of course ; for what equals have we to love, or what supe- 
 rior have we to revere, when we have no other objects left than 
 those of hatred or of terror 2 p 
 
 It should seem then expedient, if we value our better prin- 
 ciples, nay, if we value our own happiness, to withstand such 
 dreary sentiments. It was the advice of a wise man, " Say not 
 thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than 
 these ? for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this." 11 
 
 Things present make impressions amazingly superior to things 
 remote ; so that, in objects of every kind, we are easily mistaken 
 as to their comparative magnitude. Upon the canvas of the 
 same picture, a near sparrow occupies the space of a distant 
 eagle ; a near mole hill, that of a distant mountain. In the 
 perpetration of crimes, there are few persons, I believe, who 
 would not be more shocked at actually seeing a single man 
 assassinated (even taking away the idea of personal danger) 
 than they would be shocked in reading the massacre of Paris. 
 
 The wise man, just quoted, wishes to save us from these 
 errors. He has already informed us, " The thing that hath 
 been, is that which shall be ; and there is no new thing under 
 the sun. Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is 
 new 2 it hath been already of old time, which was before us." 
 He then subjoins the cause of this apparent novelty : things past, 
 when they return, appear new, if they are forgotten ; and things 
 present will appear so, should they too be forgotten, when they 
 return/ 
 
 This forgetfulness of what is similar in events which return, 
 
 P Misanthropy is so dangerous a thing, characters to his men ; so that we are to 
 
 and goes so far in sapping the very founda- admire the beasts, not for being beasts, but 
 
 tions of morality and religion, that I esteem amiable men ; and to detest the men, not 
 
 the last part of Swift's Gulliver (that I mean for being men, but detestable beasts, 
 relative to his Houyhnhnms and Yahoos) Whoever has been reading this unnatural 
 
 to be a worse book to peruse, than those filth, let him turn for a moment to a Spec- 
 
 which we forbid as the most flagitious and tator of Addison, and observe the philan- 
 
 obscene. thropy of that classical writer ; I may add 
 
 One absurdity in this author (a wretched the superior purity of his diction and his 
 
 philosopher, though a great wit) is well wit. 
 worth remarking: in order to render the <i Ecclesiastes vii. 10. 
 nature of man odious, and the nature of r See of the same Ecclesiastes, chap. i. 9. 
 
 beasts amiable, he is compelled to give and ii. 16. 
 human characters to his beasts, and beastly 
 
PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 539 
 
 (for in every returning event such similarity exists,) is the for- 
 getfulness of a mind uninstructed and weak ; a mind ignorant 
 of that great, that providential circulation, which never ceases 
 for a moment through every part of the universe. 
 
 It is not like that forgetfulness which I once remember in a 
 man of letters, who, when at the conclusion of a long life, he 
 found his memory began to fail, said cheerfully, " Now I shall 
 have a pleasure I could not have before ; that of reading my 
 old books, and finding them all new." 
 
 There was in this consolation something philosophical and 
 pleasing. And yet perhaps it is a higher philosophy (could we 
 attain it) not to forget the past ; but in contemplation of the 
 past to view the future, so that we may say on the worst 
 prospects, with a becoming resignation, what uEneas said of old 
 to the Cumean prophetess, 
 
 Virgin, no scenes of ill 
 To me or new, or unexpected rise ; 
 I've seen 'em all ; have seen, and long before 
 Within myself revolv'd 'em in my mind. 8 
 
 In such a conduct, if well founded, there is not only fortitude, 
 but piety: fortitude, which never sinks, from a conscious in- 
 tegrity ; and piety, which never resists, by referring all to the 
 Divine will. 
 
 But lest such speculation, by carrying me above my subject, 
 should expose a writer upon criticism to be himself criticised, 
 I shall here conclude these Philological Inquiries. 
 
 8 JEn. vi. 103--105. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THE ARABIC MANUSCRIPTS BELONGING TO THE ESCURIAL 
 LIBRARY IN SPAIN. 
 
 THIS account is extracted from two fair folio volumes, to the first 
 of which volumes the title is conceived in the following words. 
 
 " Bibliothecse Arabico-Hispanse Escuraliensis, sive Librorum 
 omnium MSS. quos Arabice ab auctoribus magnam partem 
 Arabo-Hispanis compositos Bibliotheca Csenobii Escuraliensis 
 complectitur, Recensio et Explanatio : Opera et Studio Michaelis 
 Casiri, Syro-Maronitse, Presbyteri, S. Theologise Doctoris, Regis 
 a Bibliotheca, Linguarumque Orientalium Interpretatione ; Ca- 
 roli III. Regis Opt. Max. auctoritate atque auspiciis edita. 
 Tomus Prior. Matriti. Antonius Perez de Soto imprimebat 
 Anno MDCCLX." 
 
 This catalogue is particularly valuable, because not only each 
 manuscript is enumerated, but its age also and author (when 
 known) are given, together with large extracts upon occasion, 
 both in the original Arabic and in Latin. 
 
 From the first volume it appears that the Arabians cultivated 
 every species of philosophy and philology, as also (according to 
 their systems) jurisprudence and theology. 
 
 They were peculiarly fond of poetry, and paid great honours 
 to those whom they esteemed good poets. Their earliest writers 
 were of this sort, some of whom (and those much admired) 
 nourished many centuries before the time of Mahomet. 
 
 The study of their poets led them to the art of criticism, 
 whence we find in the above catalogue, not only a multitude of 
 poems, but many works upon composition, metre, &c. 
 
 We find in the same catalogue, translations of Aristotle and 
 Plato, together with their lives ; as also translations of their best 
 Greek commentators, such as Alexander Aphrodisiensis, Philo- 
 ponus, and others. We find also comments of their own, and 
 original pieces, formed on the principles of the above philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 There too may be found translations of Euclid, Archimedes, 
 Apollonius Pergseus, and the other ancient mathematicians, to- 
 gether with their Greek commentators, and many original pieces 
 of their own upon the same mathematical subjects. In the 
 
APPENDIX. 541 
 
 arithmetical part they are said to follow Diophantus, from whom 
 they learned that algebra of which they are erroneously thought 
 to have been the inventors. 
 
 There we may find also the works of Ptolemy translated, and 
 many original treatises of their own upon the subject of astro- 
 nomy. 
 
 It appears, too, that they studied with care the important 
 subject of agriculture. One large work in particular is men- 
 tioned, composed by a Spanish Arabian, where every mode of 
 culture, and every species of vegetable is treated ; pasture, arable, 
 trees, shrubs, flowers, &c. By this work may be perceived (as 
 the editor well observes) how much better Spain was cultivated 
 in those times, and that some species of vegetables were then 
 found there which are now lost. 
 
 Here are many tracts on the various parts of jurisprudence ; 
 some ancient copies of the Alcoran ; innumerable commentaries 
 on it ; together with books of prayer, books of devotion, sermons, 
 &c. 
 
 Among their theological works, there are some upon the prin- 
 ciples of the mystic divinity; and among their philosophical, 
 some upon the subject of talismans, divination, and judicial astro- 
 logy. 
 
 The first volume, of which we have been speaking, is elegantly 
 printed, and has a learned preface prefixed by the editor, wherein 
 he relates what he has done, together with the assistance he has 
 received, as well from the crown of Spain and its ministers, as 
 from learned men. 
 
 He mentions a fatal fire, which happened at the Escurial, in 
 the year 1 670 ; when above three thousand of these valuable 
 manuscripts were destroyed. He has in this volume given an 
 account of about fourteen hundred. 
 
 The second volume of this valuable work, which bears the 
 same title with the first, was published at Madrid, ten years 
 after it, in the year 1 770. 
 
 It contains chiefly the Arabian chronologers, travellers, and 
 historians ; and, though national partiality may be sometimes 
 suspected, yet, as these are accounts given us by the Spanish 
 Arabians themselves, there are many incidents preserved, which 
 other writers could not know ; incidents respecting not only the 
 successions and the characters of the Arabic-Spanish princes, 
 but the country and its productions, together with the manners 
 and the literature of its then inhabitants. 
 
 Nor are the incidents in these volumes confined to Spain only, 
 many of them relate to other countries ; such as the growth of 
 sugar in Egypt ; the invention of paper there, (of which material 
 there are manuscripts in the Escurial library of the year 1180;) 
 the use of gunpowder, carried not only to the beginning of the 
 fourteenth century, but even so far back (if we can believe it) 
 
542 APPENDIX. 
 
 as to the seventh century; the description of Mecca; the an- 
 tiquity of the Arabic language, and the practice of their most 
 ancient authors to write in verse ; their year, months, weeks, 
 and methods of computation ; their love for poetry and rhetoric, 
 &c. 
 
 Great heroes are recorded to have flourished among them, 
 such as Abdelrahmanus, and Abi Amer Almoapheri. 
 
 Abdelrahmanus lived in the beginning of the tenth century, 
 and Abi Amer Almoapheri at its latter end. The first, having 
 subdued innumerable factions and seditions, reigned at Oorduba 
 with reputation for fifty years, famed for his love of letters, and 
 his upright administration of justice. The second, undertaking 
 the tuition of a young prince, (who was a minor, named Hescham,) 
 and having restored peace to a turbid kingdom, turned his arms 
 so successfully against its numerous invaders, that he acquired 
 the honourable name of Almanzor, that is, the Defender. (See 
 vol. ii. of this Catalogue, pages 37, 49, 50.) 
 
 Arabian Spain had too its men of letters, and those in great 
 numbers ; some whose fame was so extensive, that even Christians 
 came to hear them from remote regions of Europe. But this 
 has been already mentioned, p. 488 of these Inquiries. 
 
 Public libraries (not less than seventy) were established 
 through the country ; and noble benefactions they were to the 
 cause of letters, at a time when books, by being manuscripts, 
 were so costly an article, that few scholars were equal to the 
 expense of a collection. 
 
 To the subjects already treated, were added the lives of their 
 famous women; that is, of women who had been famous for 
 their literature and genius. 
 
 It is somewhat strange, when we read these accounts, to hear 
 it asserted, that the religion of these people was hostile to lite- 
 rature ; and this assertion founded on no better reason, than 
 that the Turks, their successors, by being barbarous and ig- 
 norant, had little value for accomplishments of which they knew 
 nothing. 
 
 These Spanish Arabians, also, like their ancestors in the East, 
 were great horsemen, and particularly fond of horses. Accounts 
 are preserved both of horses and camels ; also of their coin ; of 
 the two races of caliphs, the Ommiadse and the Abbassadee ; of 
 the first Arabic conqueror of Spain, and the conditions of tolera- 
 tion granted to the Christians whom he had conquered. 
 
 It further appears from these Arabic works, that not only 
 sugar, but silk was known and cultivated in Spain. We read a 
 beautiful description of Grenada and its environs ; as also epi- 
 taphs of different kinds ; some of them approaching to Attic 
 elegance. 
 
 When that pleasing liquor coffee was first introduced among 
 them, a scruple arose among the devout (perhaps from feeling 
 
APPENDIX. 543 
 
 its exhilarating quality) whether it was not forbidden by the 
 Alcoran, under the article of wine. A council of Mahometan 
 divines was held upon the occasion, and the council luckily de- 
 creed for the legality of its use. (See vol. ii. of this Catalogue, 
 P, 172, 173.) 
 
 The concessions made by the Arabian conquerors of Spain to 
 the Gothic prince whom he subdued, is a striking picture of his 
 lenity and toleration. He neither deposed the Gothic prince, 
 nor plundered his people, but, on payment of a moderate tribute, 
 stipulated not to deprive them either of their lives or property ; 
 and gave them also their churches, and a toleration for their re- 
 ligion. See this curious treaty, which was made about the year 
 712 of the Christian era, in the second volume of this Catalogue, 
 p. 106. 
 
 When the posterity of these conquerors came in their turn to 
 be conquered, (an event which happened many centuries after- 
 ward,) they did not experience that indulgence which had been 
 granted by their forefathers. 
 
 The conquered Moors (as they were then called) were expelled 
 by thousands ; or, if they ventured to stay, were exposed to the 
 carnage of a merciless inquisition : 
 
 Pueri, innuptaeque puelloe, 
 Impositique rogis juvenes ante ora parentum. 
 
 It appears that many of these Arabic-Spanish princes were 
 men of amiable manners, and great encouragers both of arts and 
 letters, while others, on the contrary, were tyrannic, cruel, and 
 sanguinary. 
 
 There were usually many kingdoms existing at the same time, 
 ' and these on every occasion embroiled one with another ; not to 
 mention much internal sedition in each particular state. 
 
 Like their Eastern ancestors, they appear not to have shared 
 the smallest sentiment of civil liberty ; the difference as to good 
 and bad government seeming to have been wholly derived, ac- 
 cording to them, from the worth or pravity of the prince who 
 governed. See p. 495 of these Inquiries. 
 
 The reader will observe, that the pages referring to facts, in 
 the two historical volumes of these manuscripts, are but seldom 
 given, because whoever possesses those volumes (and without 
 them any reference would be useless) may easily find every fact, 
 by referring to the copious and useful index subjoined to the 
 second volume, which index goes to the whole work. 
 
544 APPENDIX. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CONCERNING THE MANUSCRIPTS OF LIVY, IN THE ESCURIAL LIBRARY. 
 
 IT having been often asserted, that an entire and complete copy 
 of Livy was extant in the Escurial library, I requested my son, 
 in the year 1771, (he being at that time minister plenipotentiary 
 to the court of Madrid,) to inquire for me, what manuscripts of 
 that author were there to be found. 
 
 He procured me the following accurate detail from a learned 
 ecclesiastic, Don Juan de Pellegeros, canon of Lerma, employed 
 by Monsr. De Santander, his catholic majesty's librarian, to 
 inspect for this purpose the manuscripts of that valuable li- 
 brary. 
 
 The detail was in Spanish, of which the following is a trans- 
 lation. 
 
 Among the MSS. of the Escurial library are the following 
 works of T. Livy. 
 
 1. Three large volumes, which contain so many decads, the 
 first, third, and fourth, (one decad in each volume,) curiously 
 written on parchment, or fine vellum, by Pedro de Middleburgh, 
 or of Zeeland, (as he styles himself.) 
 
 The books are truly magnificent, and in the title and initials 
 curiously illuminated. They bear the arms of the house of 
 Borgia, with a cardinal's cap, whence it appears that they be- 
 longed either to pope Callixtus the Third, or to Alexander the 
 Sixth, when cardinals. 
 
 2. Two other volumes, written by the same hand, one of the 
 first decad, the other of the third ; of the same size and beauty 
 as the former. Both have the same arms ; and in the last is a 
 note, which recites, " This book belongs to D. Juan de Fonseca, 
 bishop of Burgos." 
 
 3. Another volume of the same size, and something more 
 ancient than the former, (being of the beginning of the fifteenth 
 century,) containing the third decad entire. This is also well 
 written on parchment, though not so valuable as the former. 
 
 4. Another of the first decad, finely written on vellum. At 
 the end is written as follows: "Ex centum voluminibus. quae 
 ego indies vitse mese magnis laboribus hactenus scripsisse memini, 
 hos duos Titi Livii libros Anno Dni. 1441, ego Joannes Andreas 
 de Colonia feliciter, gratia Dei, absolvi ;" and at the end of each 
 book, " Emendavi Nicomachus Fabianus." 
 
 In the last leaf of this book is a fragment either of Livy him- 
 self, or of some pen capable of imitating him. It fills the whole 
 leaf; and the writer says, it was in the copy from which he 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 transcribed. It appears to be a fragment of the latter times of 
 the second Punic war. 
 
 5. Another large volume, in parchment, well written, of the 
 same century, viz. the fifteenth, containing three decads. 1. De 
 Urbis initu. 2. De Bello Punico. 3. De Bello Macedonico. 
 In this last decad is wanting a part of the book. This volume 
 is much esteemed, being full of notes and various readings, in 
 the hand of Hieronimo Zunita, its former possessor. 
 
 6. Another very valuable volume, containing the first decad, 
 equal to the former in the elegance of its writing and ornaments. 
 This also belonged to Hieronimo Zunita ; the age the same. 
 
 7. Lastly, there is another of the first decad also, written on 
 paper, at the beginning of the fifteenth century. This contains 
 nothing remarkable. 
 
 In all, there are ten volumes, and all nearly of the same age. 
 
 Here ends the account of the Escurial manuscripts, given us 
 by this learned Spaniard ; in which manuscripts we see there ap- 
 pears no part of Livy but what was printed in the early editions. 
 
 The other parts of this author, which parts none of the manu- 
 scripts here recited give us, were discovered and printed after- 
 wards. 
 
 As to the fragment mentioned in the fourth article, (all of 
 which fragment is there transcribed,) it has, though genuine, no 
 peculiar rarity, as it is to be found in all the latter printed 
 editions. See particularly in Crevier's edition of Livy, Paris, 
 1736, tome ii. pages 716, 717, 718, beginning with the words 
 Raro simul Jiominibus, and ending with the words increpatis risum 
 esse, which is the whole extent of the fragment here exhibited. 
 
 From this detail it is evident that no entire copy of Livy is 
 extant in the Escurial library. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 GREEK MANUSCRIPTS OF CEBES, IN THE LIBRARY OF THE KING OF 
 
 FRANCE. 
 
 THE picture of Cebes, one of the most elegant moral allegories of 
 Grecian antiquity, is so far connected with the middle age, that 
 the ingenious Arabians of that time thought it worth translating 
 into Arabic. 
 
 It was also translated from Greek into Latin by Ludovicus 
 Odaxius, a learned Italian, soon after Greek literature revived 
 there, and was published in the year 1497. 
 
 After this it was often printed, sometimes in Greek alone, 
 sometimes accompanied with more modern Latin versions. But 
 
 2N 
 
546 APPENDIX. 
 
 the misfortune was, that the Greek manuscripts, from which the 
 editors printed, (that of Odaxius alone excepted,) were all of 
 them defective in their end or conclusion. And hence it followed 
 that this work for many years was published, edition after edition, 
 in this defective manner. 
 
 Had its end been lost, we might have lamented it, as we la- 
 ment other losses of the same kind. But in the present case, 
 to the shame of editors, we have the end preserved, and that 
 not only in the Arabic paraphrase, and the old Latin translation 
 of Odaxius, but, what is more, even in the original text, as it 
 stands in two excellent manuscripts of the king of France's li- 
 brary. 
 
 From these MSS. it was published in a neat 12mo. edition of 
 Cebes, by James Gronovius, in the year 1689 ; and after him by 
 the diligent and accurate Fabricius, in his Bibliotheca Gra?ca, 
 vol. i. p. 834, 835 ; and, after Fabricius, in a small octavo 
 edition, by Thomas Johnson, A. M. printed at London, in the 
 year 1720. 
 
 Whoever reads the conclusion of this treatise will find sufficient 
 internal evidence to convince him of its authenticity, both from 
 the purity of the language, and the truth, as well as connection 
 of the sentiment. 
 
 However, the manuscript authority resting on nothing better 
 than the perplexed account of that most obscure and affected 
 writer, James Gronovius, I procured a search to be made in the 
 royal library at Paris, if such manuscripts were there to be 
 found. 
 
 Upon inspection of no less than four manuscripts of Cebes, 
 preserved in that valuable library, numbers 858, 2992, 1001, 
 1774, it appeared, that in the second and in the third, the end 
 of Cebes was perfect and entire, after the manner in which it 
 stands in the printed editions above mentioned. 
 
 The end of this short essay is to prove, that the genuineness 
 of the conclusion thus restored does not rest merely on such au- 
 thority as that of James Gronovius, (for Fabricius and Johnson 
 only follow him,) but on the authority of the best manuscripts, 
 actually inspected for the purpose. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OP LITERATURE IN RUSSIA, AND OF ITS PROGRESS 
 TOWARDS BEING CIVILIZED. 
 
 THE vast empire of Russia extending far into the north, both in 
 Europe and Asia, it is no wonder that, in such a country, its in- 
 
APPENDIX. 547 
 
 habitants should have remained so long uncivilized. For culture 
 of the finer arts it is necessary there should be comfortable leisure. 
 But how could such leisure be found in a country where every 
 one had enough to do to support his family, and to resist the 
 rigour of an uncomfortable climate ? Besides this, to make the 
 finer arts flourish, there must be imagination ; and imagination 
 must be enlivened by the contemplation of pleasing objects ; and 
 that contemplation must be performed in a manner easy to the 
 contemplator. Now, who can contemplate with ease, where the 
 thermometer is often many degrees below the freezing point I Or 
 what object can he find worth contemplating for those many 
 long months, when all the water is ice, and all the land covered 
 with snow ? 
 
 If then the difficulties were so great, how great must have 
 been the praise of those princes and legislators, who dared at- 
 tempt to polish mankind in so unpromising a region, and who 
 have been able, by their perseverance, in some degree to accom- 
 plish it 1 
 
 Those who on this occasion bestow the highest praises upon 
 Peter the Great, praise him, without doubt, as he justly deserves. 
 But if they would refer the beginning of this work to him, 
 and much more its completion, they are certainly under a mis- 
 take. 
 
 As long ago as the time of our Edward the Sixth, Ivan Ba- 
 silowitz adopted principles of commerce, and granted peculiar 
 privileges to the English, on their discovery of a navigation to 
 Archangel. 
 
 A sad scene of sanguinary confusion followed from this period 
 to the year 1612, when a deliverer arose, prince Pajanky. He, 
 by unparalleled fortitude, having routed all the tyrants and im- 
 postors of the time, was by the bojars, or magnates, unanimously 
 elected czar. But this honour he, with a most disinterested 
 magnanimity, declined for himself, and pointed out to them 
 Michael Feedorowitz, of the house of Romanoff, and by his 
 mother's side descended from the ancient czars. 
 
 From this period we may date the first appearances of a real 
 civilizing, and a development of the wealth and power of the 
 the Russian empire. Michael reigned thirty-three years. By 
 his wisdom, and the mildness of his character, he restored ease 
 and tranquillity to subjects who had been long deprived of those 
 inestimable blessings ; he encouraged them to industry, and gave 
 them an example of the most laudable behaviour. 
 
 His son Alexius Michaelowitz was superior to his father in the 
 art of governing and sound politics. He promoted agriculture ; 
 introduced into his empire arts and sciences, of which he was 
 himself a lover ; published a code of laws, still used in the ad- 
 ministration of justice ; and greatly improved his army, by 
 mending its discipline. This he effected chiefly by the help of 
 
 2N 2 
 
548 APPENDIX. 
 
 strangers, most of whom were Scotch. Lesley, Gordon, and 
 Ker, are the names of families still existing in this country. 
 
 Theodore, or Fsedor, succeeded his father in 1677. He was 
 of a gentle disposition, and weak constitution ; fond of pomp 
 arid magnificence, and in satisfying this passion contributed to 
 polish his subjects by the introduction of foreign manufactures 
 and articles of elegance, which they soon began to adopt and 
 imitate. His delight was in horses, and he did his country a 
 real service in the beginning and establishing of those fine breeds 
 of them in the Ukraine and elsewhere. He reigned seven years ; 
 and having on his death-bed called his bojars round him, in the 
 presence of his brother and sister, Ivan and Sophia, and of his 
 half-brother Peter, said to them, " Hear my last sentiments ; 
 they are dictated by my love for the state, and by my affection 
 for my people : the bodily infirmities of Ivan necessarily must 
 affect his mental faculties ; he is incapable of ruling a dominion 
 like that of Russia ; he cannot take it amiss, if I recommend to 
 you to set him aside, and to let your approbation fall on Peter, 
 who to a robust constitution joins great strength of mind, and 
 marks of a superior understanding." 
 
 Theodore dying in 1682, Peter became emperor, and his 
 brother Ivan remained contented. But Sophia, Ivan's sister, 
 a woman of great ambition, could not bring herself to submit. 
 
 The troubles which ensued ; the imminent dangers which 
 Peter escaped ; his abolition of that turbulent and seditious 
 soldiery, called the Strelitz ; the confinement of his half-sister 
 Sophia to a monastery ; all these were important events, which 
 left Peter in the year 1689 with no other competitor than the 
 mild and easy Ivan ; who dying not many years after, left him 
 sole monarch of all the Bussias. 
 
 The acts at home and abroad, in peace and in war, of this 
 stupendous and elevated genius, are too well known to be re- 
 peated by me. Peter adorned his country with arts, and raised 
 its glory by arms : he created a respectable marine ; founded 
 St. Petersburgh, a new capital, and that from the very ground ; 
 rendering it withal one of the first cities in Europe for beauty 
 and elegance. 
 
 To encourage letters, he formed academies, and invited foreign 
 professors not only to Petersburgh (his new city) but to his 
 ancient capital Moscow ; at both which places these professors 
 were maintained with liberal pensions. 
 
 As a few specimens of literature from both these cities have 
 recently come to my hand, I shall endeavour to enumerate them, 
 as I think it relative to my subject. 
 
 1. Plutarchus Trepl Avcrutirias, KOI Trepl Tv^y? Gr. Lat. cum 
 animadversionibus Beiskii et alior : suas adjecit Christianus Fri- 
 dericus Matthsei. Typis Universitatis Mosquensis, an. 1777. 
 8vo. 
 
APPENDIX. 549 
 
 2. Plutarchi libellus de Superstitione, et Demosthenis Oratio 
 funebris, Gr. Lat. cum notis integris Reiskii et alior. suas adjecit 
 Christ. Frider. Matthaei. Typis Csesarese Mosquensis Univer- 
 sitatis, an. 1778. 8vo. 
 
 3. Lectiones Mosquenses, in two volumes, 8vo. bound to- 
 gether, and printed at Leipsic, an. 1779 : they contain various 
 readings in different authors, and some entire pieces, all in 
 Greek, collected from the libraries of Moscow, and published by 
 the same learned editor. 
 
 4. Isocratis, Demetrii Cyd. et Michael Glycse aliquot Epistoke, 
 nee non Dion. Chrysostomi Oratio Grsec. Typis Universitatis 
 Csesarese Mosquensis. 8vo. By the same learned editor. 
 
 5. Glossaria Grseca minora, et alia Anecdota Grseca : a work 
 consisting of two parts, contained under one .volume, in a thin 
 quarto, by the same able professor, printed at Moscow by the 
 university types, in the years 1774, 1775. A catalogue of the 
 several pieces in both parts is subjoined to the end of the second 
 part. Among the pieces in the first part are, Excerpta ex 
 Grammatica Niceph. Gregorse ; ex Glossario Cyrilli Alexandrini ; 
 Glossarium in Epistolas Pauli ; Nomina Mensium : those of the 
 second part are chiefly theological. 
 
 6. Notitia Codicum Manuscriptorum Grsecorum Bibliothe- 
 caruni Mosquensium, cum variis Anecdotis, Tabulis ^Eneis, 
 Indicibus locupletissimis : edidit Christ. Fridericus Matthaai. 
 Mosquse, Typis Universitatis, an. 1776. 
 
 This publication, on a large folio paper, is as yet incomplete, 
 only sixty pages being printed off. It ends, Partis primse 
 Sectionis primse Finis. 
 
 7. An Ode to the present empress, Catharine, in ancient 
 Greek and Russian. 
 
 8. An Ode on the birth-day of Constantine, second son to the 
 grand duke, in ancient Greek and Russian : printed at Peters- 
 burgh ; and, as we learn from the title, eV rfj AvroKparopiKy 
 'A/caSy/jita TWV 'ETTKTT'rj/jLwv, u in the Imperial Academy of 
 Sciences." 
 
 9. An Ode to prince Potemkin, ancient Greek and Russian, 
 and printed (as before) an. 1780. 
 
 10. An Ode, consisting of Strophe, Antistrophe, and Epode, 
 ancient Greek and Russian, made in 1779, in honour of the 
 empress, the great duke and duchess, and Alexander and Con- 
 stantine, their two sons, grandsons to the empress. 
 
 This Ode was sung in the original Greek by a large number 
 of voices, before a numerous and splendid court in one of the 
 imperial palaces. 
 
 As I have a copy of this music, I cannot omit observing, that 
 it is a genuine exemplar of the ancient Antiphona, so well known 
 to the church in very remote ages. On this plan, two complete 
 choirs (each consisting of trebles, counters, tenors, and bases) 
 
550 APPENDIX. 
 
 sing against each other, and reciprocally answer ; then unite all 
 of them ; then separate again, returning to the alternate re- 
 sponse, till the whole at length concludes in one general chorus. 
 The music of this ode may be called purely vocal, having no 
 other accompaniment but that of an organ. 
 
 The composer was no less a man than the celebrated Paesiello, 
 so well known at present, and so much admired, both in Italy 
 and elsewhere, for music of a very different character, I mean 
 his truly natural and pleasing burlettas. 
 
 Those who are curious to know more of this species of music, 
 may consult the valuable Glossary of Spelman, under the word 
 Antiphona, and the ingenious Musical Dictionary of Rousseau, 
 under the word Antienne. 
 
 11. A short copy of Greek elegiac verses, printed at Peters- 
 burg, in the year 1780, and addressed to prince Potemkin, 
 with this singular title, ^ETrlypa^fjia eiri TTJ? nra^aov^ Kal 
 
 Tpa)S /JLa(ncdpa$os /cd\ov- 
 
 , rjv, K. r. X. Thus Englished : " A poem on the splendid 
 and delightful festivity, where they wear Gorgonian visors; 
 more commonly called a masquerade; which prince Potemkin 
 celebrated," &c. 
 
 A better word to denote a masquerade could hardly have 
 been invented than the word here employed, yopyeio(f)6pia. In 
 attempting to translate it, that I might express one word, I have 
 been compelled to use many. 
 
 12. A translation of Virgil's Georgics from the Latin Hex- 
 ameters into Greek Hexameters, by the celebrated Eugenius, 
 famous for his treatise of Logic, published a few years since in 
 ancient Greek at Leipsic. He was made an archbishop, but 
 chose to resign his dignity. He is now carrying on this transla- 
 tion under the protection of prince Potemkin, but has as yet 
 gone no further than to the end of the first Georgic. 
 
 The work is printed on a large folio paper, having the 
 original on one side, and the translation on the other. Copious 
 notes in Greek are at the bottom of the several pages. 
 
 Take a short specimen of the performance. 
 
 Continue, ventis surgentibus, aut freta ponti 
 Incipiunt agitata tumescere, et aridus altis 
 Montibus audiri fragor ; aut resonantia longe 
 Littora misceri, et nemorum increbrescere murmur. 
 
 Geor. i. 356. 
 
 AUTI/CO, eypofj-evuv avffjLwv, TropBfj.ois eirl TTOVTOV 
 *A\s re (raA.euo/xei/rj ot'SaiVet, Kal Kopv<pal 8e 
 Ovpeos &Kpai rpa%v ftoacriv' arap /u.aKp60V ye 
 'A/crai T' eiVaAtot pit /Jpe/xo^Tai, ' alyiaKoi re' 
 5 afa 
 
 Of these various printed works, the first six were sent me by 
 the learned scholar above mentioned, Christianus Fridericus 
 
APPENDIX. 551 
 
 Matthsei, from Moscow ; the last six I had the honour to receive 
 from prince Potemkin at Petersburg!!. 
 
 Besides the printed books, the learned professor at Moscow 
 sent me a curious Latin narrative in manuscript. 
 
 In it he gives an account of a fine manuscript of Strabo, be- 
 longing to the Ecclesiastical library at Moscow. He informs 
 me, this MS. is in folio; contains four hundred and twenty- 
 seven leaves ; is beautifully written by one, whom he calls a 
 learned and diligent scribe, at the end of the fifteenth or be- 
 ginning of the sixteenth century ; and came, as appears by a 
 memorandum in the manuscript, from the celebrated Greek 
 monastery at Mount Athos. 
 
 He adds, (which is worth attention,) that almost all the Greek 
 manuscripts which are now preserved at Moscow were originally 
 brought thither from this monastery; and that, in the last 
 century, by order of the emperor Alexius Michaelowitz and the 
 patriarch Nico, by means of the monk Arsenius. So early in 
 this country did a gleam of literature shew itself. 
 
 He strongly denies the fact, that there is any other MS. of 
 Strabo besides this, either at Moscow or at Petersburgh. 
 
 Of the present MS. he has been so kind as to send me colla- 
 tions, taken from the first and second book. 
 
 After this he mentions the unpublished hymn of Homer upon 
 Ceres, and the fragment of another by the same poet upon 
 Bacchus; both of which, since I heard from him, have been 
 published by Ruhnkenius at Leyden, to whom my correspondent 
 had sent them from the Moscowan library. 
 
 He has been generous enough to send me copies of all the 
 books he has published, for which valuable donation I take this 
 public opportunity of making my grateful acknowledgments. 
 
 With regard to all the publications here mentioned, it is to be 
 observed, that those from Petersburgh are said to be printed in 
 the imperial academy of sciences ; those from Moscow, by the 
 types of the imperial university; each place by its style in- 
 dicating its establishment. 
 
 In justice to my son, his majesty's minister to the court of 
 Russia, it is incumbent upon me to say, that all this information, 
 and all these literary treasures, have been procured for me by 
 his help, and through his interest. 
 
 I must not conclude without observing, (though perhaps it may 
 be a repetition,) that the efforts to civilize this country did not 
 begin from Peter the Great, but were much older. A small 
 glimmering, like the first day-break, was seen under czar Ivan, 
 in the middle of the sixteenth century. 
 
 This dawn of civilizing became more conspicuous a century 
 afterwards, under czar Alexius Michaelowitz ; of whom, as well 
 as of his son Theodore, or Fsedor, we have spoken already. 
 
 But under the Great Peter it burst forth, with all the 
 
552 APPENDIX. 
 
 splendour of a rising sun, and (if I may be permitted to continue 
 my metaphor) has continued ever since to ascend towards its 
 meridian. 
 
 More than fifty years have passed since the death of Peter ; 
 during which period, with very little exception, this vast empire 
 has been governed by female sovereigns only. All of them have 
 pursued more or less the plan of their great predecessor, and 
 none of them more than the illustrious princess who now reigns. 
 
 And so much for literature in Russia, and for its progress 
 towards being civilized. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 IT was proposed, as mentioned in p. 399 of this work, to have 
 joined a few notes to the pieces contained in the preceding 
 Appendix; but the work growing larger than was expected, 
 the notes, as not being essentially parts of it, have been omitted. 
 One omission however we beg to supply, because it has hap- 
 pened through inadvertence. Besides the Arabic translations 
 from the Greek, mentioned in the Appendix, part the first, there 
 are also translations of Hippocrates, Galen, and the old Greek 
 physicians, whom the Arabians, as they translated, illustrated 
 with comments, and upon whose doctrines they formed many 
 compositions of their own, having been remarkably famous for 
 their study and knowledge of medicine. 
 
INDEX 
 
 TO 
 
 THREE TREATISES. 
 
 ACQUIESCENCE and gratitude, their force, 
 100 and n. 
 
 Affections, reciprocate with our ideas, 40. 
 their force, when raised by music, ibid. 
 
 Agatho, 13, n. 
 
 Alexander Aphrodisiensis, his account of 
 active efficient causes, 2, n. of speech, 
 61, &. of the Stoic estimate of externals, 
 
 . 89, n. of the necessity of justice to the 
 worst societies, 1 06, n. 
 
 Ammonius, 6, n. 11, n. 12 n. 13, n. 14, n. 
 18, n. 61, n. 95, n. 97, n. 
 
 Andronicus Rhodius, 2, n. 87, n. 88, n. 
 
 Antipater, his notion of the end of man, 
 83, n. 
 
 Antoninus, unites social and rational, 66, n. 
 describes law universal, 73, n. his notion 
 of KarSpBtaffis, or rectitude of conduct, 
 ibid, quoted, 76, n. 77, n. 90, n. 105, n. 
 his notion of Sat/ucwj', or genius, 91, ft. of 
 the universe, 96, n. of reason or intellect, 
 98, n. 99, n. of God, the animating 
 Wisdom, 101, n. of evil, ibid. n. of 
 tinging our minds, 102, n. of philo- 
 sophical exception, or reserve, ibid. n. 
 joins justice and piety, 107, n. 
 
 Archidemus, his notion of happiness, 84, n. 
 
 Arcidamas, noble sentiment of, 26, n. 
 
 Archytas, 84, n. 
 
 Aristocles, 26. n. 
 
 Aristotle, his notion of art, 2, n. 5, n. 6, n. 
 of active efficient causes, ibid, of the 
 various modes of human action, 4, n. 
 of compulsion, 5, n. of man's natural, 
 power, ibid, of his acquired power, or 
 habits, ibid, of operations, purely natural, 
 ibid, of nature, 6, n. of a contingent, 
 
 11, n. of the subjects of philosophy, 
 
 12, n. of chance and fortune, 13, n. 
 proves from their existence that of mind 
 and nature, ibid, quoted, 14, n. 30, n. 
 95, n. his notion of human choice, or 
 determination, 15. n. of final causes, 
 16, n. 19, n. of energies, 18, n. makes 
 life itself an energy, ibid, final causes 
 twofold, 20, n. his division of arts, 
 21, n. enumeration of causes, 23, n. 
 quoted, 46, n. his idea of good, 49, n. 
 proves man social from speech, 61, . 
 quoted, 5, n. 36, n. 66, n. holds the 
 same science of contraries, 69, . his 
 
 account of happiness, 69, n. 85, n. gives 
 that of Xenocrates, 85, n. accounts for 
 the pleasure arising from imitations, 
 35, n. his account of sentiments, 36, n. 
 of the end of tragedy, 37, n. of characters 
 or manners, 38, n. etymologizes the word 
 ethics, 103, n. makes self and social 
 one, 106, n. makes happiness the univer- 
 sal object, 108, n. his treatise concerning 
 philosophy, quoted from a manuscript, 
 25, n. 
 
 Arrian. See Epictetus. 
 
 Art, considered as an efficient cause, 2 9. 
 its material cause, 10, 11. its final, 
 14 16. its formal, 17 20. loves for- 
 tune, why, 13, n. what, 2 and n. 4, 8. 
 how distinguished from chance, 2 and n. 
 4, 5 and n. 12. how from compulsion, 
 2 and n. 5. how from volition, 3 and 
 5 n. how from natural power and 
 instinct, ibid, how from power divine, 
 4, and 6 n. its influence on the ele- 
 ments, 21. on animals irrational, 22. 
 on man, ibid, the same as mind, ibid. 
 inane and false art, 8, n. Peripatetic 
 description of art, 9, n. Stoic, ibid. 
 that of Quintilian, ibid, of Cicero, 
 ibid, of Cleanthes, ibid, of Nicephorus 
 Blemmides, ibid, art considered in four 
 views, 23. arts, their comparative pri- 
 ority, 25, n. either necessary or elegant, 
 25 and n. the pretensions of each, 27. 
 imitative arts imitate through sensible 
 media, 28. what numbers wanted to 
 establish human society, 59. 
 
 Artists, moral and inferior, how they differ, 
 75, 76 and . 
 
 Beauty, its effect, 90. 
 
 Being, every species of, conciliated to itself, 
 
 57 and n. 
 
 Being and well being, 27. 
 Blemmides, 9, n. 
 Bossu, 30, n. 36, n. 38, . 
 Brutal, degradation of rational into it, how, 
 
 99, . 
 
 Caesura in verse, 39, n. 
 Capacity, 7. 
 
 Cause, 3. efficient, 2 8. material, 10 12. 
 final, 1316, 19, n. formal, 1720. 
 
554 
 
 INDEX TO THREE TREATISES. 
 
 final often concurs with formal, 19, . 
 final, twofold, ibid, the four species in 
 one view, 23, n. 
 
 Chance, 2, 5, n. 12, n. 
 
 Character, or manners, 36, 38. 
 
 Chrysippus, his notion of law universal, 
 72, n. of good, 74, n. of the rational 
 pursuit even of externals, 88, n. of the 
 perfect man, 92, n. of futurity, 100, n. 
 of evil, 101, rc. 
 
 Cicero, his notion of art, 2, n. quoted, 9, n. 
 48, n. 49, n. for an active life, 54, n. 
 quoted, 57, n. 64, n. his notion of por- 
 tents, 65, n. supposes one reason, one 
 truth, and one law to gods and men, 66, n. 
 his argument against injustice, ibid. 
 holds virtue agreeable to nature, 68, n. 
 his definition of a moral office, or duty, 
 69, n. his account of the Peripatetic idea 
 of happiness, ibid, and 70, n. the Stoic 
 objection to it, 70, n. of law uni- 
 versal, 72, n. translates Ka.r6pQ<ffis ) 73,. 
 his account of the Stoic happiness, 
 74, n. 76, n. quoted, 78, n. 79, n. 
 80, n. 81, n. 82, n. 83, n. 84, n. 
 86, n. 91, n. 94, n. 99, n. his account 
 of the Stoic iraQos, 86, n. of their regard 
 to the social system, 88, n. to externals, 
 
 89, n. good oi' interest, his account of it, 
 
 90, n. of the perfect man, 91, n. 93, n. 
 of the universe, as one city, 96, . joins 
 self and social, 106, n. his high notion of 
 justice, ibid, whence he derives human 
 reason or mind, 99, n. his notion of 
 habit as to morals, 103, n. quoted, 
 100,72. 108, n. 
 
 Cleanthes, his notion of happiness, 82, n. 
 
 of evil, 101, n. his verses, 102. 
 Clemens Alexandrinus, 93, n. 
 Compulsion, 2, 5, n. 
 Contingents, what, 11, n. differ in cha- 
 
 racter, 12, n. 
 Contraries known through the same habit 
 
 or faculty, 68 and n. 
 
 , or genius, what, 85, n. 91, n. 
 99, n. 101, n. affords an elegant ety- 
 mology to euScu/ioi'ta, happiness, 91, n. 
 
 Demetrius Phalereus, 30, n. 
 
 Desire, how to be treated, 99 and n. 
 
 Dialectic, what, 94, n. 
 
 Dio Chrysostom, 2, n. 
 
 Diogenes Laertius, 9, n. 19, n. 46, n. 
 66, n. defines a moral office, or duty, 
 69, n. law universal, 72, n. quoted, 
 76, n. 79, n. 80, n. 82, n. 83, n. 84, n. 
 85, n. 108, n. his account of passion, 
 according to the Stoics, 87, n. their 
 apathy, what, ibid, their eupathies, or 
 well-feelings, 88, n. quoted, ibid, and 
 95. virtue and felicity, one, 101, n. 
 
 Duty. See Moral Offices. 
 
 End of man, and human action, examined 
 in the life political, 51. lucrative, 52. 
 
 pleasurable, ibid, contemplative, 54. in 
 the life of virtue joined to health and 
 competence, 69, 70. of pure virtue alone, 
 73. end, not in the success, but in recti- 
 tude of conduct, ibid. 74, n. 81, n. in 
 the mere doing, ibid, and 73, n. con- 
 firmed by examples, 78 81. moral end 
 differs from other ends, how, 76 and n. 
 
 Energies, 7. how they differ from works, 
 18, 19. in them and works all arts end, 
 17 19. easy, when habitual, 6, n. 
 
 Enthusiasm, the rational, and the savage, 
 101. 
 
 Epictetus, his idea of good, 45, n. 46, n. 
 49, n. 73, n. quoted, 54, n. 73, n. 
 99, n. makes life the subject to the 
 moral artist, 75, n. quoted, 77, n. 81, n. 
 recommends consistence, ibid, his account 
 of Stoic apathy, 87, n. distinguishes 
 passions from natural affections, ibid. 
 maintains the social system, ibid, life a 
 drama, 89, n. wise advice of his, 90, n. 
 makes good the common object of pur- 
 suit, ibid, his notion of proficiency, 95, n. 
 of the world, as one city, 96, n. of 
 reason and intellect, 98, 99, n. reason 
 degraded, how, 99, n. our own, whence, 
 ibid, his advice about desire, ibid, treats 
 man as a part of the whole, 100, n. his 
 doctrine as to futurity, ibid, his notion 
 of habit in morals, 10,3, n. quoted, 99, n. 
 102, n. 103, n. makes self and social 
 one, 105, n. rests all in pious and rational 
 acquiescence, 108, n. what error he 
 would adopt, ibid. 
 
 Epicurus, his epistle, when dying, 79. his 
 account of happiness connected with 
 virtue, 85, n. 
 
 See Aaijueoi/. 
 
 etymologized morally, 85, . 
 91, n. 
 
 Evil, 65, n. 97, n. 101, n. 106, 107, n. 
 
 Eustathius, 29, n. 
 
 Externals, not necessarily conducive to 
 happiness, 71. accurate knowledge of 
 them requisite, why, 75, 83. 
 
 Final. See Cause. 
 
 Fortitude, natural, why, 68. 
 
 Fortune, 12, n. loves art, why, 13, . 
 
 Friendship, real, exists only among the 
 
 virtuous, 88, n. 
 Futurity, its force, either as unknown or 
 
 known, 100, 101 and n. 
 
 Gale's Opuscula, 84, n. 
 
 Generals, or universals, their character, 
 94, n. 98. 
 
 Genius. See Aai/jLwv. 
 
 God, superior to all art, how, 6, n. to phi- 
 losophizing, why, ibid, works uniformly, 
 according to one idea of perfection, 65 
 and n. the same with right reason and 
 universal law, 72, n. 73,. the standard 
 
INDEX TO THREE TREATISES. 
 
 555 
 
 of perfection, according to Plato and 
 scripture, 95, n. the universal reason, 
 99. or mind, 101. pervades and rules 
 the whole, ibid, and n. 26, n. made all 
 men free, ibid, himself universal, one, 
 and ever in energy, 27, n. 
 
 Good, absent, leads to art, 15. this absent 
 good described, and its characters given, 
 15, 16. sovereign, 45 and n. always 
 complete, 76. various descriptions of it, 
 12, n. its original preconceptions or cha- 
 racteristics, 45, 46. agreeable to nature, 
 47 and n. conducive to well-being, 47. 
 accommodated to all places and times, 50 
 and n. durable, 48 and n. self-derived, 
 ibid, its characteristics applied to deter- 
 mine what is happiness, 71, 77, 91. good, 
 not in externals, but in their proper use, 
 75, n. pursued by all, 90 and n. 108 
 and n. See Happiness. 
 
 Gospel, quoted, 95, n. 
 
 Gratis, nothing to be had, 103 and n. 
 
 Gratitude and acquiescence, their force, 
 100, 107. 
 
 Habit, 3, 102, 103 and n. 
 
 Handel, 31, 41, n. 
 
 Happiness, in virtue joined to health and 
 competence, 70. how far adequate and 
 perfect, 70, 71. in virtue alone, or rec- 
 titude of conduct, in the mere doing, 
 without regard to success, 72 74. in 
 consistence, in experience, in selection and 
 rejection, 82, 83 and n. in performance 
 of moral offices, 83 and n. concurring 
 sentiments of different sects of philoso- 
 phers on the subject of happiness, 84 
 86, n. virtue and happiness, one, 101, n. 
 real self-interest and happiness, one, 
 105, n. pursued by all, 108 and n. 
 
 Hecato, the Stoic, 89, n. 
 
 Hermes, called Kotj/bs, or Common, why, 
 46, n. 
 
 Hobbs, his account of happiness, 86, n. 
 
 Homer, 51, n. 25, n. 
 
 Horace, 7, 30, n. 32, 38, 41, 55, 75, n. 78, 
 81, n. 95, n. 99, n. 
 
 Ideas, in poetry we form our own, in paint- 
 ing we take them from the artists, 34, 35. 
 reciprocate with affections, 40. ideas, 
 specific, their high rank, 93, 94 and n. 
 
 Jerome, his notion of the Stoics, 80, n. 
 
 111. See Evil. 
 
 Imitation, objects of, different from the 
 media of imitation, how, 28. extend 
 further than the media, ibid, and 29, 30. 
 imitation, media of, what to painting, 28, 
 29. what to music, 28, 31, 33. what 
 to poetry, 28, 33. whence imitations by 
 different arts derive their preeminence, 
 28, 29. imitation natural to man, and 
 pleasing, why, 35. 
 
 Imitative arts, 27. 
 
 Individuals. See Particulars. 
 
 Injustice, unnatural, why, 66, n. 106, . 
 
 Instinct, 4. different from reason, how, 
 
 62. 
 Interest, all governed by, 1 05. and justly, 
 
 ibid, a detached one, impossible, ibid, a 
 
 social one, happiness, ibid, private and 
 
 public, inseparable, 105, n. 
 Joannes Grammaticus. See Philoponus. 
 Justice, natural, why, 67, 106 and n. joined 
 
 by the Stoics to piety, 107, n. 
 
 Koivbs vovs, common sense, 46, n. 
 Kar6pda}fj.a, 73, n. 
 
 Language, its rise, 27, n. founded in com- 
 pact, ibid. See Speech. 
 
 Law, universal, described, 72, 73, n. the 
 same as right reason, 66, n. and as God 
 himself, 73, n. 101. 
 
 Legislators, their high character, 22, 26, n. 
 
 Liberty, the gift of God, 26, n. philosophic, 
 what, 102. 
 
 Life, 55. life according to virtue and to 
 moral offices, the same, 69 and n. life, 
 and its events, the subject-matter to the 
 moral artist, 75, n. life, human, a drama, 
 89 and n. 99 and n. 
 
 Lives, four sorts of, 50 and n. the political, 
 
 51. the lucrative, 52. the pleasurable, 
 
 52, 53. the contemplative, 54, 55. all 
 inadequate, ibid, active and social, ibid. 
 
 Love, philosophic, its progress and end, 
 
 100 and n. 102. 
 Logic, when useful, when not, 108. 
 
 Man, his nature and constitution, examined, 
 58 66. by nature, social, 58 62. ra- 
 tional, 62 66. the perfect man, 91 and 
 n. 103, 104. man, a part only of the 
 whole, 100 and n. made by God and 
 nature, not a slave, but free, 26, n. 
 
 Mankind, their modes of action, 4, n. 
 
 Manners, or characters, 36, n. 38. 
 
 Manuscript, of Philoponus, 25, n. of Pro- 
 clus, 46, n. 94, n. 
 
 Master-knowledge and science, 37, 99, 108, 
 26, n. 
 
 MaTaiorexvia, what, 8, n. 
 
 Matter, 97, n. 
 
 Maximus Tyrius, 92, n. 
 
 Metaphysics, called so, why, 26, n. 
 
 Milton, 32, 34, n. 39, n. 54, 73, . 
 
 Mimetic. See Imitative. 
 
 Mind, recognises the natural world through 
 the senses, 27. particular minds, har- 
 mony of, with the universal, 101, 102. 
 the more respectable, how characterized, 
 97, n. 
 
 Moral office, defined, 69 and n. happiness, 
 to live performing them, 84 and n. 
 
 Morals, united with religion, 96. why 
 treated apart, ibid. 
 
 Motion, its species, with a view to the mi- 
 
556 
 
 INDEX TO THREE TREATISES. 
 
 me tic arts, 30, 31. natural differs from 
 musical, how, 31. imitated by painting, 
 how, 29. more motions in music than in 
 poetry, 33. 
 
 Music, art of, its media of imitation, 33. 
 its subjects, 30. imitates joy and grief, 
 how, 31. its imitation far inferior to that 
 of painting, why, ibid, its efficacy de- 
 rived elsewhere, 39. by help of natural 
 media, imitates nearly as well as poetry, 
 though inferior, 33, 35. an ally to poetry, 
 how, 39. raises affections, rather than 
 ideas, 40. its force in consequence of 
 this, 40, 41. objections to singing of 
 dramas, solved, 41. 
 
 Musical discords, different to different 
 hearers, whence, 97. 
 
 Nations, comparative estimate of, how to 
 be formed, 27, n. 
 
 Nature, divine, human, brutal, vegetable, 
 3. denned, 6, n. 12, n. her treatment 
 of man, 43 and n. how distinguished 
 from, and opposed to reason, 64, 65. 
 governed by one efficient cause, 65. when 
 and why she deviates, 65, n. the pri- 
 maries of nature, ret irpura rrjs Qvffeoas, 
 what, 70, n. 
 
 Natural philosophy, its order in the rank 
 of sciences, 26, re. 
 
 Necessary, and impossible, 12, n. 
 
 Necessity, natural, how distinguished from 
 natural desire, 5, n. 13, n. 
 
 Nicias, the painter, his judicious remarks 
 on the subjects of his art, 30, n. 
 
 Object of universal pursuit, what, 108 and re. 
 objects of perception, to be valued, not 
 by their number, but their worth, 97, n. 
 
 Painting, art of, its media of imitation, 28. 
 its subjects, 29. imitates sounds, motions, 
 passions, affections, characters, how, ibid. 
 38. its best subjects, how circumstanced, 
 30, 34. confined to an instant, as to time, 
 30. not so as to space, ibid. 
 
 Particulars, their characters, 98 and n. 
 
 Paul, quoted, 72, n. 
 
 Perceptions, sensitive differ from intellec- 
 tual, how, 66, n. 
 
 Perfection, where, and how it exists, 92 
 95. See Standard. 
 
 Peripatetics, unite self and social, 106, n. 
 
 Persius, 9 9, re. 
 
 Perspicuity, essential to arts, 30, n. 
 
 Philoponus, 19, re. 65, re. 25, re. See 
 Joannes Grammaticus. 
 
 Philosophers, the concurring sentiments of 
 various sects of, concerning happiness 
 and moral ends, illustrated from the Py- 
 thagoreans, 84, n. the Socratics, 85, re. 
 the Peripatetics, ibid, the Epicureans, 
 ibid. Thomas Hobbs, 86, n. the Stoics, 
 
 . passim. 
 
 Philosophy, its progress, and end or aim, 
 according to the Peripatetics, II, n. ac- 
 cording to the Platonics, 97, 98, re. phi- 
 losophy ancient, different in its method 
 from modern, how, 98, re. its threefold 
 division according to the ancients, 108, re. 
 the first philosophy, what, and why so 
 called, 26, re. 
 
 Physics, when useful, when not, 108. prior 
 to metaphysics, why, 26, re. 
 
 Physical events, their different effect on 
 weak, and on generous minds, 26, re. 
 
 Piety, connected with virtue, 106, ]07. 
 their different employs, 107, re. 
 
 Plato, his idea of God not philosophizing, 
 and why, 6, re. of the invention of arts, 
 14, re. of the sovereign good, 45, re. his 
 argument for society, 60, re. 63, re. quoted 
 8, re. 16, n. 64, re. 68, re. 75, re. 79,80. 
 90, re. 100, re. 106, n. 108, re. makes 
 God the standard, 95, re. his philoso- 
 phical synthesis, 98, re. his progress of 
 love, 100, re. 
 
 Plutarch, describes law universal, 73, re. 
 quoted, 46, re. 57, re. 73, re. 74, re. 87, re. 
 88, re. 92, re. 93, re. 101, re. 108, re. 
 
 Poetry, art of, its media of imitation, 28. 
 media partly natural, partly artificial, 
 ibid. 32. its force by help of natural 
 media, 32. in this view, limited, 33. and 
 inferior to painting, ibid. 35. but nearly 
 equal to music, 33. poetry, its force by 
 help of an artificial medium, language, 
 34. inferior to painting, where the sub- 
 ject is most perfectly adapted to painting, 
 ibid, the reason, ibid. re. superior to 
 music, 35. poetry, the objects most per- 
 fectly adapted to it, described, 36 38. 
 its force in these last subjects, 38. com- 
 pared to painting, ibid, to music, 39. 
 greatly superior to both, and why, ibid. 
 associates with music, how, ibid, derives 
 power merely from its numbers, ibid. 
 
 Porphyry, 98, n. 
 
 Portents, and monsters, what and whence, 
 65, re. 
 
 Power, 7. natural, prior to energy, 5, re. 
 how different from habit, or custom, ibid. 
 
 Practice and theory, 45. 
 
 Preconceptions, irpoXtyeis, 45, 46 and re. 
 defined, 46, re. 
 
 Proclus, manuscript of, quotations from, 
 46, 47, n. 94, re. 97, re. 
 
 Proficiency, 95 and re. 
 
 Prudence, natural, and our interest, 67. 
 
 Quintilian, his account of fjiaTaiorf^via, or 
 inane and false art, 8, re. of energies and 
 works, 19, re. of speech, 61, re. of the 
 event, in rhetoric, 75, re. of the force of 
 music, 40, re. of the perfect orator, 93, re. 
 95, n. 
 
 Raphael Urbin, 30, n. 34, n. 
 
INDEX TO THREE TREATISES. 
 
 557 
 
 Reason, natural to man, 63. different from 
 instinct, how, 62, 63. rational implies 
 social, 66, n. reason and law, the same, 
 ibid, its character, 98, 99 and n. uni- 
 versal, see God. 
 
 Reason, degraded, how, 99 and n. 
 
 Rectitude of endeavours, or conduct, 72, 73 
 and n. proposed as the sovereign good, 
 72, 73. examined by our preconceptions 
 of good, 77, 78. explained, 73, n. 
 
 Religion, connected with morals, 96, 107. 
 See Piety. 
 
 Reserve, philosophical, what, 102 and n. 
 
 Salvator Rosa, 30, n. 
 
 Sanctius, 61, n. 
 
 Scaliger, 14 n. 18, n. 19, n. 
 
 Science, its objects, what, 94, n. 97, n. 
 
 Self, 47, n. See Interest, Happiness, Virtue. 
 
 Self-denial, discussed, 104. 
 
 Seneca, his account of the causes, 23, n. 
 quoted, 76, n. 84, n. his notion of the 
 perfect man, 94, 95, n. of futurity, 100, n. 
 of philosophic reserve, 102, n. translates 
 Cleanthes, ibid. 
 
 Sense, objects of, their character, 94, n. 
 97, 98, n. common, Avhat, 46, n. 
 
 Sentiments, their description and end, 36, n. 
 
 Sextus Empiricus, 93, n. 
 
 Shaftesbury, earl of, quoted, 30, n. 81, n. 
 100, n. 
 
 Shakspeare, 44. 
 
 Simplicius explains the Stoic definition of 
 moral duty, 69, n. 
 
 Social affections, natural, 60, 87, 88, n. 
 social principle implied in rational, 66,w. 
 contributes to happiness, 78. 
 
 Society, natural to man, 61, 88, n. pro- 
 gress of a rising one, from its commence- 
 ment to its completion, 25, 26, n. neces- 
 sary to the production of science, why, 
 
 26, 27, n. 
 
 Socrates, his notion of happiness, 79, 80, 
 
 74, n. his proficiency, 95 and n. 
 Soul of man, has various faculties, 104. 
 Sounds, imitated by painting, how, 29. 
 
 musical, different from natural, how, 31. 
 
 inferior to those of poetry, in the view 
 
 of imitation, why, 33. 
 Speech, its powers natural, 61. our social 
 
 nature proved from it, 61, n. its origin, 
 
 27. See Hermes. 
 Spenser, 53. 
 
 Sportsmen resemble philosophers, how, 78. 
 
 Standard, when found among the many, 
 when among the few, 64 and n. natural 
 state, a standard for what, 93 and n. of 
 perfection, natural and moral, 93. found 
 in no one individual, ibid, and ra. general 
 reasoning on the idea of standard, 95, n. 
 God, the moral standard, ibid, reason, a 
 standard, 98. 
 
 Stobasus, his account of the virtues, 68, n. 
 makes virtue agreeable to nature, ibid. 
 defines a moral duty, ibid, quoted, 17, . 
 
 81, n. 82, n. 83, n. 84, n. 87, n. 
 
 Stoic philosophy, its idea of the sovereign 
 good, 45 52. objects to the Peripatetic 
 idea, and why, 68, n. its notion of law 
 universal, 72, 73, n. holds its idea of 
 good most consonant to our preconcep- 
 tions, 74, n. resembles the Christian reli- 
 gion, 44, 80 and n. takes not away the 
 difference in things, but establishes it, 
 86 and n. suppresses no natural affections, 
 ibid, its apathy, what, 86 88, n. what 
 not, 87, n. its idea of the perfect moral 
 character, 88, n. its attachment to the 
 social scheme, ibid. Stoic system, what 
 it is not, 87, 88. what it is, 89, 90. did 
 not reject externals, 89, n. its perfect 
 man, 93, n. 95, n. made real self and 
 social the same, 105, n. 
 
 Substances, their species, 26, n. 97, 98. 
 
 Temperance, natural, why, 67. 
 
 Terence, places good not in externals, but 
 in their proper use, 75, n. 
 
 Themistius, 12, n. 13, n. holds the same 
 science of contraries, 68, n. gives the 
 Stoic account of the passions, 87, n. cha- 
 racterizes the most excellent mind by its 
 objects, how, 97, n. 
 
 Theory, compared to practice, 45, 1 03. 
 
 Things, not indifferent, 56. their value 
 adjusted by the peculiar nature of each 
 species, 57. division of them with respect 
 to beings sensitive, 56. philosophy takes 
 not away their distinction, 86 and n. 
 
 Tragedy, end of, explained, 37, n. 
 
 Valerius Maximus, 2, n. 
 
 Varro, his notion of genius, 91, n. 
 
 Verse, English heroic, 39. 
 
 Vice, as much self-denial in, as in virtue, 
 
 104. 
 Virgil, his account of the cause which gave 
 
 birth to arts, 17, n. quoted, 32, 44, 70, 
 
 95, 97. 
 Virtue, cardinal virtues, 68 and n. virtue 
 
 connected with religion, 96. inseparable 
 
 from self, 47, n. 105, 106 and n. 
 Universe, one city or commonwealth, 96, 
 
 97, 100, 101, 102. how we rise to its 
 
 idea, 96. the mansion of Jove, where all 
 
 is fair and good, 97, n. 
 
 Well-being, compared to mere-being, 27. 
 Whole, man, a part of, 100 and n. 
 Wise men, the seven, their character and 
 employ, 26, n. 
 
 Xenocrates, his notion of happiness, 85, n. 
 
 of Safytcw/, or genius, ibid, and 91, w. 
 Xenophon, 92, n. 
 
 Zeno, his account of the end of man, 81, n. 
 84, n. of a passion, or perturbation, 
 trddos, 87, n. makes the passions to be 
 erroneous jugdments, ibid. 
 
INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 ADJECTIVE, how it differs from other at- 
 tributives, such as the verb and the parti- 
 ciple, 171. verbal, ibid, pronominal, 172. 
 strictly speaking can have no genders, 
 ibid. 
 
 Adverbs, their character and use, 173. ad- 
 verbs of intension and remission, 174. 
 of comparison, 174, 175. of time, and 
 place, and motion, 176, 177. made out of 
 prepositions, 177. adverbs of interroga- 
 tion, ibid, affinity between these last, 
 and the pronoun relative, ibid, adverbs 
 derived from every part of speech, 178. 
 found in every predicament, ibid, called 
 by the Stoics, ircw'Se/cTTjs, ibid. 
 
 ^schines, 239. 
 
 Alexander Aphrodisiensis, 202, 206. his 
 account of fancy, or imagination, 219. 
 
 Alexander and Thais, 137. his influence 
 upon the Greek genius, 239. 
 
 Amafanius, 238. 
 
 Ammonius, his account of speech, and its 
 relations, 118. of the progress of human 
 knowledge from complex to simple, 120. 
 of the soul's two principal powers, 122. 
 of the species of sentences, ibid, his no- 
 tion of God, 133. quoted, 1 34. his notion 
 of a verb, 142, 173. his notion of time, 
 145. illustrates from Homer the species 
 of modes or sentences, 159. quoted, 162. 
 his notion of conjunctive particles, and 
 of the unity which they produce, 187. 
 quoted, 197. his account of sound, voice, 
 articulations, &c. 209, 211. of the dis- 
 tinction between a symbol and a resem- 
 blance, 212. what he thought the human 
 body with respect to the soul, 213. his 
 triple order of ideas or forms, 228. 
 
 Analysis and synthesis, 117, 118, 222. 
 analysis of cases, 196, 197, 199. 
 
 Anaxagoras, 195. 
 
 Anthologia Gr. 131. 
 
 Antoninus, 170, 206, 235, 236, 239. 
 
 Apollonius, the grammarian, explains the 
 species of words by the species of let- 
 ters, 125. his elegant name for the noun 
 and verb, 126. quoted, 135. his idea 
 of a pronoun, ibid, and 136. quoted, 137. 
 explains the distinction and relation be- 
 tween the article and the pronoun, 138. 
 his two species of 8e?is, or indication, 
 139. holds a wide difference between the 
 prepositive and subjunctive articles, ibid. 
 explains the nature of the subjunctive 
 article, 140. corrects Homer from the 
 doctrine of enclitics, 141. his notion of 
 that tense called the praeteritum per- 
 fectum, 155. holds the soul's disposition 
 peculiarly explained by verbs, 158. his 
 notion of the indicative mood, 161. of 
 
 the future, implied in all imperatives, 
 162. explains the power of those past 
 tenses, found in the Greek imperatives, 
 ibid, his idea of the infinitive, 165. his 
 name for it, ibid, quoted, 166, 168. his 
 notion of middle verbs, ibid, quoted, 169. 
 170, 174. explains the power and effect 
 of the Greek article, 180, 181. holds it 
 essential to the pronoun not to coalesce 
 with it, 182, 183. shews the different 
 force of the article when differently 
 placed in the same sentence 184. quoted, 
 186, 187. his idea of the preposition, 
 192. 
 
 Apuleius, short account of him, 238. 
 
 Aquinas, Thomas, quoted, 381. 
 
 Argument a priori and a posteriori, 119. 
 Avhich of the two more natural to man, 
 ibid. 
 
 Aristophanes, 240. 
 
 Aristotle, his notion of truth, 117. quoted, 
 119. his notion of the difference between 
 things absolutely prior and relatively 
 prior, ibid, quoted, 121. his definition 
 of a sentence, 122. of a word, 123. of 
 substance, 125. divides things into sub- 
 stance and accident, ibid, how many 
 parts of speech he admitted, and why, 
 126, 127. his notion of genders, 129. 
 his account of the metaphorical use of 
 sex, 131. quoted, 133, 142. his defini- 
 tion of a verb, 144. his notion of a now, 
 or instant, 146. sensation limited to it, 
 146, 147. of time, 147, 148. of time's 
 dependence on the soul, 149. quoted, 
 151, 173. his notion of substance, 176. 
 calls Euripides 6 TTOITJT^S, 181. himself 
 called the Stagirite, why, 182. a dis- 
 tinction of his, ibid, his definition of a 
 conjunction, 186. a passage in his rhe- 
 toric explained, 187. his account of re- 
 latives, 200. his notion of the divine 
 nature, 204. whom he thought it was 
 probable the gods should love, ibid, his 
 notion of intellect and intelligible objects, 
 ibid, held words founded in compact, 207. 
 quoted, 206, 209. his account of the 
 elements, or letters, 210. his high notion 
 of principles, ibid, quoted, 219, 226, 
 379. his notion of the difference between 
 moveable and immoveable existence, 221. 
 between intellectual or divine pleasure, 
 and that which is subordinate, ibid. 
 quoted, ibid, his notion of the divine life 
 or existence compared with that of man, 
 ibid, of the difference between the Greeks 
 and the Barbarians, 236. his character, 
 as a writer, compared with Plato and 
 Xenophon, 240. corresponds with Alex- 
 ander, 239. 
 
INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 559 
 
 Arithmetic, founded upon what principles, 
 218. (See Geometry.) its subject, what, 
 222. owes its being to the mind, how, 
 ibid. 
 
 Art, what, and artist, who, 149, 218. 
 
 Articles, 126. their near alliance with pro- 
 nouns, 138. of two kinds, 179. the first 
 kind, 179 184. the second kind, 184, 
 185. English articles, their difference and 
 use, 179. Greek article, 180. articles 
 denote pre-acquaintance, ibid, thence 
 eminence and notoriety, 181, 182. with 
 what words they associate, with what 
 not, 182, 183. Greek article marks the 
 subject in propositions, 184. articles, in- 
 stances of their effect, ibid, articles pro- 
 nominal, 137, 138, 184. instances of 
 their effect, 185, 217. subjunctive article, 
 see Pronoun relative or subjunctive. 
 
 Articulation. See Voice. 
 
 Asconius, 155. 
 
 Attributives, 125, 126. defined, 141. of the 
 first order, 141 172. of the second 
 order, 173178. See Verb, Participle, 
 Adjective, Adverb. 
 
 Aulus Gellius, short account of him as a 
 writer, 238. 
 
 Bacon, his notion of universal grammar, 
 117. of ancient languages and geniuses, 
 compared to modern, 200. of mental 
 separation or division, 205. of symbols, 
 to convey our thoughts, 213. of the 
 analogy between the geniuses of nations 
 and their languages, 236. 
 
 Being, or existence, mutable, immutable, 
 
 142, 224. temporary, superior to time, 
 
 143. See Truth, God. 
 Belisarius, 161. 
 
 Blemmides, Nicephorus, his notion of time 
 present, 151. his etymology of 'Eiri- 
 0T7?jiiT7, 223. his triple order of forms or 
 ideas, 231. 
 
 Body, instrument of the mind, 205. chief 
 object of modern philosophy, ibid, con- 
 founded with matter, 206. human, the 
 mind's veil, 212. body, that, or mind, 
 which has precedence in different sys- 
 tems, 232. 
 
 Boerhaave, 209. 
 
 Boethius, how many parts of speech he ad- 
 mitted as necessary to logic, 126. his 
 idea of God's existence, 143. illustrates 
 from Virgil the species of modes or sen- 
 tences, 160. quoted, 207. held language 
 founded in compact, ibid, refers to the 
 Deity's unalterable nature, 221. his no- 
 tion of original, intelligible ideas, 233. of 
 the difference between time (however 
 immense) and eternity, 230. short account 
 of his writings and character, 239. 
 
 Both, differs from two, how, 183. 
 
 Brutus, 238, 240. 
 
 Caesar, C. Julius, his laconic epistlr, 169. 
 
 Caesar, Octavius, influence of his govern- 
 ment upon the Roman genius, 240. 
 Callimachus, 132. 
 
 Cases, scarce any such thing in modern lan- 
 guages, 196. name of, whence, 197. no- 
 minative, 198. accusative, 199. genitive 
 and dative, 199, 200. vocative, why 
 omitted, 197. ablative, peculiar to the 
 Romans, and how they employed it, ibid. 
 
 Causes, conjunctions connect the four 
 species of, with their effects, 189. final 
 cause, first in speculation, but last in 
 event, ibid, has its peculiar mode, 158. 
 peculiar conjunction, 189. peculiar case, 
 200. 
 
 Chalcidius, 204. short account of him, 238. 
 
 Chance, subsequent to mind and reason, 
 226. 
 
 Charisius, Sosipater, 177, 178. 
 
 Cicero, 155, 166, 195, 196, 206, 207, 236. 
 compelled to allow the unfitness of the 
 Latin tongue for philosophy, 237. one 
 of the first that introduced it into the 
 Latin language, ibid. Ciceronian and So- 
 cratic periods, 239. 
 
 City, feminine, why, 131. 
 
 Clark, Dr. Sam. 154. 
 
 Comparison, degrees of, 174, 175. why 
 verbs admit it not, 175. why incompa- 
 tible with certain attributives, ibid, why 
 with all substantives, ibid. 
 
 Conjunction, 126. its definition, 186. its 
 two kinds, 187. conjunctions copulative, 
 ibid, continuative, ibid, suppositive, posi- 
 tive, 188. causal, collective, ibid, disjunc- 
 tive simple, 190. adversative, ibid, adver- 
 sative absolute, ibid, of comparison, 191. 
 adequate, ibid, inadequate, ibid, subdis- 
 junctive, ibid, some conjunctions have an 
 obscure signification, when taken alone, 
 192. 
 
 Connective, 126. its two kinds, 185, 186. 
 its first kind, 185 192. its second 
 192 196. See Conjunction, Preposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Consentius, his notion of the neuter gender, 
 129. of middle verbs, 169. of the positive 
 degree, 175. 
 
 Consonant, what, and why so called, 210. 
 
 Contraries, pass into each other, 155. de- 
 structive of each other, 190. 
 
 Conversation, what, 233. 
 
 Conversion, of attributives into substantives, 
 128. of substantives into attributives, 
 170, 172. of attributives into one 
 another, 171. of interrogatives into re- 
 latives, and vice versa, 177. of connec- 
 tives into attributives, ibid. 196. 
 
 Corn. Nepos, 149. 
 
 Country, feminine, why, 131. 
 
 Damascius, his notion of deity, 231. 
 Death, masculine, why, 132. brother to 
 
 sleep, ibid. 
 Declension, the name, whence, 198. 
 
560 
 
 INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 Definitive, 126, 179. See Articles. 
 
 Definitions, what, 223. 
 
 A%IS, 135, 139. 
 
 Demosthenes, 131, 239, 240. 
 
 Derivatives more rationally formed than 
 
 primitives, why, 214. 
 Design, necessarily implies mind, 226. 
 Diogenes, the Cynic, 239. 
 Diogenes Laertius, 127, 159, 162, 208, 
 
 209, 210, 236. 
 
 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 127. 
 Diversity, its importance to nature, 189. 
 
 heightens by degrees, and how, ibid. 
 Donatus, 138, 195. 
 
 Earth, feminine, why, 130. 
 
 Ecclesiasticus, 133. 
 
 Element, defined, 210. primary articula- 
 tions or letters so called, why, ibid, their 
 extensive application, 211. See Letters. 
 
 Empiric, who, 218. 
 
 Enclitics, among the pronouns, their 
 character, 141. 
 
 English tongue, its rule as to genders, 129. 
 a peculiar privilege of, 134. expresses 
 the power of contradistinctive and en- 
 clitic pronouns, 141. its poverty as to 
 the expression of modes and tenses, 160. 
 its analogy in the formation of participles, 
 171. neglected by illiterate writers, ibid. 
 force and power of its articles, 179 
 184. shews the predicate of the proposi- 
 tion by position, as also the accusative 
 case of the sentence, 124, 196, 197. its 
 character as a language, 236. 
 
 Epictetus, 206, 237. 
 
 'ETTiff-T^ur?, its etymology, 223. 
 
 Ether, masculine, why, 130. 
 
 Euclid, a difference between him and Virgil, 
 136. his theorems founded upon what, 
 215. 
 
 Euripides, 132. 206. 
 
 Existence, differs from essence, how, 202. 
 
 Experience, founded on what, 218. 
 
 Experiment, its utility, 218. conducive to 
 art, how, ibid, beholden to science, though 
 science not to that, ibid. 
 
 Form and matter, 117, 119. elementary 
 principles, 205. mysteriously blended in 
 their co-existence, ibid, and 207. form, 
 its original meaning, what, 206. trans- 
 ferred from lower things to the highest, 
 207. preexistent, where, ibid, described 
 by Cicero, 206, 207. in speech, what, 
 207, 211. form of forms, 206. triple 
 order of forms in art, 224. in nature, 
 225. intelligible or specific forms, their 
 peculiar character, 221, 222, 223. 227. 
 
 Fortune, feminine, why, 133. 
 
 Fuller, 170. 
 
 Gaza, Theodore, his definition of a word, 
 123. explains the persons in pronouns, 
 136. hardly admits the subjunctive for 
 
 an article, 139. his account of the tenses,. 
 154. of modes, 158. quoted, 161. calls 
 the infinitive the verb's noun, 165. 
 quoted, 170. his definition of an adverb, 
 173. arranges adverbs by classes, accord- 
 ing to the order of the predicaments, 178, 
 explains the power of the article, 180. 
 quoted, 182. explains the different 
 powers of conjunctive particles, 188. of 
 disjunctive, 189. his singular explanation 
 of a verse in Homer, 190. quoted, 192, 
 196. 
 
 Gemistus, Georgius, otherwise Pletho, his 
 doctrine of ideas or intelligible forms, 232. 
 Genders, their origin, 129. their natural 
 number, ibid. (See Sex.) why wanting 
 to the first arid second pronoun, 136. 
 Genus and species, why they (but not indi- 
 viduals) admit of number, 128. 
 Geometry, founded on what principles, 218, 
 that and arithmetic independent on ex- 
 periment, ibid. (See Science.) its subject, 
 what, 222. beholden for it to the mind, 
 how, ibid. 
 
 God, expressed by neuters, such as rb 
 Qfiov, numen, &c. why, 132, 133. as 
 masculine, why, ibid, immutable, and 
 superior to time and its distinctions, 143. 
 allwise, and always wise, 204. immediate 
 objects of his wisdom, what, ibid, whom 
 among men he may be supposed to love, 
 ibid, form of forms, sovereign artist, 
 206, 207, 227. above all intensions and 
 remissions, 164, 220, 227. his existence 
 different from that of man, how, 220, 
 221. his divine attributes, ibid, his ex- 
 istence necessarily infers that of ideas or 
 exemplary forms, 226, 227. exquisite 
 perfection of these divine ideas or forms, 
 227. his stupendous view of all at once, 
 231. region of truth, 164, 231, 235. in 
 him knowledge and power unite, 228. 
 Good, above all utility, and totally distinct 
 from it, 203. sought by all men, ibid. 
 considered by all as valuable for itself, 
 ibid, intellectual, its character, ibid. See 
 Science, God. 
 Gorgias, 132. 
 
 Grammar, philosophical or universal, 117. 
 
 how essential to other arts, 118. how 
 
 distinguished from other grammars, 120. 
 
 Grammarians, error of, in naming verbs 
 
 neuter, 168. in degrees of comparison, 
 
 174. in the syntax of conjunctions, 186. 
 
 Greeks, their character, as a nation, 238. 
 
 Asiatic Greeks, different from the other 
 
 Greeks, and why, 239. Grecian genius, 
 
 its maturity and decay, ibid. 
 
 Greek tongue, how perfect in the expression 
 
 of modes and tenses, 160. force of its 
 
 imperatives in the past tenses, 162. 
 
 wrong in ranging interjections with 
 
 adverbs, 201. its character, as a language, 
 
 239, 241. 
 
 Grocinus, his system of the tenses, '154. 
 
INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 561 
 
 Heraclitus, saying of, 119. his system of 
 
 things, what, 223. 
 Hermes, his figure, attributes, and character, 
 
 210. authors who have writ of him, 
 
 ibid. 
 Hesiod, called 6 iroirjr^s^ the poet, by Plato, 
 
 182. 
 
 Hoadly's accidence, 154. 
 Homer, 131, 132, 140, 141, 159, 160, 181, 
 
 185, 190, 196, 199, 206, 239, 240. 
 Horace, 133, 140, 153, 158, 159, 164, 166, 
 
 169, 175, 178, 184, 192, 237, 241. 
 
 Ideas, of what, words the symbols, 215 
 217. if only particular were to exist, the 
 consequence what, 214. general, their 
 importance, 215. undervalued by whom, 
 and why, 217. of what faculty the ob- 
 jects, 220. their character, 221 , 222, 231. 
 the only objects of science and real know- 
 ledge, why, 223. acquired, how, 218 
 224. derived, whence, 224, &c. their triple 
 order in art, 225. the same in nature, 
 228. essential to mind, why, 226, 227. 
 the first and highest ideas, character of, 
 228. ideas, their different sources, stated, 
 234. their real source, 226, 227. 
 
 Jeremiah, 235. 
 
 Imagination, what, 219. differs from sense, 
 how, ibid, from memory and recollection, 
 how, ibid. 
 
 Individuals, why so called, 128. quit their 
 character, how, and why, ibid, and 129. 
 their infinity, how expressed by a finite 
 number of words, 179, 180, 185, 216. 
 become objects of knowledge, how, 223, 
 224. 
 
 Instant. See Now. 
 
 Intellect. See Mind. 
 
 Interjections, their application and effect, 
 201. no distinct part of speech with the 
 Greeks, though with the Latins, ibid. 
 their character and description, ibid. 
 
 Interrogation, its species explained and il- 
 lustrated, 161, 162. interrogatives refuse 
 the article, why, 183. 
 
 Joannes Grammat. See Philoponus. 
 
 Isocrates. 240. 
 
 Julian, 239. 
 
 Kuster, 168. 
 
 Knowledge, if any more excellent than 
 sensation, the consequence, 224. 
 
 Language, how constituted, 211. defined, 
 "21'2. founded incompact, 207,211. (See 
 Speech.) symbolic, not imitative, why, 
 212 219. impossible for it to express 
 the real essences of things, 213. its 
 double capacity, why necessary, 217. its 
 matter, what, ibid, its form, what, ibid. 
 its precision and permanence, derived 
 whence, 216. particular languages, their 
 
 identity, whence, 224. their diversity, 
 whence, ibid. See English, Greek, Latin, 
 Oriental. 
 
 Latin tongue, deficient in aorists, and how 
 it supplies the defect, 153. its peculiar 
 use of the prccteritum perfectum, 155. 
 has recourse to auxiliars for some modes 
 and tenses, 160. to a periphrasis for some 
 participles, 171. in what sense it has 
 articles, 184. the ablative, a case pecu- 
 liar to it, 1 97. right in separating inter- 
 jections from the other parts of speech, 
 201. its character as a language, 237. 
 not made for philosophy, ibid, sunk with 
 Boethius, 238. 
 
 Letters, what Socrates thought of their in- 
 ventor, 210. divine honours paid him by 
 the Egyptians, ibid. See Element. 
 
 Liberty, its influence upon men's genius, 
 240. 
 
 Life, connected with being, 151, 204. 
 
 Linnaeus, 130. 
 
 Literature, its cause, and that of virtue, 
 connected, how, 236. ancient, recom- 
 mended to the study of the liberal, 241. 
 its peculiar effect with regard to a man's 
 character, ibid. 
 
 Logic, what, 118. 
 
 Longinus, noble remark of, 240. 
 
 Lucian, 129. 
 
 Lucilius, ibid. 
 
 Macrobius, short account of him, 238. 
 quoted, 154, 163, 166. 
 
 Man, rational and social, 117. his peculiar 
 ornament, what, ibid, first or prior to 
 man, what, 119, 195. his existence, the 
 manner of, what, 220. how most likely 
 to advance in happiness, 221. has within 
 him something divine, 204. his ideas, 
 whence derived, 232 234. medium, 
 through which he derives them, what, 
 220,232. his errors, whence, 236. to be 
 corrected, how, ibid. 
 
 Manuscripts quoted, of Olympiodorus, 223, 
 232. of Philoponus, 147, 223, 227. of 
 Proclus, 226, 227. of Damascius, 231. 
 
 Marcianus Capella, short account of him, 
 238. 
 
 Master artist, what forms his character, 
 149. 
 
 Matter joined with form, 117, 119. its 
 original meaning, confounded by the vul- 
 gar, how, 206. its extensive character 
 according to ancient philosophy, 205* 
 described by Cicero, 207. of language, 
 what, ibid, described at large, 208, &c. 
 
 Maximus Tyrius, his notion of the supreme 
 intellect, 164. 
 
 Memory and recollection, what, 219. dis- 
 tinguished from imagination or fancy 
 how, ibid. 
 
 Metaphor, its use, 195. 
 
 2o 
 
562 
 
 INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 Metaphysicians, modern, their systems, 
 what, 231. 
 
 Milton, 120, 121, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 
 140, 153, 160, 177, 194, 227, 235. 
 
 Mind (not sense) recognises time, 148, 149. 
 universal, 164, 207, 220. differs not (as 
 sense does) from the objects of its per- 
 ception, 204. acts in part through the 
 body, in part without it, 205. its high 
 power of separation, ibid, and 222. pene- 
 trates into all things, 205. vovs vAt/cbs, 
 what, 206. mind differs from sense, how, 
 221, 222. the source of union by viewing 
 one in many, ibid, of distinction by view- 
 ing many in one, 222. without ideas, re- 
 sembles what, 228. region of truth and 
 science, 223. that or body, which has 
 precedence, 231, 232. mind, human, how 
 spontaneous and easy in its energies, 22 1 . 
 all minds similar and congenial, why, 
 233. 
 
 Modes or moods, whence derived, and to 
 what end destined, 158. declarative or 
 indicative, ibid, potential, ibid, subjunc- 
 tive, 159. interrogative, ibid, inquisitive, 
 ibid, imperative, ibid, precative or op- 
 tative, ibid, the several species illustrated 
 from Homer, Virgil, and Milton, ibid. 
 infinitive mode, its peculiar character, 
 164. how dignified by the Stoics, ibid. 
 other modes resolvable into it, 165. its 
 application and coalescence, ibid, mode of 
 science, of conjecture, of proficiency, of 
 legislature, 166. modes compared and 
 distinguished, 160 163. Greek impera- 
 tives of the past, explained and illustrated, 
 162. 
 
 Moon, feminine, why, 130. 
 
 Motion, and even its privation, necessarily 
 imply time, 144. 
 
 Muretus, quoted, 237- his notion of the 
 Romans, ibid. 
 
 Musonius Rufus, 238. 
 
 Names, proper, what the consequence if no 
 other Avords, 214. their use, 216. hardly 
 parts of language, ibid, and 224. 
 
 Nathan and David, 184. 
 
 Nature, first to nature, first to man, how 
 they differ, 119. frugality of, 209. na- 
 tures subordinate subservient to the 
 higher, 220. 
 
 Nicephorus. See Blemmides. 
 
 Nicomachus, 227. 
 
 Noun, or substantive, its three sorts, 127. 
 what nouns susceptible of number, and 
 why, 128. only part of speech susceptible 
 of gender, 129. 
 
 A now, or instant, the bound of time, but 
 no part of it, 146. analogous to a point 
 in a geometrical line, ibid, its use with 
 respect to time, ibid, its minute and 
 transient presence illustrated, 151. by 
 
 this presence time made present, 150, 151. 
 See Time, Place, Space. 
 Number, to what words it appertains, and 
 why, 128. 
 
 Objectors, ludicrous, 202. grave, ibid. 
 
 Ocean, masculine, why, 131. 
 
 Olympiodorus, quoted from a manuscript 
 his notion of knowledge, and its degrees, 
 224. of general ideas, the objects of 
 science, 232. 
 
 One, by natural coincidence, 164, 167, 173, 
 187, 193. by the help of external con- 
 nectives, 187, 194. 
 
 Oriental languages, number of their parts 
 of speech, 127. their character and ge- 
 nius, 236, 237. 
 
 Orpheus, 228. 
 
 Ovid, 155, 158, 177. 
 
 Participle, how different from the verb, 143, 
 170. its essence or character, 171. how 
 different from the adjective, ibid. See 
 Attributive, Latin and English tongues. 
 
 Particulars, how, though infinite, expressed 
 by words which are finite, 216. conse- 
 quence of attaching ourselves wholly to 
 them, 218. 
 
 Pausanias, 199. 
 
 Perception and volition, the soul's leading 
 powers, 121, 122. perception twofold, 
 217. in man what first, 119, 218, 220. 
 sensitive and intellective differ, how, 221. 
 if not correspondent to its objects, er- 
 roneous, 223. 
 
 Period. See Sentence. 
 
 Peripatetic philosophy, in the latter ages 
 commonly united with the Platonic, 163. 
 what species of sentences it admitted, 
 159. its notion of cases, 197. held words 
 founded in compact, 207. 
 
 Perizonius, his rational account of the per- 
 sons in nouns and pronouns, 167. 
 
 Persius, 138, 164, 224. short account of his 
 character, 238. 
 
 Persons, first, second, third, their origin and 
 use, 135, 136. 
 
 Philoponus, his notion of time, 147. of the 
 business of wisdom or philosophy, 223. 
 of God, the Sovereign Artist, 227. 
 
 Philosophers, ancient, who not qualified to 
 write or talk about them, 195. provided 
 words for new ideas, how, ibid. 
 
 Philosophers, modern, their notion of ideas, 
 217, 218. their employment, 218. their 
 criterion of truth, ibid, deduce all from 
 body, 231. supply the place of occult 
 qualities, how, 232. 
 
 Philosophy, what would banish it out of 
 the world, 202. its proper business, what, 
 223. ancient differs from modern, how, 
 205. modern, its chief object, what, ibid. 
 
 Place, mediate and immediate, 151. applied 
 
INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 563 
 
 to illustrate the present time, and the 
 present instant, ibid, its various relations 
 denoted, how, 194, 195. its latitude and 
 universality, 194. 
 
 Plato, 123. how many parts of speech he 
 admitted, 126. his account of genius 
 and species, 128. quoted, 143. his style 
 abounds with particles, why, 192. new- 
 coined word of, 195. quoted, 211. in 
 what he placed real happiness, 221. his 
 two different and opposite etymologies of 
 7na"r^u7ji/, 223, 224. his idea of time, 
 231. quoted, 236. his character, as a 
 writer, compared with Xenophon and 
 Aristotle, 240. 
 Pletho. See Gemistus. 
 Pliny, his account how the ancient artists 
 inscribed their names upon their works, 
 156. 
 
 Plutarch, 126. 
 Poetry, what, 118. 
 Porphyry, 128. 
 Position, its force in syntax, 124, 183, 196, 
 
 197. 
 
 Prepositions, 126. defined, 192. their use, 
 194. their original signification, ibid. 
 their subsequent and figurative, 195. 
 their different application, ibid, force in 
 composition, ibid, and 196. change into 
 adverbs, 177, 196. 
 
 Principles, to be estimated from their conse- 
 quences, 119,184, 185,211. of union and 
 diversity, their different ends and equal 
 importance to the universe, 189. (See 
 One, Union, Diversity.) elementary prin- 
 ciples mysteriously blended, 205. their 
 invention difficult, why, 211. those of 
 arithmetic and geometry how simple, 
 218. 
 
 Priscian, defines a word, 123. explains 
 from philosophy the noun and verb, 125, 
 126. quoted, 127. explains how indica- 
 tion and relation differ, 135. the nature 
 of the pronoun, ibid, of pronominal per- 
 sons, 136. his reason why the two first 
 pronouns have no genders, 137. why but 
 one pronoun of each sort, ibid, ranges 
 articles with pronouns according to the 
 Stoics, ibid, a pertinent observation of 
 his, 142. explains the double power of 
 the Latin prcBteritum, 153, 155. his doc- 
 trine concerning the tenses, 154. defines 
 moods, or modes, 158. his notion of the 
 imperative, 162. of the infinitive, 165. 
 of verbs which naturally precede the in- 
 finitive, 166. of impersonals, 168. of 
 verbs neuter, ibid, of the participle, 173. 
 of the adverb, 174. of comparatives, 176. 
 quoted, 178. his reason why certain pro- 
 nouns coalesce not with the article, 182. 
 explains the different powers of con- 
 nectives which conjoin, 187, 188. of con- 
 nectives which disjoin, 189. quoted, 193. 
 
 his notion of the interjection, 201. of 
 sound or voice, 208. 
 
 Proclus, his opinion about rest, 144. quoted, 
 206. explains the source of the doctrine 
 of ideas, 226, 227. 
 
 Pronouns, why so called, 135. their species, 
 or persons, 136. why the first and second 
 have no sex, 137. resemble articles, but 
 how distinguished, 1 38. their coalescence, 
 ibid, their importance in language, 139. 
 relative or subjunctive pronoun, its nature 
 and use, ibid. 140. those of the first and 
 second person, when expressed, when not, 
 140. tyK\LTiital and opBorovov^vai, how 
 distinguished, ibid, primitives, refuse the 
 article, why, 1 82. 
 
 Protagoras, his notion of genders, 129. a 
 sophism of his, 159. 
 
 Proverbs of Solomon, 235. 
 
 Publius Syrus, 153. 
 
 Qualities, occult, what in modern philoso- 
 phy supplies their place, 232. 
 Quintilian, 162, 184,236. 
 
 Relatives, mutually infer each other, 189, 
 200. their usual case, the genitive, ibid. 
 
 Rhetoric, what, 118. 
 
 Romans, their character as a nation, 237. 
 Roman genius, its maturity and decay, 
 239, 240. 
 
 Sallustius Philosoph. 234. 
 
 Sanctius, his elegant account of the dif- 
 ferent arts respecting speech, 118. quoted, 
 127, 164, 168. rejects impersonals, 168. 
 quoted, 176. his notion of the conjunc- 
 tion, after Scaliger, 186. of the inter- 
 jection, 201. 
 
 Scaliger, his etymology of quis, 140. his 
 notion of tenses from Grocinus, 1 54. his 
 elegant observation upon the order of the 
 tenses, 157. upon the pre-eminence of 
 the indicative mode, 166. his account 
 how the Latins supply the place of ar- 
 ticles, 1 84. his notion of the conjunction, 
 1 86. his subtle explication of its various 
 powers, 187, 188, 196. his reason from 
 philosophy why substantives do not coa- 
 lesce, 193. his origin of prepositions, 194. 
 his etymology of scientia, 223. 
 
 Science, 118. its mode the indicative, and 
 tense the present, why, 163. its con- 
 junction the collective, why, 188. de- 
 fended, 202. valuable for its consequences, 
 ibid, for itself, 202204. (See God.) 
 pure and speculative depends on prin- 
 ciples the most simple, 218. not beholden 
 to experiment, though experiment to it, 
 ibid, whole of it seen in composition and 
 division, 223. its etymology, ibisl. resi- 
 dence of itself and its objects, where, 224 
 See Mind. 
 
564 
 
 INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 Scriptures, their sublimity, whence, 237. 
 
 Seneca, 130, 157,238. 
 
 Sensation, of the present only, 147, 148, 
 157. none of time, 147. each confined 
 to its own objects, 213, 224. its objects 
 infinite, 214,218. man's first perception, 
 ibid, consequence of attaching ourselves 
 wholly to its objects, ibid, how prior to 
 intellection, 226. how subsequent, 231. 
 
 Sentence, definition of, 122. its various 
 species investigated, 121 . illustrated from 
 Milton, 160. connection between sen- 
 tences and modes, 159. 
 
 Separation, corporeal inferior to mental, 
 why, 205. 
 
 Servius, 155, 182. 
 
 Sex, (see Gender,) transferred in language 
 to beings, that in nature want it, and 
 why, 130. substances alone susceptible 
 of it, 167. 
 
 Shakspeare, 120, 121, 123, 129, 131, 132. 
 
 Ship, feminine, why, 131. 
 
 Simplicius, his triple order of ideas or 
 forms, 228, 229. 
 
 Sophocles, 151. 
 
 Soul, its leading powers, 121, 122. 
 
 Sound, species of, 207, 208. the I/AT;, or 
 matter of language, 208. defined, ibid. 
 See Voice. 
 
 Space, how like, how unlike to time, 145. 
 See Place. 
 
 Speech, peculiar ornament of man, 117. 
 how resolved or analyzed, ibid, its four 
 principal parts, and why these, and not 
 others, 125, 126. its matter and form 
 taken together, 205 207. its matter 
 taken separately, 208211. its form 
 taken separately, 211 220. necessity 
 of speech, whence, 212, 213. founded in 
 compact, 207, 211. 
 
 Spencer, 156. 
 
 Spirits, animal, subtle ether, nervous ducts, 
 vibrations, &c. their use in modern phi- 
 losophy. See Qualities occult. 
 
 Stoics, how many parts of speech they held, 
 127. ranged articles along with pro- 
 nouns, 138. their account of the tenses, 
 155. multiplied the number of sentences, 
 159. allowed the name of verb to the 
 infinitive only, into which they supposed 
 all other modes resolvable, 165, 166. 
 their logical view of verbs, and their dis- 
 tinctions subsequent, 169. their notion 
 of the participle, 173. of the adverb, ibid. 
 called the adverb TrcwSe/CTTjs, and why, 
 178. called the preposition (rfoSecr/nos 
 irpoOeriitbs, 192. invented new words, 
 and gave new significations to old ones, 
 195. their notion of cases, 197. of the 
 uArj, or matter of virtue, 206. of sound, 
 208. of the species of sound, 209. their 
 definition of an element, 210. 
 
 Subject and predicate, how distinguished in 
 
 Greek, 184. how in English, 183. ana- 
 logous to what in nature, 198. 
 
 Substance and attribute, 125. the great ob- 
 jects of natural union, 193. substance 
 susceptible of sex, 129, 167. of number, 
 128. coincides not with substance, 193. 
 incapable of intension, and therefore of 
 comparison, 175, 176. 
 
 Substantive, 125, 126. described, 127. pri- 
 mary, 127135. secondary, 135, 136. 
 (See Noun, Pronoun.) substantive and 
 attributive, analogous in nature to what, 
 198. 
 
 2Vij8a/m, Trapaa-u/A/Ja/ua, &c. 169. 
 
 Sun, masculine, why, 130. 
 
 Sylva, a peculiar signification of, 206. 
 
 Symbol, what, 212. differs from imitation, 
 how, ibid, preferred to it in constituting 
 language, why, ibid. 
 
 Tenses, their natural number, and why, 
 152. aorists, 153. tenses either passing 
 or completive, what authorities for these 
 distinctions, 154, 155. prateritum per- 
 fection of the Latins, peculiar uses of, 
 
 155, 156. imperfectum, peculiar uses of, 
 
 156, 157. order of tenses in common 
 grammars riot fortuitous, 157. 
 
 Terence, 177, 196. 
 
 The and A. See Article. 
 
 Themistius, 119. his notion how the mind 
 gains the idea of time, 148. of the de- 
 pendence of time on the soul's existence, 
 
 149. of the latent transition of nature 
 from one genus to another, 192. 
 
 Theodectes, 127. 
 
 Theophrastus, his notion of speech under its 
 
 various relations, 118. mentioned, 240. 
 Theuth, inventor of letters, 210. See 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 Tibullus, 139, 155, 156. 
 Time, masculine, why, 131. why implied 
 
 in every verb, 144. gave rise to tenses, 
 
 ibid, its most obvious division, ibid. 
 
 how like, how unlike to space, 145, 146. 
 
 strictly speaking no time present, 147. 
 
 in what sense it may be called present, 
 
 150, 151. all time divisible and ex- 
 tended, 145, 151. no object of sensation, 
 why, 147. how faint and shadowy in 
 existence, ibid, how, and by what power 
 we gain its idea, 148. idea of the past, 
 prior to that of the future, ibid, that of 
 the future, how acquired, ibid, and 149. 
 how connected with art and prudence, 
 149. of what faculty, time the proper 
 object, ibid, how intimately connected 
 with the soul, ibid, order and value of 
 its several species, 150. what things exist 
 in it, what not, 163, 164. its natural 
 effect on things existing in it, 131, 164. 
 described by Plato, as the moving picture 
 of permanent eternity, 230. this account 
 
INDEX TO HERMES. 
 
 565 
 
 explained by Boethius, ibid, and 131. 
 See Now, or Instant. 
 
 Truth, necessary, immutable, superior to all 
 distinctions of present, past, and future, 
 142, 143, 163, 235. (See Being, God.) 
 its place or region, 164, 223. seen in 
 composition and division, 118, 223. even 
 negative, in some degree synthetical, 118, 
 189, 221. every truth one, and so recog- 
 nised, how, 221. factitious truth, 235. 
 
 Varro, 133, 134, 138, 238. 
 
 Verb, 126. its more loose, as well as more 
 strict acceptations, 141,173. verb, strictly 
 so called, its character, 143. distinguished 
 from participles, ibid, from adjectives, 
 ibid, implies time, why, 144. tenses, 
 145, 152. modes, or moods, 158, 166. 
 verbs, how susceptible of number and 
 person, 166. species of verbs, 167. active, 
 168. passive, ibid, middle, ibid, transi- 
 tive, ibid, neuter, ibid, inceptive, 154, 
 170. desiderative or meditative, 154. 
 formed out of substantives, 170. (See 
 Time, Tenses, Modes.) impersonals re- 
 jected, 168. 
 
 Verbs substantives, their pre-eminence, 142. 
 essential to every proposition, ibid, im- 
 plied in every other verb, 142, 143. de- 
 note existence, 142. vary, as varies the 
 existence, or being, which they denote, 
 143. See Being, Truth, God. 
 
 Verses, logical, 215. 
 
 Vice, feminine, why, 133. 
 
 Virgil, 130, 131, 133, 136, 140, 155. his 
 peculiar method of coupling the passing 
 and completive tenses, 156. quoted, 158, 
 170, 175, 177, 185, 200, 230, 234. his 
 idea of the Roman genius, 185. 
 
 Virtue, feminine, why, 133. moral and in- 
 tellectual differ, how, 203, 204. its mat- 
 ter, what, 206. its form, what, ibid, con- 
 nected with literature, how, 236. 
 
 Understanding, its etymology, 22 3. human 
 understanding, a composite of what, 241. 
 
 Union, natural, the great objects of, 193, 
 198. perceived by what power, 221. in 
 every truth, whence derived, 222. 
 
 Universe. See World. 
 
 Voice, defined, 20 8. simple, produced, how, 
 ibid, and 209. differs from articulate, 
 how, ibid, articulate, what, 209. 210. 
 articulate, species of, ibid. See Vowel, 
 Consonant, Element. 
 
 Volition. See Perception. 
 
 Vossius, 127, 138, 201. 
 
 Vowel, what, and why so called, 209. 
 
 Utility, always and only sought by the 
 sordid and illiberal, 202, 203. yet could 
 have no being, were there not something 
 beyond it, 203. See Good. 
 
 Whole and parts, 119. 
 
 Wisdom, how some philosophers thought it 
 distinguished from wit, 223. 
 
 Words, denned, 123, 211. the several spe- 
 cies of, 123 126. significant by them- 
 selves, significant by relation, 124. va- 
 riable, invariable, ibid, significant by 
 themselves and alone, 128 178. by 
 relation and associated, 179 196. sig- 
 nificant by compact, 207, 211. symbols, 
 and not imitations, 212. symbols, of 
 what not, 214, 215. symbols, of what, 
 215, 216, 217, 224. how, though in 
 number finite, able to express infinite 
 particulars, 216, 224. 
 
 World, visible and external, the passing 
 picture of what, 227, 230. preserved one 
 and the same, though ever changing, 
 how, 229. its cause not void of reason, 
 226. 
 
 Writers, ancient polite, differ from modern 
 polite, in what, and why, 192. 
 
 Xenophon, 133, 236. his character, as a 
 writer, compared with Plato and Aristotle, 
 240. 
 
 "TAT/, 205, 206. See Matter, Sylva. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 ABASSID^E, 324. 
 
 Abderic words, used by Democritus, 349. 
 
 Action and passion universally diffused, 324. 
 exist either in the same subject, or in 
 different ones, ibid, first species of action, 
 that of mere body perfectly insensitive, 
 325. second, that of body sensitive, ibid. 
 third, that of body sensitive, with reason 
 superadded, ibid, fourth, that of reason 
 or intellect devoid of passions, and ope- 
 rating on subjects external, as in the 
 case of nature and art, 326. fifth sort, 
 that of pure intellect, keeping within it- 
 self, ibid, action pure, belongs only to the 
 supreme mind ; passion pure, to the pri- 
 mary matter, 328. action, three modes 
 of, 329. the first mode, ibid, the second, 
 ibid, the third, 330. 
 
 Action, in public life often aided by specu- 
 lation, 247, 248. 
 
 Action and re-action, 261, 330. 
 
 Active and passive, run through the uni- 
 verse, 277, 281, 289, 328. 
 
 Activity, pure, where it exists, 281, 299, 
 329. 
 
 Actors, on the stage, and in life, 247, 348. 
 
 A'ctual and perfect, necessarily previous to 
 their contraries, or else nothing could 
 have been actual and perfect, 332, actual 
 and capable, 366. 
 
 Actuality, 365. actuality of capacity, where 
 it exists, 366. 
 
 Addison, 382. 
 
 Adrian, pope, 382. 
 
 Agent, same agent leads to different effects, 
 when acting upon different patients, 331. 
 
 Agis, 337. 
 
 Alexander the Great, 247, 250. his statue 
 by Lysippus, 346. 
 
 Alexander Aphrodisiensis, 277. 
 
 Alexandrine library, by whom burnt, 324. 
 
 Aliation, 361. See Motion. 
 
 All, its use and application in language, 
 273. 
 
 Alteratio, means in barbarous Latin oA- 
 AotWts, 361. 
 
 Ammianus Marcellinus, 248. 
 
 Ammonius, illustrates, where analysis is to 
 end, and practice to begin, 252. quoted, 
 253,254,258. explains the utility of these 
 arrangements, 253. his account of matter 
 and body, 273. his text corrected and 
 supplied from a Greek manuscript, 297. 
 quoted, 312, 334, 335, 355, 361, 362, 
 380. his account of definition, 335. 
 
 Analogy, a use of it, 258. 
 
 Analogy and abstraction, their use, 271, 
 
 276, 296. 
 Anaxagoras, 247, 248. 
 
 Anger, 371. 
 
 Angles and flexures of the body, 346. 
 
 Animals, all have an inward feeling of their 
 constitution and proper nature, 369. 
 
 Animating powers, their order and subor- 
 dination, 372. 
 
 Anteprsedicamenta, 258. 
 
 Anticipation, what, 369. 
 
 Ancients, 381. 
 
 Antipho, 379. 
 
 Appendages to the Arrangements, what, and 
 how many, 354. 
 
 Appetite, 326, 371. 
 
 Apuleius, 261. 
 
 Aratus, 322. 
 
 Archimedes, 339, 340, 374. 
 
 Aristo, 249. 
 
 Archytas wrote a comment on the categories, 
 or predicaments, 250. his name for them, 
 257. puts quality next after substance, 
 and why, 291. held an active and a pas- 
 sive principle, 281. enumerates the spe- 
 cies of action, 327. refers to God for 
 pure activity, 328. to matter for pure 
 passivity, ibid, definitions of his, 378. 
 
 Aristophanes, 354. 
 
 Aristotle, preceptor to Alexander, 247, 248. 
 his Rhetoric quoted, 251. his Organon 
 explained by Ammonius, 252. thought 
 infinite and individuals to be unknow- 
 able, 254. quoted, 255. his account and 
 enumeration of the predicaments, or uni- 
 versal arrangements, 257. by whom es- 
 teemed, and how long, 259. quoted, 260, 
 261. his treatise Uepl Ko'o>ou, 261. 
 quoted, 258, 262, 263. holds the ne- 
 cessity of matter or a subtratum for all 
 natural productions, 263, 264. quoted, 
 264, 265. thinks form may supply the 
 place of privation, and why, 265, 266. 
 his idea of matter, 267, 268, 269. he 
 and Plato borrowed from the Pythago- 
 reans, 269, 270. used the methods of 
 analogy and abstraction to prove the 
 first matter, 271. quoted, 276, 277, 279. 
 faculties of the soul, how distributed, 278. 
 quoted, 282, 283. a disciple both of So- 
 crates and Plato, 284. held there could 
 be no innate ideas, and why, ibid, quoted, 
 285, 288, 290, 291, 293, 294, 295, 296, 
 299, 300, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 308, 
 312, 313, 314, 316, 318, 319, 320, 330, 
 332, 333, 334, 337, 340, 345, 346, 349, 
 350, 355, 356, 357, 358, 359, 361, 363, 
 364, 366, 367, 368, 369, 370, 371, 
 372, 373, 374, 375, 376, 377, 378, 
 380. follows Socrates in sentiment, 380. 
 abounds in quotations where, 382. his 
 explanation of the terms both and all, 
 273. supposes matter inseparable from 
 
INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 567 
 
 its attributes, 275. his distinction be- 
 tween the animal faculties, which want 
 a corporeal organ, and those which want 
 none, 283. compares the soul to a pilot, 
 ibid, his idea after what manner the 
 magnitudes of beings were limited, 305. 
 his notion of generation and dissolution, 
 321. makes one faculty equal to the dis- 
 cernment of two contrarieties, 332. makes 
 energy prior to power, 333. enumerates 
 the six species of motion, 362. his ex- 
 tensive use of the term yvSxris, " know- 
 ledge," 370. supposes a bound to human 
 actions in the final cause, 380. 
 Arithmetic finds its subject in quantity, 
 
 307. 
 
 Arrangements, the necessity of them, 252, 
 255. their extensive utility, 253, 381, 
 383. a method of arrangement proposed, 
 255. rejected, and why, 256. another 
 method proposed, 256 258. adopted, 
 and why, 258. why called Philosophical 
 Arrangements, ibid, different names given 
 them by the ancients, 257, 258. how the 
 Greek logicians divided and formed their 
 speculations upon this subject, 258. were 
 followed by the Latins, who added names 
 of their own coining, ibid, force of ar- 
 rangement in the intellectual world, 308, 
 349, 350. in the visible world, 349. ar- 
 rangements or categories lead us from 
 the contemplation of body to that of 
 mind, 381. teach us how to place our 
 ideas in proper order, ibid, are connected 
 with, and introduce speculations of every 
 species and character, ibid, shew the 
 coincidence of many theories ancient and 
 modern, 382. indicate the union between 
 taste and truth, 383. trace and teach the 
 source of subordinate arts and sciences, 
 ibid, enable us to adjust their compara- 
 tive value, 258, 383. to the doing of this 
 no particular science is equal, and why, 
 258, 384. 
 
 Arrian. See Epictetus. 
 Arrogance, a cause of it, 258, 384. 
 Arts, how limited each particular one, 258. 
 art, what it is, what it is not, 278, 296. 
 a difference between art and nature, 297. 
 often ends in giving figure, 298. arts 
 arise from want, 379. arts of painting, 
 music, grammar, beholden to contraries, 
 261, 262. arts of progression and com- 
 pletion, 250. 
 Atheism, supposed organs to precede their 
 
 use, 284, 285. 
 
 Atoms and a void, 261, 349. 
 Attitudes, their importance to the painter 
 and statuary, 346. instances from pic- 
 tures and statues, ibid, attitudes, from 
 poets, of sitting in despair, 347. of sitting 
 in despondence, ibid, of conjugal affec- 
 tion, ibid, of Thescelus aiming a javelin, 
 ibid, of death doing the same, it/it I. of 
 
 humiliation, ibid, of lying extended, 
 ibid. 348. of sleep and death, ibid, of 
 Alexander, by Lysippus, 346. 
 
 Attraction, 325, 376. 
 
 Attribute and substance, general and par- 
 ticular, 255. attribute divided into its 
 respective sorts or species, 257. this di- 
 vision the basis of the whole work, 258. 
 
 Augmentation and diminution, 361. See 
 Motion. 
 
 Ausonius, 287. 
 
 Axiom, ancient, 332. 
 
 Barbarity, when it was the eastern world, 
 when it was the western world emerged 
 from it, 324. 
 
 Baxter, commentator on Horace, 353. 
 
 Beings, why moveable, all but one, 380. 
 
 Bessario, cardinal, 319. 
 
 Bltuov, see Forced, 368. 
 
 Blemmides, 265, 327, 328. 
 
 Blenheim house and gardens, 353. 
 
 Body, what makes it, 273. triply extended, 
 ibid, considered as the secondary matter, 
 ibid, mathematical and physical, how dis- 
 tinguished, 274. 
 
 Bodies, the perfectly similar, though they 
 have place, have no situation or position, 
 and why, 343, 346. the same holds as 
 to bodies perfectly dissimilar, and why, 
 343. body human, the soul's organ, tool, 
 or instrument, 329, 373. all body pas- 
 sive, 376. 
 
 Boethius, 253, 254, 255, 330. 
 
 Boivinus, 319. 
 
 Both, its use in language, 273. 
 
 Brown, a genius, 353. 
 
 Brutus, 247, 329. 
 
 Bulk, sometimes less ascertained, sometimes 
 more, and why, 305. See Magnitude. 
 
 r, 248, 329, 339. 
 
 Calm, in the winds, vrjve/ua, defined, 378. 
 calm, in the sea, yaXfy-r], defined, ibid. 
 
 Capacity of power, 330. particular capaci- 
 ties, various but limited, 331. far distant 
 from nonentity, ibid, capacity universal, 
 and privation universal, the characters of 
 the first or primary matter, 269. cha- 
 racter of capacity, 330. capacity double 
 in the human mind, and why, 293. me- 
 diate and immediate, 294. capacity, two 
 sorts of, 296. incapacity, 293. capacity, 
 its actuality, where existing, 366. definite, 
 though invisible, 365. See p. 267, and 
 the word Matter. 
 
 Casaubon, 248. 
 
 Categories, 258, 381. 
 
 Cato, 247. 
 
 Cause, see Index to Three Treatises. 
 
 Causes, 259, 276. invisible causes, seen 
 through visible effects, 280. final causes 
 denied by Lucretius, 285. maintained by 
 Aristotle, Galen, Cicero, 286. 
 
568 INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Causative motion. See Metaphysical. 
 
 Ceres, a sacrifice to her, described, 383. 
 
 Chalcidiu s,270, 271, 272, 280, 321. 
 
 Chance, 285, 286. proves an intelligent 
 principle, 286. different accounts of it, 
 340, 341. no cause of the world, and 
 why, 376. 
 
 Change. See Mutation. 
 
 Chaos. See Disorder and Night. 
 
 Charlemagne, 338, 339. 
 
 Charles the First, 339. 
 
 Chronicles, 348. 
 
 Chrysippus, 382. 
 
 Cicero, 247, 249, 280, 284, 294, 310, 319, 
 324, 340, 348, 353, 356, 369, 371, 377, 
 382. 
 
 Citation. See Quotation. 
 
 Coarrangement, 264. account of it from 
 Varro, ibid. 
 
 Coexistence, or together, its modes, or 
 species, 358, 359. the temporal mode, 
 358. the essential, 359. the specific, ibid. 
 coincides with relation, ibid. 
 
 Coke, his Institutes, 358. 
 
 Colour a quality, 299. why inferior in its 
 effects to figure, ibid. 
 
 Completion, a capacity, 292. completion 
 and progression, 250. 
 
 Consciousness, 370. 
 
 Continuous, infinite, place, time, 365. 
 
 Contraries, essential to mutation or change, 
 260. this a general opinion of all philo- 
 sophers, 261. contraries, their extensive 
 influence and operation, ibid, 262. a- 
 dopted by all philosophers, 262. the ne- 
 cessity of a third being, that they may 
 pass into each other, 263. contraries in 
 virtue and vice, and even in vices them- 
 selves, 300. 
 
 Contrariety belongs to quality, but not 
 universally, 300. 
 
 Corinthians, 348. See Scripture. 
 
 Cube. See Sphere. 
 
 Cyrus, his speech when dying, 280, 283. 
 
 Dacier, 383. 
 
 Death, 279, 362, 375, 378. 
 
 Definition, its requisites, what, 335. 
 
 Demetrius, 382. 
 
 Democritus, his principles, 2 6 1,34 9. whence 
 he deduced the variety and specific dif- 
 ferences in nature, ibid, ingenious remark 
 of, 350. 
 
 Demosthenes, 348. 
 
 Desire moves the body, perception the de- 
 sire, 373. 
 
 Desirable and Intelligible, how they move, 
 and act upon other things, 330. 
 
 De Witt, 248. 
 
 Digestion, 279, 375. 
 
 Diogenes, (not the Cynic,) 263, 269. 
 
 Diogenes Laertius, 269, 368, 372, 374, 382. 
 
 Diomedes, the grammarian, 383. 
 
 Dionysius, the Stoic, 382. 
 
 Disorder and chaos, not prior to order, 334. 
 
 Dispositions, tendencies, or progressive 
 qualities, 294. 
 
 Distinction, accurate and exact, its uses, 
 359. 
 
 Divine principle, what it necessarily im- 
 plies, 286. has nothing passive, 327. 
 
 Earth, her relations and duties, 317. why 
 called " most just," ibid. 
 
 Ecclesiastes, 339. See Scripture. 
 
 Ecclesiasticus, 265. 
 
 EtSos ouo-iwSes, explained, 275, 297, 362. 
 
 Eidothea, daughter of Proteus, 272. 
 
 > E/cou<noj', defined, 368. 
 
 Electric powers, 274, 325. 
 
 Elements of beings composite, what, 266, 
 267. how distinguished from causes, 276. 
 
 Empedocles, 285, 290. his sublime verses 
 on God, 296. 
 
 Ends and means, 284, 318. fine speculation 
 from Pletho, 318. 
 
 Eneas, 275, 289, 292, 379. 
 
 Energy, what, 333. opposite to power, but 
 previous, ibid, essential to the course of 
 events in the universe, ibid, further proof 
 of its being previous to power, ibid, in- 
 ference from this doctrine, 334., of what 
 being energy is the essence, ibid, energy 
 and capacity, 366. 
 
 Enharmonic system, account of it in the 
 times of Porphyry and Simplicius, 323. 
 
 'Ej/reAe'xeta and SvvafMis, 292, 365. 
 
 Epaminondas, 247. 
 
 Ephesians, 353. See Scripture. 
 
 Epicharmus, 282, 341, 379. 
 
 Epictetus, 248, 287, 294, 315, 317, 318, 
 319, 327, 374. 
 
 Epicurus, his idea of human and divine fe- 
 licity, 285. 
 
 'ETrto-T^Tj, its etymology, 378. 
 
 Epigram on the statue of Alexander, 347. 
 
 Equal, similar, same, 305, 311, 312. 
 
 Eternal and divine, how attained by beings 
 perishable and corruptible, 279. 
 
 Ethics, 257, 293, 294, 295, 296, 300, 315, 
 316, 326, 327, 332, 371, 374. See the 
 words Metaphysics and Physics, from 
 which two, together with Ethics, the il- 
 lustrations in this treatise are in great 
 part derived. 
 
 Etymology, use made of it by the old Greek 
 philosophers, 272. 
 
 Evander, 379. 
 
 Euclid, 311, 342. 
 
 Evil, natural and moral, 320. suggestions 
 and conjectures upon the subject, 230 
 322. 
 
 Euphemismus, origin and use of this rhe- 
 torical figure, 348. 
 
 Euripides, 320, 348, 374, 382. 
 
 Eustathius, 272. 
 
 Eustratius, 264. 
 
 Exodus, 354. See Scripture. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 369 
 
 Experiments, 298, 307, 369. 
 Extension, figure, organization, the original 
 forms of body natural, 274. 
 
 Fabricius, 250, 261, 382. 
 
 Faculties in man, rational and irrational, 
 326. 
 
 Families, their origin, 317. 
 
 Fate, chance, applied to the purpose of Pro- 
 vidence, and a Deity, 341. 
 
 Feelings innate, 369. 
 
 Fell, quoted, 335, 336, 342. 
 
 Figure. See Extension. 
 
 Figure, its philosophical idea, as finely ex- 
 plained by Simplicius, 298. its import- 
 ance, in consequence, ibid* mathematical, 
 ibid, imaginary, or fantastic, 299. figure 
 and number, their importance, 307. 
 
 Final causes, their importance, 286. favoured 
 by Aristotle, 3 19, 380. the end of human 
 actions, 373, 379. 
 
 First philosophy, 257, 290, 296. truly so 
 called, 356, 380, 381. See also p. 25 to 
 27, in note. 
 
 Fop, what makes one, and why so called, 
 353. 
 
 Forced, how it differs from spontaneous, 
 368. 
 
 Form, lifeless, its character, 264, 265, 273, 
 275. most simple species, 273. forms 
 essential, (vulgarly called substantial,) 
 their importance, 275, 297, 298, 362. 
 forms animating and efficient, 277. how 
 they characterize, ibid, soul (in this 
 sense) a form, ibid, form used in this 
 sense by Ovid, 278. animating form, its 
 various efficacies and operations, 279. 
 forms, intellect the region of, 281. forms, 
 some inseparable from body, 275. others, 
 no way connected, 282, 283. charac- 
 teristic form, 275, 290, 297, 362. its 
 efficacy in quantity as well as quality, 
 297, 375. 
 
 Fortune, 286, 340. defined, ibid. 
 
 Ta\-nvrj. See Calm. 
 
 Gale's Opuscula, 269, 272. 
 
 Genera, universal, 258. 
 
 Generation and dissolution, 362. how they 
 differ from other motions, ibid. 
 
 Generation of things, how maintained, 320, 
 362. that and dissolution alternately pre- 
 pare the way for each other, 320, 321. 
 
 Genesis, 260, 379. See Scripture. 
 
 Genius, what, 296, 309. 
 
 Gentleman, his education, what it appears 
 to want, to render it complete, 307. 
 
 Genius and species, formed within us spon- 
 taneously and originally, 253, 254. ge- 
 nera, fewer than species ; species, than 
 individuals, 254. 
 
 Geometry, finds its subject in quantity, 
 307. 
 
 George Gemistus. Sec Pletho. 
 
 God, the Supreme Agent, 281. knows no 
 proficiency, being ever perfect, 296. pure 
 mind, ibid, father of all, 322. universal 
 object of desire to all things, ibid, pure 
 energy of simple intellect, 326, 328. ad- 
 mits nothing passive, 327. his essence, 
 energy, 334. ever the same, immutable, 
 perfect, ibid, immoveable, 330, 379, 380. 
 fate and chance, subservient to his di- 
 vine attributes, 341. marvellous arrange- 
 ment of all being within the Divine 
 Mind, 350. 
 
 Good, all good, truth, 374. good intel- 
 lectual, its superior value, ibid. 375. 
 good absent leads to want ; want to in- 
 dustry, arts, &c. 379. good, passes 
 through the predicaments, and assumes, 
 as it passes, different denominations, 340. 
 good real or apparent moves all desires, 
 373. its effect, whether obtained or not, 
 analogous to motion circular, ibid. 
 
 Gravitation, attraction, 376. 
 
 Greeks, modern, short account of their 
 controversy about Plato and Aristotle, 
 319. 
 
 Grotius, 248. 
 
 Habit, or being habited, what it is not, 
 what it is, 351, 352. its ends, protection, 
 352. distinction, ibid, decency, ibid. 
 ornament, ibid, beauty and elegance of 
 dress or habit, where to be found, ibid. 
 where it never existed, 353. excess in 
 attention to it, what character it consti- 
 tutes, ibid, the Trojans abused on its 
 account, ibid, metaphorical uses of the 
 word, ibid, force of its privation, in the 
 way both of compassion and contempt, 
 
 354. privation of it sometimes indicates 
 reverence, ibid. 
 
 Habits, intellectual and moral, 295. 
 
 Habitude, reciprocal, 312. 
 
 Hampden, 339. 
 
 Hand, the organ of organs, why, 281, 282. 
 
 its fingers, their power and efficacy, 278. 
 Happiness, an account of it by the Stoics, 
 
 374. 
 Harmony, in music, 261. in the world, 
 
 ibid. 315. between the visible world and 
 
 the invisible, 278. of strength and beauty 
 
 in a perfect body, 383. 
 Helvidius Priscus, 248. 
 Hen. Steph. Poesis Philosophica, 296. 
 Hcraclides Ponticus, 272. 
 Heraclitus, 262, 321. 
 Herbert, lord, 248. 
 Hercules, 326. 
 Hermes, quoted, 254, 270, 277, 287, 290, 
 
 300, 303, 307, 309, 327, 330, 348, 349, 
 
 355, 360, 368, 378, 379. 
 Hierocles, 357. 
 
 Homer, 254, 272, 287, 292, .100, 311, 
 314, 316. joined with Shakspeare, 216. 
 quoted, 321, 339, 347, 348, 358. 
 
570 INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Horace, 272, 287, 293, 294, 296, 302, 304, 
 316, 324, 325, 327, 340, 347, 348, 350, 
 353, 357, 369, 378, 381, 383. 
 
 lamblichus, 253, 310, 325. 
 
 Idea, that of motion not a simple one, but 
 
 complicated with many others, 365. 
 Ideas innate, none, 369, 370. 
 Immobility, 330, 380. 
 Immortal and divine, 283. 
 Immortality, 283, 284, 377. 
 Impulse, spontaneous, 368, 373. how caused, 
 
 ibid, impulse of appetite, 371. of anger, 
 
 ibid, of reason, ibid. 
 
 Individuals, infinite, 254. how made ob- 
 jects of science, 254, 255, 306. what 
 
 Boethius and Aristotle thought of them, 
 
 254. 
 Infinite, how made an object of science, 
 
 254, 306. connected with motion, how, 
 
 364. 
 
 Innate feeling, 369. 
 Instincts, 293. exist, though not innate 
 
 ideas, 369. 
 Intellect human, a rasa tabula, why, 284, 
 
 370. 
 Intellect and science, a capital distinction 
 
 between the faculties of each, 294. 
 
 transcendent objects of intellect, peculiar 
 
 to itself, 282. 
 Intelligence, pure, 283. 
 John of Salisbury, account of him, 382. 
 Joints and muscles, 345. 
 Julius Ceesar, 329, 339. 
 Juvenal, 383. 
 
 Knowledge, partial, an effect, or consequence 
 of, 258, 384. 
 
 Lanx satura. See Satura. 
 
 Leo the Xth, 324. 
 
 Life, social and civil, 291, 318. 
 
 Life, to live, (nv,) what it is, and how far 
 
 it extends, 372. 
 Like and unlike, the property of quality, 
 
 300. explained, 301, 312. 
 Line, superficies, solid, 273. 
 Lintel and threshold, derive their name 
 
 and even their essence from position, 346. 
 Livy, 324. 
 Logic, natural, what, 251. whether an organ 
 
 to philosophy, or a part of it, 254, 255. 
 
 something progressive, that is, to carry 
 
 us on, 251. 
 Longinus, 382. 
 Lucilius, 383. 
 
 Lucretius, 275, 285, 287, 365. 
 Luke, Saint, 339. 
 Lyttleton, late lord, an anecdote from him, 
 
 353. 
 Lysippus, his statue of Alexander, 346. 
 
 Macbeth, excellence of that tragedy in a 
 view to its moral, 316. 
 
 Macrobius, 377. 
 
 Magnitude, limited by nature in every 
 species, and where there is an unusual 
 defect or excess, the being becomes a 
 monster. See Bulk. 
 
 Mahomet and Omar, 324. 
 
 Man, offspring of God, 322. social, 291. 
 rational, 325. possessed of appetite and 
 reason, and the agent of moral actions, 
 326. a compound, and how, 328. whence 
 entitled to praise and dispraise, 332. 
 the specific positions of his body have 
 reference to its specific extensions, 345. 
 the number of these last, six, and why, 
 ibid, man has instincts, but no innate 
 ideas, 369. a microcosm, and why, 372. 
 man has more faculties than brutes ; 
 brutes more than vegetables, 328, 329, 
 372. 
 
 Manuscript, Greek, corrections from, 297. 
 quoted in a large extract, 318. 
 
 Many and one, 262, 309. 
 
 Marcus Antoninus, 248, 315. 
 
 Mathematical body, how it differs from 
 natural, and how it distinguishes in con- 
 sequence the mathematician from the 
 naturalist, 274. 
 
 Matter, preparation to prove its existence, 
 262, 263, &c. its character, as opposed 
 to form, 267, 298. seen in privation and 
 capacity, 267. matter, secondary or im- 
 mediate, and primary or remote, 268. 
 necessity of such a being's existence, 
 269. two methods of comprehending it, 
 271. inseparable from its attributes, 275. 
 purely passive, 281, 328. dissimilarly 
 similar to the Deity, 281. essential to 
 generation, 322. See Matter, in the Index 
 to Hermes ; and Form, in the Index to 
 Three Treatises. 
 
 Maximus Tyrius, 279, 282. 
 
 Means lead not to ends, but ends to means, 
 284. 
 
 Measures, both measure and are measured, 
 254, 341. measures of place, deduced 
 from the human body, 338. of time, from 
 the heavens, ibid. 
 
 Medea, 382. 
 
 Medicine and cookery, how those arts re- 
 semble each other, 297. 
 
 Menage, a story from him, 360, 
 
 Menander and Philemon, 339. 
 
 Metaphysical, meaning of the word, 368, 
 380. 
 
 Metaphysics, 289, 294, 296, 308, 309, 318, 
 319, 320, 321, 322, 326, 327, 328, 329, 
 330, 332, 333, 334, 340, 341, 349, 350, 
 356, 368 380. See the words Ethics, 
 Physics, and Motion. 
 
 Milton, his character, a mixed one, of an 
 active and a speculative kind, 248. quoted, 
 ibid. 288, 289, 301, 302, 324, 325, 326, 
 340, 347, 361, 378. 
 
 Mind, the form of forms, 282. region of 
 
INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 571 
 
 forms, 319, 349. described by Epichar- 
 mus, 282. mind, something divine, 283. 
 separable, ibid, how its perception differs 
 from that of sense, ibid, human, in its 
 original state, a rasa tabula, 284, 370. 
 mind, its amazing powers of comprehen- 
 sion, 289. how, in an intellectual way, 
 it partakes of quantity, 308. presides 
 over natural operations, 318. mind di- 
 vine, ever in energy, 327. mind human, 
 has intensions and remissions, ibid, com- 
 pared to a library, 381. to a pilot, 283. 
 Modern philosophers, 261, 328, 330, 376, 
 
 382. 
 
 Monster. See Magnitude. 
 Moral actions, 326. as seen in nations, in 
 families, in individuals, 327. moral praise 
 and dispraise, 332. virtue, 371. happi- 
 ness, 374. 
 
 More, sir Thomas, 248. 
 Moschus, 348. 
 Moses, 354. 
 
 Motion, physical, or not-physical, 360. 
 physical divided into six sorts or spe- 
 cies, 361 363. the first species, motion 
 local, 361. the second, aliation, ibid. 
 third and fourth, augmentation and dimi- 
 nution, ibid, the fifth and sixth, genera- 
 tion and dissolution, 362. the several 
 species blend themselves together, ibid. 
 local motion, essential to all the rest, 
 363. in what arrangements they are to 
 be found, ibid, contrariety, ibid, rest, 
 ibid, physical motion runs through the 
 objects of every sense, 364. no simple 
 idea, but complicated with many others, 
 ibid, preparation for its definition, 365, 
 366. defined according to the Peripa- 
 tetics, 366. Pythagorean and Platonic 
 definitions agree with that of the Peripa- 
 tetics, ibid. Aristotle's definition, though 
 hard to comprehend, yet possible, 367. 
 primary cause of motion, an intelligent 
 principle, 376. its rise and duration, 377. 
 Motion, metaphysical, what, 367, 368. how 
 
 united with physical, 373, 376, 377. 
 Motions, internal, of the soul, when tem- 
 pestuous, Avhen fair and orderly, 374. 
 Motion of beings, not motive, but move- 
 able, 329. of beings both motive and 
 moveable, ibid, of that being which is 
 motive, but not moveable, 330. these 
 three species described by Aristotle, ibid. 
 Multitude, 302, 321. 
 Music, the ancient modes, 266, 323. 
 Mutation, its essentials, what and how 
 many, 260, 262. 
 
 Nature, an internal active power, a prin- 
 ciple of motion and of rest, 375. an in- 
 visible cause, known from visible effects, 
 376. operates during sleep, 375. pre- 
 scribes a bound or limit to growth and 
 magnitude, in every natural production, 
 
 ibid, like art, beholden to contraries, 261, 
 262. nature, what it is, what it is not, 
 279. nature or art, which of the two 
 prevalent in Homer and in Shakspeare, 
 316. "Nature does nothing in vain," a 
 favourite axiom of Aristotle, 319. na- 
 ture, the energy of God ; art, of man, 
 326. 
 
 Natural body, what, 274. 
 
 Nijj/e/iia. See Calm. 
 
 Night and chaos, not the first of things, and 
 why, 334. 
 
 Nonentity, resembles relatives, 314. but 
 widely different, ibid, resembles capacity 
 or power, 331. but widely different, ibid. 
 362. has various characters, 363, 365, 
 366. 
 
 Now, or instant, 303. 
 
 Number and figure, their importance in 
 constituting the sciences of arithmetic 
 and geometry, 307. 
 
 Objects, sensible and intelligible, how they 
 differ, 253. objects, common to more 
 senses than one, what and how many, 
 364. of perception and volition meet and 
 coincide, 374. 
 
 Ocellus Lucanus, 269, 270. 
 
 Omar and Mahomet, 324. 
 
 Opportunity, what, 340. elegant accounts 
 of it from Aristotle and Cicero, ibid. 
 
 Opposites, 355. 
 
 Order, divine, 341. order, its force, 356, 
 357. order of the parts of this treatise, 
 258, 381. 
 
 Organ, logic an organ, 254, 256. hand an 
 organ, 281, 282. body an organ. 329, 
 373. 
 
 Organization. See Extension. 
 
 'OpM, 368. 
 
 Ovid, 272. his peculiar use of the word 
 form, 278. quoted, 345, 347, 348. 
 
 Painter, induces motion upon immoveable 
 canvas, 346. how far chance interferes 
 in his works, 286. 
 
 Ha\ai6Tepov and irpecrpvTGpoi/, how dis- 
 tinguished in their signification, 355. 
 
 Pansetius, 248. 
 
 Passions, different effects from them, as 
 their motions are tempestuous, or orderly, 
 373, 374. 
 
 Passivity, pure, where it exists, 281. in- 
 sensitive, 328. of the human mind, how 
 to be moulded, 326. corruptive and com- 
 pletive. 328. 
 
 Paul, Saint, 322, 353. 
 
 Fir), its signification, 362. 
 
 Peace, to what genus it belongs, 379. 
 
 Pedantry, what, 359, 360. 
 
 Perception, the cause of spontaneous im- 
 pulse, 373. its extensive influence, 369. 
 coincides with volition, 374. different in 
 degree and excellence, 370. 
 
572 INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Pericles, 247. 
 
 Peripatetics, 254, 269. their erroneous sys- 
 tem of astronomy, ibid, their doctrine 
 about corporeal attributes, 275. about 
 chance, 286. about transmigration, 278. 
 about capacity, 294. about the necessity 
 of the previous existence of some energy, 
 333, 334. 
 
 Perizonius, 378. 
 
 Persius, 383. 
 
 Philip of Macedon, his epistle to Aristotle, 
 248. 
 
 Philo, 382. 
 
 Philoponus, John, 265. explains privation 
 by the musical modes, 266. his account 
 of matter and form, 267. explains De- 
 mocritus, 349. and motion, 366. quoted, 
 375, 376. explains the term metaphy- 
 sical, 368. 
 
 Philosophy, why so called, 247. its end, 
 ibid, defended, 24 8. philosophy first, see 
 First. 
 
 Physics, 257, 289, 294, 297, 300, 308, 317, 
 322, 325, 328, 329, 330, 344, 345, 346, 
 349, 360, 361363, 364, 366, 375, 376. 
 See the words Ethics and Metaphysics. 
 
 Place, denned, 335. its use in life and 
 human affairs, ibid, its connection with 
 human affairs generates wliere, 336. place 
 and time, (fuantities, 303, 304, 335. are 
 capable of being denned, why, 335. 
 
 Plants, or vegetables, live, but are not ani- 
 mals, 372. 
 
 Plato, his idea of matter, 270, 271, 272. 
 quoted, 280, 286. his account of the 
 liberal sciences, 307. quoted, 321, 350, 
 366, 372, 377, 378. 
 
 Platonic bodies, 343. 
 
 Pletho, 318. quoted from a MS. ibid. 
 
 Plotinus, 293, 309. 
 
 Plutarch, 320, 321. correction by one of 
 his editors disapproved, 321. Plutarch 
 quoted, 348, 382. 
 
 Poets, why indebted to the arrangement of 
 quality, 300. why to that of relation, 
 315, 316. why to that of position, 347. 
 
 Pompey esteemed Cratippus, and why, 249. 
 
 Polybius, 247, 248. 
 
 Pope, 354. 
 
 Porphyry, 254, 323. 
 
 Position, differs from place, how, 342. de- 
 duced in its various characters, 342 
 346. appertains to bodies, neither per- 
 fectly similar, nor perfectly dissimilar, 
 
 344. modes of position, first in the pa- 
 rallel opipcdon and cylinder, 343. then 
 in the column or pillar, 344. then in 
 a tree, ibid, then in a man, ibid, and 
 
 345. modes of position increase in num- 
 ber, and why, 343 345. positions de- 
 scribed, standing, inclining, lying, falling, 
 rising, 343. other positions, 344. posi- 
 tions relative to animal progression, 345, 
 
 346. force of those positions in painting, 
 
 346. in other works of art, ibid. (See 
 Attitude.) position gives a name, and 
 (as it were) an essence to some works of 
 art, ibid, its use to actors and orators, 
 348. reason of its amazing effects, 349. 
 of its efficacy and importance in nature, 
 and the visible world, ibid, transition to 
 its force in mind, intellect, and beings 
 incorporeal, ibid, in teaching, or com- 
 municating science, 350. its archetypal 
 form, where to be found, 351. 
 
 Post-predicaments, 258. their number, 355. 
 
 Power, or capacity, 331. particular powers, 
 various in character, but limited, ibid. 
 differ by this from one another, ibid. 
 powers active, an important difference 
 in, ibid, rational powers differ from ir- 
 rational, by being double, and by im- 
 plying both contraries at once, 332. 
 whence this character arises, ibid, source 
 of praise and dispraise, ibid, powers 
 though latent, often valued above ap- 
 parent attributes, ibid, and 333. power 
 necessarily subsequent to energy, 333, 
 334. 
 
 Prae-predicamcnts, 258. 
 
 Predicaments, 257. number of them dif- 
 ferent according to different philosophers, 
 258. pass into one another, 305. 
 
 Principles are contrary, 262. this the senti- 
 ment of all philosophers, ibid, are three, 
 and why, 264. principles, form, priva- 
 tion^ and a subject, 265. of these, some 
 agree, others never agree, 264. three 
 principles reduced to two, privation being 
 included in form, 266. principle active 
 and principle passive, what, 328. prin- 
 ciples efficient, their ascent upwards to 
 the first efficient, 334. vegetative prin- 
 ciple, 375. principle of gravitation, 376. 
 two great principles of the universe, 
 what, 381. 
 
 Prior and subsequent, their modes, or spe- 
 cies, 355 358. the temporal mode, 355. 
 the essential, 356. that of order, 357. 
 that of honour, ibid, that of causality, 
 358. 
 
 Prior, the poet, 286. 
 
 Privation, its character, 265, 348, 355, 
 379. 
 
 Progression in arts, 250. in morals, 294. 
 
 Property of substance, 288. of quality, 300. 
 of quantity, 305. properties of all three, 
 ibid. 
 
 Propositions, what, 251, 252, 259. no in- 
 nate, 369. 
 
 Proteus, his history according to Virgil and 
 Homer ; according to Horace and Ovid, 
 272. allegorized by Eustathius and He- 
 raclides Ponticus, and, in latter times, by 
 lord Verulam, ibid. 
 
 Providence, nothing hid from, 287. con- 
 sults for the good of all, ibid, extends to 
 the lowest of beings, 376. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 573 
 
 Psalm, 287, 310, 354. 
 Pythagoras, supposed author of the Predi- 
 caments, 250. quoted, 264. 
 Pythagoreans, 264, 278, 366, 372. 
 
 Qualities corporeal, inseparable from body, 
 274. sensible, ibid, quality comes next 
 to substance, according to the Pytha- 
 goreans, 291. qualities corporeal and in- 
 corporeal, 292. of capacity and incapa- 
 city, 293. of habit, 295. natural and 
 acquired, 292. penetrating and superfi- 
 cial, 297. figures, qualities, 298. colours, 
 quality, 299. qualities, how distinguished 
 from incidental affections, ibid, persons 
 of quality, ibid, and 300. peculiar pro- 
 perty of quality, 300. quality and 
 quantity often introduced together, 254. 
 310. 
 
 Quality, occult, 376. 
 
 Quantity, continuous or discrete, magnitude 
 or multitude, 302. specific distinctions 
 between the two species, 303. distinc-' 
 tions of either species resolved ultimately 
 into identity and diversity, 305. the 
 property of all quantity, what, ibid. 
 quantity passes into relation, ibid, passes 
 through all the other arrangements, 308. 
 sublime idea of its efficacy, according to 
 Plotinus and lamblichus, 309. compared 
 to the predicament where, 337. 
 Quinctilian, 257, 310, 339, 377, 382. 
 Quotations, apology for their number, 381, 
 382. justified by examples, 382. 
 
 Raleigh, sir Walter, 248. 
 
 Rasa tabula, the human mind or intellect 
 so called, and why, 284, 370. 
 
 Rational and irrational faculties, 37 1 . 
 
 Reason, 320, 371. its object, ibid, some- 
 times overwhelmed by the passions, some- 
 times obeyed by them, 373, 374. 
 
 Relatives, other arrangements or predica- 
 ments pass into them, 305. commutable 
 in their character, ibid. 306. why ex- 
 pressed by a plural, 311. their force and 
 efficacy, 312. true and genuine relatives, 
 what, ibid. 313. their properties are, to 
 reciprocate, 313. to be iinderstood both 
 of them at once, and with equal preci- 
 sion, ibid, both of them to co-exist, and 
 cease at the same instant, 314. other 
 predicaments connected with relation, 
 305, 312, 313. relation appears trivial, 
 yet, in fact, is of the last importance, 
 314,315. the basis of moral duties, 3 1 5, 
 316. supplies connection, where con- 
 tinuity fails, 316. relation traced through 
 the universe, ibid, those of the sun to 
 the world, 317. of the earth to vege- 
 tables, ibid, of animals, families, civil 
 polities to each other, ibid. 318. of ve- 
 getables, 318. relations amicable, 319. 
 
 hostile, ibid, hostile relation gave rise to 
 the phenomenon of evil, 320. chief and 
 supreme relation, that of the whole to 
 God, 322. utility of this arrangement, 
 ibid, things intelligible, and intellection ; 
 things sensible, and sensation ; how these 
 become relatives, 323. 
 
 Rest, the natural opposite, or contrary to 
 motion, 363. its several species, 378, 
 379. cessation of local motion, 378. of 
 growth, ibid, of the vital energies, ibid. 
 of bodily labour, ibid, of study, investi- 
 gation, and deliberation, ibid, of war, 
 379. 
 
 Roscius, more admired, when he acted with- 
 out a mask, 348. 
 
 Sanctius, 378. 
 
 Sanderson, 258, 313, 335, 342, 351. 
 Sandys, 382. 
 Sappho, 293. 
 
 Satura, or satira, when applied to writings, 
 did not mean at first either sarcasm or 
 calumny, 383. 
 Satyrus, the actor, 349. 
 Scaliger, 379. 
 
 Science, is of contraries, 332. sciences and 
 arts, their subordination, and common 
 dependence on the first philosophy, 356. 
 science prior to art, ibid, its etymology 
 in Greek, 378. no science of particulars, 
 254. sciences and arts, traced up to, and 
 deduced from, the several arrangements 
 or categories, by examples taken from 
 each of them, 383, 384. 
 Scripture, 260, 264, 282, 287, 310, 322, 
 
 339, 348, 353, 354, 375, 379. 
 Seneca, 368, 369, 371, 382. 
 Sensation, not taught, but perfect from the 
 beginning, 29 4, a species of knowledge, 
 370. 
 
 Sense, common, what, 309. 
 Sensible objects, differ from relatives, how, 
 314. sensible objects, common to many 
 or all of the senses, what, and how many, 
 364. 
 
 Shaftesbury, lord, quoted, 279. 
 Shakspeare, 269, 292, 299, 300, 316, 324, 
 
 336. 
 
 Sibyl, Cumean, 289. 
 Sicily, 345. 
 
 Sidney, Algernon, 248. 
 Silva, a wood or grove, meant a miscellany 
 
 treatise, why, 383. 
 
 Simplicius, his account of the predicaments, 
 257. wrote a valuable tract upon the 
 subject, 250. quoted, 262,266, 281, 291, 
 293, 297, 298, 309, 311, 312, 314, 315, 
 322. his account of the enharmonic 
 system, and of the Stoic writings, in the 
 age when he lived, 323. quoted, 324, 
 325, 326, 328, 336, 337, 342, 351, 352, 
 355, 358. 
 
574 INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Situation. See Position. 
 
 Sleep and death, brothers, 348, 378. sleep, 
 what, 378. 
 
 Social sympathy, 291. state, 370. 
 
 Socrates, 284, 307, 379, 380. 
 
 Sophocles, 348. 
 
 Soul, its three great principles, 280. itself 
 not visible, but known from its opera- 
 tions, ibid, immortal, 283. 
 
 Space, of place and time, connected with 
 motion, how, 364. 
 
 Sphere, has no position, or situation, though 
 it occupy place, 343, 345. 
 
 Spontaneous, how it differs from forced, 
 368. what it is, and what constitutes it, 
 368, 369, 370. 
 
 Stat and sedet, peculiar uses of them, 378, 
 
 Statius, 383. 
 
 Stoics, 254, 269, 369. account of the state 
 of their writings in the time of Simplicius, 
 323. 
 
 Strife, its utility, 321. 
 
 Stuart, 383. 
 
 Sublunary, meaning of the word, 269. 
 
 Substance and attribute, 255, 381. general 
 and particular, 255. at the head of the 
 predicaments, 257. substance natural, 
 how continued, or carried on, 259. sub- 
 stance, its properties, considered logically, 
 268. has no contraries within itself, ibid. 
 but susceptible of them all, ibid. 
 
 Substantial form, what, 275, 297, 298. 362. 
 
 Suidas, 286. 
 
 Sun, his relations and duties, 317. a cause 
 of generation, 321. presides over his 
 proper system, 349. 
 
 Supreme Being, 279, 281, 290, 296, 322, 
 326, 334, 341, 350, 380. 
 
 Suo'Totx"*, 264. See Co-arrangement. 
 
 Sydenham, his elegant translation of Plato, 
 350, 378. 
 
 Syllogisms, 251, 252, 374. 
 
 Sylva, matter, 270, 321. sylvae, miscel- 
 lanies, 383. 
 
 Systems of nature, four: one, which ad- 
 mitted no God, 286. a second, which 
 supposed gods, that gave themselves no 
 trouble, 287. a third, which only em- 
 ployed them on difficult occasions, ibid. 
 a fourth, which supposed Divine Pro- 
 vidence never to cease for a moment, 
 ibid. 
 
 Tacitus, 358. 
 
 Taste, what it is, 383. its natural union, 
 ibid. 
 
 Temple, sir W. 248. 
 
 Terms, simple, their importance, 252. what 
 they represent, ibid, their character, 253. 
 such among them as denote when and 
 wliere, 337. such as denote them not, 
 yet denote time and place, ibid. 338. 
 
 Terence, 291, 310. 
 
 Thales, his idea concerning the magnet, 
 376. fine sentiment about Providence, 
 ibid. 287. 
 
 Themistius, 266. his idea of matter, 268, 
 269, 290. 
 
 Theognis, 265, 
 
 Thrasea Pstus, 248, 358. 
 
 Tibullus, 311. 
 
 Timseus, 270, 271, 272, 292. 
 
 Time, place, both of them quantities, 303, 
 335. time, how distinguished from other 
 quantities continuous, 304. distinction, 
 a peculiar one belonging to time and 
 place, ibid, time infinitely divisible in 
 power, but not in act, ibid, having a 
 genus, and a difference, may be defined, 
 
 335. its use in life, and human affairs, 
 
 336. connection with human affairs ge- 
 nerates wlien, 335, 337. 
 
 Tons Deux^ 274. 
 
 Tragedy and comedy made out of the same 
 letters, 350. 
 
 Transition. See Motion. 
 
 Truth, all truth, good, 374. its union with 
 taste, in fine writing, 383. all truth, 
 similar and congenial, 247, 383. conse- 
 quence of this in the forming of cha- 
 racters, 247. in the elegance of composi- 
 tion, 383. 
 
 Typhoeus, the giant, his positions finely 
 enumerated by Ovid, when he describes 
 how the island Sicily was thrown upon 
 him, 345. 
 
 Vanbrugh, sir John, his elegant reply, and 
 his predicting the fine taste of garden- 
 ing, now at its height in Great Britain, 
 353. 
 
 Vappa. See Fopp. 
 
 Varro, 264. his account of four predica- 
 ments, ibid. 
 
 Vegetative life, described, 375. See Na- 
 ture. 
 
 Velleius Paterculus, 248. 
 
 Venus wedded to Vulcan, the fable ex- 
 plained, 250. her motion as a goddess, 
 308. her appearance, 311. 
 
 Utility of these arrangements or predica- 
 ments, 253, 258, 381, 382, 383. 
 
 Verbs transitive, and neuter, where to be 
 found among the predicaments, 327. 
 
 Verulam, lord, 272. 
 
 Virgil, 275, 280, 281, 287, 288, 292, 301, 
 302, 308, 311, 317, 320, 324, 328, 332, 
 336, 339, 340, 347, 348, 354, 358. 361, 
 374, 375, 376, 378, 379. 
 
 Virtue, Pleasure, and Hercules, 326. moral 
 virtue, 296. 
 
 Unifying comprehension, the property of 
 mind, 289, 290; 
 
 Union, 262, 321, 322. 
 
 Volition and perception, their objects coin- 
 cide, where, 374. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENTS. 575 
 
 I/AT?, how they differ, 269. 
 Upton, 248, 287. 
 
 Wallis, 335, 342, 351. 
 
 Wants, their efficacy, 31G, 317, 322. source 
 of connection, 369. founded on percep- 
 tion, 373. the source of animal motion, 
 ibid, lead to arts and industry, 379. to 
 have few wants is great ; to have none, 
 divine, ibid. 
 
 When, connected with time, 335. its na- 
 ture and character, 337. coincides with 
 where, ibid, an enlarged when, and a pre- 
 cise one, both of them relative to each in- 
 dividual, 338. use of the precise when, 
 in computation of distant time, ibid. 
 
 Where, connected with place, 335. its na- 
 ture and character, 337. coincides with 
 when, ibid, where and when called by 
 Simplicius brothers, ibid, an enlarged 
 where, and a precise one, both of them 
 
 relative to each individual, 338. use of 
 
 the precise wliere, in computing distant 
 
 places, ibid, compared with quantity, 
 
 337. 
 
 Wilton house, its valuable marbles, 347. 
 Wisdom, book of, 375. 
 Words, things, ideas, all respect simple 
 
 terms, and how, 252, 253. 
 World, one city or commonwealth, 316, 
 
 317. a theatre, 320. made by reason 
 
 and design, 340. 
 
 Xenophon, the speech he gives to Cyrus 
 when dying, 280, 283. his account of 
 the earth's justice, 317. of Virtue, Plea- 
 sure, and Hercules, 326. quoted, 379, 
 380. 
 
 ZTJV, Zwa, the- first applied to plants, or 
 vegetables ; the latter not applied, and 
 why, 372. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 ABASSID^E, caliphs, 479. illustrious race, 
 ibid, extinguished, when. 495, 496. 
 
 Abelard, Peter, and Heloisa, 508. 
 
 Abulfeda, Arabian historian, account of 
 of him, 480. quoted, passz'wz. 
 
 Abulpharagius, Arabian historian, account 
 him, 480. quoted, passim. 
 
 Academy, the place where Plato taught, 
 461. 
 
 Academy, New, by Arcesilas and Car- 
 neades, 46], 
 
 Accent, differs from quantity, how, 405. 
 accurately distinguished, anciently, ibid. 
 prevailed at length over quantity, 408, 
 515. samples of its force, 409, 410. 
 
 Accentual quantity, used even by classic 
 writers, and by whom, and how far, 411. 
 prevails in English verse, and in that of 
 all the other modern languages, 411, 
 412. 
 
 Accumulation, exemplified, 402, 403. cause 
 or reason of its force, 403, 404. 
 
 Accuracy, important every where, but 
 where most so, 425. 
 
 Acrostics, chronograms, wings, altars, eggs, 
 &c. finely described, 520, 521. 
 
 Acts of the Apostles, 464. 
 
 Addison, his elegant comedy. 446. superior 
 to Swift, both in diction and wit and 
 philanthropy, 538. fine comment on Mil- 
 ton, 394. 
 
 Admiration, upon whatfounded,401. foolish, 
 how cured, 453. 
 
 Adrian, a capital benefactor to Athens, 464. 
 
 .Mian, 525. 
 
 TEneas Sylvias (afterward pope Pius the 
 Second) deplores the taking of Constan- 
 tinople, and describes its state, imme- 
 diately previous to that fatal event, 476. 
 
 jEschines, the Socratic, 452. 
 
 Affability, see Saladin, 480. 
 
 Agriculture, in Arabian Spain, how excel- 
 lent, 541. 
 
 Alaric takes Rome, 465. 
 
 Albigeois, cruelty of the crusaders towards 
 them, 502. See Beziers Inquisition. 
 
 Alcidamas, his fine metaphor in describing 
 the Odyssey, 441. 
 
 Alcuin, 497. 
 
 Alexander the Great, 463. 
 
 Alexandrian library, burnt, 458, 478. 
 
 Alexius, Greek emperor, 530. 
 
 Allegro and Penseroso of Milton, 403. See 
 Accumulation. 
 
 Alliteration, 414. examples of, from Latin, 
 ibid, from Greek, 415. from old English, 
 ibid, from English less ancient, iWcf. 416. 
 from modern English, 416. 
 
 Almamun, caliph, the great patron of litera- 
 ture, 479, 488. 
 
 Almanzor, Caliph, 479. 
 
 Al-Mostasem, caliph, his mean behaviour, 
 495. 
 
 Alpharabi, 479. 
 
 Amalfi, the city, where the Pisans found 
 Justinian's Code, 501. 
 
 Ammonius, his description of contraries, 
 402. account of him, and his valuable 
 comments, 457. 
 
 Amrus, 458, 485. 
 
 'Avayvtopiffts. See Discovery. 
 
 Anapaestic measure, its solemnity and 
 beauty, 520. 
 
 Angel of death, 485. 
 
 Anger, should remit, and why, 438. 
 
 Anna Comnena, 530, 531. 
 
 Annominatio, same with alliteratio, 415. 
 
 Anson, his adventure with an old Greek, 
 477. 
 
 Anthology. Greek. See Planudes, 470, 
 473. * 
 
 Antipater, 463. 
 
 Antiphona, described, 549. 
 
 Arabians, 478 496. their national cha- 
 racter, 478, 482. favoured medicine and 
 astrology, 492, 494, 495. had no ideas 
 of civil liberty, 495, 543. their poetry 
 484487. loved allegory, 485. their 
 degeneracy, 496. 
 
 Arabian poetry. See Poetry. 
 
 Aratus, 464. 
 
 Arcesilas, 461. 
 
 Aristophanes, 469. 
 
 Aristotle, father of criticism, 389. quoted, 
 401, 402, 404, 406, 407, 408, 413, 415, 
 416, 427, 428, 429, 430, 431, 432, 434, 
 436, 437, 438, 439, 440, 441, 442, 443, 
 444, 445, 446, 449, 451, 452, 460, 461, 
 462, 467, 470, 487, 496, 501, 508, 518, 
 519, 530, 540. 
 
 Arrian's Epictetus, 397. 
 
 Ashley, Honourable Maurice Ash. Cowper, 
 his fine translation of the Cyropaedia, 
 395. 
 
 Astrology, 492, 494, 495. 
 
 Atheism, what leads to it, 538. 
 
 Athcnaeus 463, 467. 
 
 Athens, a place of education, 464. of phi- 
 losophical retreat, ibid. St. Paul there, 
 ibid, besieged by Alaric, 465. how saved, 
 and by whom, ibid, taken, and by whom, 
 466. present character of its inhabitants, 
 from Spon, Wheeler, and Stuart, 467. 
 
 Athenians, 459. their high taste, when it 
 began, ibid, survived their empire, 460, 
 463. 
 
 Attica, still famous for olives and honey, 467. 
 
 Atticus. See T. Pomponius. 
 
 Avcrroes, 479. his patience, 491. his com- 
 ment upon Aristotle, 496. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 577 
 
 Augustus, 464. 
 
 Avicenna, 479. 
 
 Aulus Gellius, his enigma, 444. 
 
 Bacon, Roger, thought a magician, why, 499. 
 
 Bacon, Lord Verulam, his judgment upon 
 strange stories, 4G6. 
 
 Bagdad, when founded, and by whom, 495. 
 when taken, ibid. 496. 
 
 Banquet, imperial, at Constantinople, part 
 of its ceremonial, 471. 
 
 Barbarians, Western Latins, 499. See 
 Barons, Counts, &c. 
 
 Barbarians, Persians so called, both by the 
 old Greeks and modern Arabians, 484. 
 
 Barons, 499, 531. See Counts, Barbarians, 
 &c, 
 
 Barrington, his valuable book, 528. 
 
 Battle, trials by, 455, 531. 
 
 Bayle, 495. 
 
 Beauty, natural or inanimate, whence de- 
 rived, 525, 526. See Tempe, 525. Virgil, 
 and Horace, ibid. Milton, 526. Leland, 
 527. Sannazarius, ibid. Petrarch, ibid. 
 Cyrus, 528. Philip le Bell, ibid. 
 
 Bede, 497. 
 
 Beginners, advice to, 404, 405, 449, 450. 
 
 Beings, aerial, fighting for their friends: 
 Minerva and Achilles ; Castor and Pol- 
 lux ; St. George, St. Demetrius, and St. 
 Mercury ; Peter de Paz, 465. 
 
 Bentley, his strange idea of conjecture, 397. 
 his strange treatment of the Paradise 
 Lost, 398. his fine tract De Metris 
 Terentianis, 411. 
 
 Bessario, 477. 
 
 Bezieres, sacked by the crusaders in a pe- 
 culiar way, 502. 
 
 Boccaccio, 490. 
 
 Boethius, translated into Greek, by whom, 
 470. 
 
 Bohadin, Arabian historian, account of him, 
 480. extracts from his history, 480 
 484. and again, 511, 512. 
 
 Bombast style, prior to the classical, why, 
 400. 
 
 Books, corrupted in how many ways, 396. 
 
 Bossu, 434, 439. 
 
 Brown's Fasciculus Rerum, &c. a curious 
 book, 498. 
 
 Brutus and Cassius, 458, 463. 
 
 Buckingham, duke of, a critic, 392. 
 
 Caesar, his clemency to the Athenians, 463. 
 
 Caliphate, its splendour, 479, 485, 489. 
 its extinction, 496. 
 
 Caliphs, instances of their affability, resent- 
 ment, munificence, public works, 487 
 490. story of the caliph and his physi- 
 cian Honai'n, 493. of the same and his 
 physician Bactish, ibid, of another caliph 
 and his physician, ibid. 494. mean end 
 of the last reigning caliph, 495. 
 
 Cambalu, supposed the modern Pekin, de- 
 scribed 522. 
 
 Carrion-crows, know what they like, 452. 
 
 Carter, Mrs., excellent translator, why, 395. 
 
 Catastrophe, in dramas, difficult, 433. how 
 it is effected often in tragedy, ibid, how 
 in comedy, ibid, lame expedients in both, 
 ibid, happy catastrophe suited for comedy, 
 429, 430. unhappy for tragedy, ibid. 
 
 Cave, the author, 456, 508. 
 
 Cause, always exists, but not always ap- 
 parent, 401. should always be traced, 
 otherwise all is darkness, ibid. 
 
 Cebesj perfect MS. of his work in the king 
 of France's library, 545, 546. 
 
 Ceremonial of the Byzantine court, 471. 
 eluded, how, and by whom, 490. 
 
 Chance, nothing happens by, 388,399,401. 
 
 Chapel of King's College, Cambridge, 524. 
 
 Chaucer, genealogy of English poets from 
 him, 518. his language obsolete, his wit 
 and learning excellent, ibid, his litera- 
 ture and philosophy, ibid. 519. takes 
 from Aristotle, and how, 519. 
 
 Chivalry, 530. 
 
 Christianus Fredericus Matthaei, a learned 
 professor in the university of Moscow, 
 549, 550. 
 
 Church, 470. its superior knowledge, both 
 in the East and West, whence, 529. its 
 humanity, 531. 
 
 Cicero, a critic, first in rank among the 
 Romans, 390. his tract De Oratore, ibid. 
 quoted, 407, 408, 412, 413, 417, 418, 
 419, 438, 460, 461, 462, 463, 464, 465, 
 471, 475, 476, 501, 508. 
 
 Cimabue, the first Italian painter, taught 
 by Greeks, 514. 
 
 Circulation, providential, 539. 
 
 Classes of men in letters, during the middle 
 age, three, 456. 
 
 Classics, their value, 398. 
 
 Climate, its effect, 532. 
 
 Coffee, a council of divines held upon it, 542. 
 
 Comic poetry, subsequent to tragic and 
 epic, why, 400. 
 
 Commentators, 391, 457. 
 
 Commodianus, a bad poet, 408. samples of 
 his bad verses, ibid. 409. 
 
 Commodus, 464. 
 
 Composition, numerous, 389, 390, 399, 405 
 408. 
 
 Concatenation. See Accumulation. 
 
 Conjecture, critical, 397. its misuse, ibid. 
 398. and use, 398. 
 
 Constantine, founder of the city called after 
 him, 470, 476. 
 
 Constantine Porphyrogenitus, his book of 
 the ceremonial of the Byzantine court, 
 471. remarkable instances of it, ibid. 
 
 Constantinople, 454, 470. Latin MSS. 
 were probably preserved in its libraries, 
 471. sacked by the Barbarians. See 
 Nicetas, and 502. 
 
 Contemplation, noblest species of, 539. 
 
 Conversation. See Saladin, 481. See also 
 IM.'l, 494. 
 
 2Q 
 
578 
 
 INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Cornelius Nepos, 465. 
 
 Counts, 530. their employ, 531. See 
 Barons and Barbarians. 
 
 Critics, modern, philosophical, 392. his- 
 torical, 392 395. corrective, 396. 
 
 Critics, young, advised in two respects, as 
 to the conduct of their judgment, 404, 
 405. 
 
 Critics, English, enumerated, 394. 
 
 Criticism, its origin, 388, 389. its objects, 
 389. the philosophical, chap. i. and iii. 
 
 392. the historical, chap. ii. and iii. 392, 
 
 393. the corrective, chap. v. philoso- 
 phical critics enumerated, chap. i. his- 
 torical critics enumerated, 391. correc- 
 tive critics enumerated, ohap. v. criticism 
 has been misused, 397. yet defended, 
 398. its three species repeated, 399. 
 
 Crusades, 455. Baldwin's crusade, 472. 
 when they began, 501. accounts of them, 
 503, 530, 531. 
 
 Crusaders, their destructive barbarity, 472 
 475. their character by Nicetas, 475. 
 
 Crusaders, their cruelty, 474, 502. (See 
 Bezieres and Constantinople.) causes of 
 their cruelty, 506. murdered all the 
 Mahometans, when they took Jerusa- 
 lem, 482, 483. never mended, but grew 
 worse, 475, 501, 532. 
 
 Cupping, described in an enigma, 444. 
 
 Curiosity, cautioned against, and why, 438. 
 
 Custom, its force, 483. 
 
 Cyclopes, their brutality, whence, 532. 
 
 Cyropaedia of Xenophon, finely translated, 
 395. 
 
 Dante, 51 8. 
 
 Del-Rio, 465. 
 
 Demetrius of Phalera, a critic, 389. his 
 character as such, ibid, quoted, 408, 416, 
 420. 
 
 Demosthenes, 549. 
 
 Despotism, Oriental, 495, 543. 
 
 Aidvoia. See Sentiment. 
 
 Diction, its species described, 439 445. 
 the vulgar, 439. the obscure, ibid, the 
 elegant, ibid, the metaphorical, 440 
 443. 
 
 Dictionaries, writers of, 393, 394. 
 
 Dido, restless, while others rest, 401. 
 
 Diodorus Siculus, when entire, 469. 
 
 Diogenes Laert. 389, 460, 461. 
 
 Dion, Chrysost. Oratio, 549. 
 
 Dionysius of Halicarnassus a critic, 389, 
 418. his character as such, ibid, quoted, 
 420. 
 
 Discovery, dramatic, avayvcapiffis, described, 
 429, 431, 446. 
 
 Domestic stories, their force, 447. 
 
 Dramatic piece, defined, 427. its consti- 
 tuent parts, how many and what, 427, 
 428. which of these parts appertain to 
 the poet, which to other artists, 428. 
 dramatic piece often fails in the fable, 
 432. more often admired for other merits, 
 
 433. may be justly admired for those 
 other merits, 446, 447. yet to be per- 
 fect, must be complete in every part, 446. 
 illustrated from painting, 447. English 
 drama capable of improvement, and how, 
 ibid. 
 
 Drummer, comedy. See Addison. 
 
 Dryden, 406,410, 416,438,442, 443, 530. 
 
 Duck, civilian, 501. 
 
 Durfey, 453. 
 
 Ecclesiastes, quoted, 538. 
 
 Ecclesiastics. See Church. 
 
 Edgcumb, mount, 526, 528. 
 
 Education, places of, same in England be- 
 fore the conquest as now, 501. plan of 
 education during the time of Edward 
 the Confessor, ibid, during the time of 
 Henry the Sixth, 524. perhaps began 
 from Venerable Bede, 506. 
 
 Edward, Confessor. See William duke of 
 Normandy. 
 
 Egitha, queen, and wife to Edward the 
 Confessor, an accomplished woman, both 
 in knowledge and in virtue, 500, 501. 
 
 Elements of natural beauty, four, 525, 526. 
 of the universe, as few, ibid. 
 
 Eloquence, the noblest, where to be found, 
 390. 
 
 Emanuel Martin, a critic, 393. 
 
 Empiric, story of, 394. 
 
 Eneas, 402, 403, 539. 
 
 English authors quoted, why, 400. 
 
 English Drama, may be improved, how, 447. 
 
 English language, its praise, 394. why 
 quoted, 400. its quantity, for the greater 
 part, accentual, yet sometimes syllabic, 
 411,412. 
 
 Enigmas, 444. from Aristotle, ibid, from 
 Aulus Gellius, ibid. 
 
 Ennius, his alliteration, 416. 
 
 Epic and tragie poetry, prior to comic, why, 
 400. 
 
 Epictetus, 460. 
 
 Epicurus, short sketch of his doctrine, 461. 
 his gardens, 462. 
 
 Epopee comic, where to be found, 433. 
 
 'Epjuepa/cAcu. See Mercury and Hercules. 
 
 Escurial Library, account of its Arabic 
 MSS., 540543. 
 
 Eugenius, the Greek translator of the 
 Georgics, 550. 
 
 Euripides, 398, 438, 450, 452, 457, 469. 
 
 Eustathius, commentator upon Homer, 470. 
 
 Eustratius, commentator upon Aristotle,470. 
 
 Fables, dramatic, their species, 428, &c. 
 tragic fable, 430 432. comic fable, 429, 
 432. good .fables, rare, 432. fable of the 
 Fatal Curiosity described, 431. super- 
 latively excellent, ibid, tragic fable, the 
 soul of tragedy, and why, 432. where to 
 be found, 447, 449. fable, manners, and 
 sentiment, estimated by Horace. 447. 
 
 Fabricius, 457, 465, 468, 469, 470, 472. 
 473, 474, 475, 507, 517, 546. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 579 
 
 Falstaff, 451. 
 
 Fatal Curiosity of Lillo, its fable, 431. its 
 
 manners, 435. its sentiment, 436, 437. 
 Faust, John, thought a magician, why, 499. 
 Fazelius, the historian, 532. 
 Feet, syllabic, 405. the heroic, 406. the 
 iambic, 407. the paean, ibid. 408. the 
 cretic, 408. English iambics, ibid. Eng- 
 lish spondees, ibid. English dactyls, ibid. 
 
 Feudal tenures, a supposed sketch of their 
 rise, 532. 
 
 Fielding, Henry, sketch of his character, 
 433. his Joseph Andrews and Tom 
 Jones, master-pieces in the comic epopee, 
 ibid. 
 
 Florus, 448. 
 
 Fortescue, sir John, chancellor of England 
 under Henry the Sixth, his admirable 
 book, 523, 524. his literature, 524. 
 
 Fortitude, true, by what supported, 539. 
 
 Franks. See Latins. 
 
 Friend, another self, a Peripatic and Arabic 
 sentiment, 487. 
 
 Fuller, 465, 474, 484, 501, 502. 
 
 Future, how seen in the past, 539. 
 
 Gardens, of Epicurus, 462. modern, their 
 change from bad to good, 526. 
 
 Garrick, 418. 
 
 G. Gemistus, 477. 
 
 Genius, none but men of, can metaphorize 
 well, 440. genius never cramped by 
 rules, 449, 450. 
 
 Gerbertus, a learned ecclesiastic, 488. be- 
 came pope, ibid, thought, from his know- 
 ledge, a magician, ibid. 499. 
 
 Giraldus Cambrensis, 415, 511. 
 
 Glossary, a singular one, 410. 
 
 TVU>/J.T). See Sentiment. 
 
 Gnomologic sentiment, its character, 437. 
 its species, 438. should be used sparingly, 
 ibid, whom it becomes, ibid. 
 
 God, a cause intelligent and rational, 401. 
 never forsakes mankind, 456. nor leaves 
 himself without a witness, 533. his pro- 
 vidential circulation, 539. See Piety. 
 
 Good-breeding, its most perfect model, when 
 and where it existed, 390. 
 
 Good-humour, its importance, 538. 
 
 Gothic architecture, finest sample of it, 
 where, 524. 
 
 Grammar, 391, 510, 511. 
 
 Grammar, writers upon, 393, 394. 
 
 Gratian, a monk, collected and published 
 the Canon Law, 501. 
 
 Gray, 416. 
 
 Great, who are commonly called so, 504. 
 
 Greece, ancient, its character, 388. 
 
 Greek language, its quantity syllabic de- 
 generates into accentual, 409. preserved 
 a competent purity to the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, 475. 
 
 Greek genius, not yet extinct, 477. 
 
 Greek authors, the capital, translated into 
 Arabic, 479, 480. 
 
 Greeks, Byzantine, account of their taste 
 
 and literature, 456 477. 
 Gronovius, (Thesaur. Antiq. Graecar.) 463, 
 
 464, 466, 546. 
 Guido, 403. 
 Gulliver, 538. 
 
 Gurdun, Bertram de, wounds Richard Coeur 
 de Leon mortally, 513. his intrepid an- 
 swer to Richard, as this last lay dying, 
 ibid. 
 Guy's Cliff, 527. 
 
 Gymnasia, their end, 462. adorned with sta- 
 tues of Mercury and Hercules, why, 463. 
 
 Habits, how easy, when acquired, 418, 481. 
 Hagley, 526. 
 
 Hamlet, play of, its awful opening, 403. 
 (See Accumulation.) 
 
 Hamlet, his manners, questionable, and 
 why, 434, 435, 503. quoted, 451. 
 
 Harmodius and Aristogiton, 463. 
 
 Helen, a capital statue of, described, 474. 
 
 Heloisa. See Abelard, 508. 
 
 Henry the First, 505. a learned prince, 506. 
 speech before his father, ibid. 
 
 Henry of Huntingdon, 504. 
 
 Herbelot, 479, 496. 
 
 Hercules and Mercury. See Gymnasia. 
 
 Hercules, a capital statue of, by Lysippus, 
 described, 473. 
 
 Hermogenes, 415. 
 
 Herodes, called Atticus, why, 465. 
 
 Heroes major, Attila, Tottila, &c. 393. 
 
 Heroes minor, Edmundus, Bernoldus, Dago- 
 bertus, Hucbaldus, Hildigrim, Halabal- 
 dus, &c. 516,517. 
 
 Hildebert, archbishop, his fine taste for the 
 antique, and his warm verses, 507. 
 
 Histoire Ecclesiastique, 531. 
 
 History, may furnish fables dramatic, 447, 
 449. its different modes, 463, 464. 
 
 Hody, 475, 476. 
 
 Holy War. See War. 
 
 Homer, 404. his poems debased from hexa- 
 meters into trochaics, 409. his fine use 
 of the metaphor, 44 1 . his bad pun, 444. 
 quoted, 450, 452, 470, 486, 499, 516, 
 520, 534. hymn of his to Ceres, and 
 fragment of another to Bacchus, in the 
 library at Moscow, 551. 
 
 Hona'in, a Christian physician, fine story of, 
 493. 
 
 Horace, a critic, 390. quoted, 401, 435, 
 442, 443. paraphrased, 447. quoted, 
 ibid. 452, 459, 462, 464, 468, 475, 487, 
 492, 516, 521, 525, 535. 
 
 Hospitality, Arabian, 478, 482, 486. 
 
 Humanity and bounty, 487. 
 
 Hymettus, still famous for honey, 467. 
 
 Hyperides, entire, when, 469. 
 
 Ibrahim, contest for his body, as for that of 
 Patroclus, 485. 
 
 Jerusalem, called the Holy City, both by 
 Christians and Mahometans, 512. taken 
 by the former, 482. by the latter, 483. 
 
580 
 
 INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Ignorance, leads to admiration, 401. 
 
 Imitation, more perfect, as are the number 
 of resemblances, in which it resembles 
 the thing imitated, 448. instances in 
 place, ibid, in time, 449. proof from con- 
 traries, ibid. 
 
 Impressions, present and remote, their dif- 
 ference, 538. 
 
 Indignation, 488. 
 
 Ingulphus, 499. his conversation with queen 
 Egitha, 500. account of English manners, 
 ibid, of his own education, 501. his 
 fortune, how made, and by whom, ibid. 
 
 Innocent the Third, pope, modest account 
 of himself, 455. fond of crusades and 
 regal excommunications, ibid. 
 
 Inquiries, philological, 388, 539. 
 
 Inquisition, its rise, 502. whence it took 
 its forms, ibid, its effect, 394, 506. its 
 conduct, 543. 
 
 Inventions, capital ones of the middle age, 
 533. 
 
 Inventors, unknown, 533. yet all the in- 
 ventions referable to man and human 
 wit, ibid, inference, ibid. 
 
 Joannes Erigena, a scholar, 487. his quick 
 reply to a dull pun, ibid. 
 
 John the Grammarian (Philoponus), his ac- 
 count of the burning of the library at 
 Alexandria by Omar, 458. 
 
 John of Salisbury, 504, 505. his age, 508. 
 his classical taste, ibid, his ideas of li- 
 berty and servitude, 509. of philosophy, 
 ibid, of virtue and felicity, ibid, of the 
 soul, ibid, of art, and its three requisites, 
 genius, memory, and the reasoning fa- 
 culty, 510. of nature, ibid, of grammar, 
 with respect to substantives, adjectives, 
 comparison, verbs, time, tenses, and con- 
 signification, ibid. 511. his two works, 
 and their names, 509, 510. coincides in 
 sentiment with the author of Hermes, 
 and why, 511. 
 
 Johnson, his valuable dictionary, 394. 
 
 Isocrates, 439, 549. 
 
 Justice. See Saladin, 481. 
 
 Justin, 465. 
 
 Justinian, 471. his code found, when, and 
 where, 501. 
 
 Juvenal, 504, 535. 
 
 Kuster, 468. 
 
 Laity, of the middle age, their ignorance, 
 499. their ignorance and barbarity, 530, 
 
 531, 532, 533. their ferocity, whence, 
 
 532, 533. 
 
 Language, English. See English. 
 
 Latin language, lost its syllabic quantity in 
 the fifth century, 408. ceased to be the 
 common language of Rome in the seventh 
 century, 409, 454, 471. Latin classics, 
 see Planudcs. Latin tongue, conjectures 
 concerning its duration at Constantinople, 
 471. Latin ceremonial there, ibid. 
 
 Latin laity. See Laity. 
 
 Latins, or Franks, 456, 472. ignorance of 
 their laity, 499. 
 
 Law, canon and civil, when they began to 
 flourish in Western Europe, and by what 
 causes, 501. their effect, ibid. 
 
 Lear, 430. 
 
 Learned men, their Oriental character, 479. 
 
 Learning, when it most flourished in the 
 middle age, and why, 506, 511. in its 
 worst state, when, 506. when it mended, 
 and whence, ibid. 518, 519. 
 
 Leland, (Guy's Cliff described by him,) 527. 
 
 Lenity, 494. 
 
 Letters, their great patron, Almamum, 479. 
 a Turkish envoy in a late period shews 
 his love for them, 496. 
 
 Lexicons, 391. 
 
 Liberality. See Saladin, 483. See Al- 
 mamum, 488, 489. 
 
 Liberty, civil, unknown to the Orientals, 
 495, 543. 
 
 Libraries, at Alexandria, 458. at Con- 
 stantinople, 471. in Spain, under the 
 Arabians, 490, 542. that of the king of 
 France, 496. MSS. there, 546. Escurial 
 library, its Arabic manuscripts, 540. the 
 same at Mount Athos, 551. 
 
 Life, age, described by metaphors, 440, 
 441. how to make the best life agree- 
 able, 453. 
 
 Liking, importance of liking well ; peril of 
 liking foolishly, 452, 453. good liking 
 to be learnt, and how, 453. See Taste. 
 
 Lillo, 431. 
 
 Literature, 479, 496, 507, 511. came to 
 Rome from Constantinople, when, and 
 by what incidents, 477. 514. of Chaucer, 
 518,519. of Fortescue, 524. of Russia, 
 547. 
 
 Livy, 471. many manuscripts of his history 
 in the Escurial library, but no entire 
 copy, 544, 545. 
 
 Logic, differently treated by the Peripatetics 
 and Stoics, how, 460. Zeno elegantly dis- 
 tinguished it from rhetoric by a simile, ib. 
 
 Longinus, a critic, 390. his character as 
 such, ibid, fine edition of him by Toupe, 
 396. his account of metre and rhythm, 
 406. quoted, 420. 
 
 Lowth, bishop, his incomparable Grammar 
 of the English tongue, 394. 
 
 Lucian, 469. 
 
 Lucretius, 414. his gods, ibid, same with 
 those of Epicurus, 461. 
 
 LycrEum, the place where Aristotle taught, 
 461. 
 
 Lyttleton, first lord, his fine history of the 
 state of literature during Henry the 
 Second, 511. 
 
 Macbeth, his manners, morally bad, but 
 pfetically good, 434. See Richard the 
 Third. 
 
 Magicians, men thought such by the ig- 
 norant for being wise, 485, 498, 499. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 381 
 
 Magnanimity, 488. 
 
 Mahomet the Great, conqueror of Con- 
 stantinople, 454, 466, 476. 
 Mahomet, founder of the Mahometan sect 
 
 and empire, 482, 512. his religion not 
 
 averse to letters, 542. 
 Malmesbury, William of, 501, 503507. 
 Mamlucs, 473. 
 Mandeville, sir John, the traveller, 523. 
 
 his account of Aristotle's tomb, ibid, of 
 
 his own times, 537. 
 Manners, dramatic, constituted, how, 434. 
 
 excellent in the Fatal Curiosity, and 
 
 why, 435, 451. 
 Manuscripts, 393, 540. 
 Manuscripts, Greek, in the library at Mount 
 
 Athos, 551. 
 Manuscripts, Arabic, in the Escurial library, 
 
 540. of poets, philosophers, mathema- 
 ticians, ibid, of astronomers, 541. of 
 agriculture, jurisprudence, and theology, 
 ibid, of chronology, travels, and history, 
 
 541. of famous women, horses, camels, 
 sugar, and silk, 542. of the Greek phy- 
 sicians translated, 552. 
 
 Manuscripts, Greek, at Moscow, brought 
 thither by whom, and whence, 551. 
 
 Marcus Antoninus, 464. 
 
 Marcus Paulus, the Venetian traveller, 521, 
 522. his account of Cambalu, &c. 522. 
 
 Masquerade, the word, how put into Greek, 
 550. 
 
 Matthew Paris, 465, 474, 505. 
 
 Mazarine, cardinal, his manly and pleasant 
 answer, 495. 
 
 Medea, 398. 
 
 Menander, supposed to be extant in the 
 eleventh century, 469. 
 
 Mergellina, the beautiful villa of Sanna- 
 zarius, 527. 
 
 Metaphor, its amazing force, 439. peculiar 
 to genius, and cannot be taught, ibid. 440. 
 its rise, 440. arose from necessity, but 
 became an ornament, ibid, its character 
 and description, ibid, its great effect, 
 when exact, 441. should not be turgid, 
 nor enigmatic, nor contemptible, nor im- 
 proper, ibid. 442. fine metaphors of Shak- 
 speare, 442. metaphors obvious, and 
 therefore naturalized, 443. some exalt, 
 others depreciate, ibid, ought never to be 
 mixed, ibid. 487. 
 
 Metre, differs from rhythm, how, 406. all 
 men love it, 515. 
 
 Michael Casiri, his fine catalogue of the 
 Escurial Arabic manuscripts, 393, 540. 
 
 Middle characters, in no extreme of good 
 or bad, 435. 
 
 Middle age, 388. its extent, 454 456, 
 469, 470, 507 511. during it, great 
 inventions by unknown inventors, 533. 
 compared with the present, 534. 
 
 Milton, 392, 403, 411, 412, 416, 430, 446, 
 450, 453, 526. 
 
 Miraculous reformations, 433. 
 Misanthropy, derived from what, 435, 538. 
 leads to what, 538. may mix with friend- 
 ship, 437. 
 
 Monosyllables, English language overstocked 
 with them, 417. lord Shaftesbury's rule 
 for retrenching them, ibid, too many even 
 in Latin, cautioned against by Quintilian, 
 ibid, wretched effect, when a sentence 
 closes with many of the lower sort, ibid. 
 Monks, Greek, their taste, 469. 
 
 Monkish historians, their praise, 492. 
 
 Montague, Mrs., a fine critic, 394. 
 
 Mosheim, 456, 502, 508. 
 
 Muly Ismael, 496. 
 
 Music, used to explain accent and quantity, 
 405. its great effects through contrariety 
 or contrast, 401. 
 
 Myro, painter, 459, 462. 
 
 Naude, Gabriel, a fine book of his, 499. 
 
 Nerva and Trajan, 464. 
 
 Nicephorus, Grecian emperor, 488. 
 
 Nicetas, the Choniate, 472. his account of 
 the mischiefs done at Constantinople by 
 the crusade under Baldwyn, ibid, the 
 fine statues they there destroyed, the 
 Juno, the Venus and Paris, the wind- 
 obelisk, the man and the ass, the wolf 
 with Romulus and Remus, the eagle and 
 serpent, the pensive Hercules, the cele- 
 brated Helen, 472 474. Nicetas par- 
 ticularly describes the Hercules, 473. 
 and the Helen, 474. fine and perfect 
 MS. of his history in the Bodleian library, 
 475. quoted, 507. 
 
 North, not the natural soil for the fine arts, 
 514. why, 546, 547. 
 
 Numerous composition, 389, 399. 405 
 407. 
 
 (Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, 430, 431. 
 
 Omar, a Barbarian, and early caliph, 458, 
 478, 485. 
 
 OmmiadcB, caliphs, 478. tyrannic race,ziztf. 
 
 Ordeal, trials by, 455. 
 
 Othello, 430. his manners, poetically good, 
 why, 434. 
 
 Otho and Benno, two ecclesiastics and 
 historians, 498, 499. 
 
 Ovid, his fine description of the god Ter- 
 minus, 444. translated into Greek, 470. 
 describes the Tempe, 525. 
 
 Ox and ass, their taste, 525. See Count, 
 Baron, Vulgar. 
 
 Oxen, to embrace, metaphor, 442. 
 
 Oxford, place formed for contemplative 
 meditation, 462. of high antiquity as a 
 place of education, 501. what books they 
 studied there before the conquest, ibid. 
 
 Paean, what, 407. its two species, ibid, its 
 proportion the sesquialter, ibid, illus- 
 trated by examples, 408. the foot for 
 prose, 4 1 3. English paeans, ibid. 
 
 Psesiello, sets a Greek ode to music, and 
 how, 550. 
 
582 
 
 INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Painting, 445, 447, 448, 459, 461, 462. 
 how it differs from poetry, 404. its mi- 
 gration, 514. Landscape, 526. 
 Pancirollus, 505, 533. 
 Paradise Lost, injuriously treated, 398. 
 
 quoted, 526. 
 
 Tlap'hx'n ffl s-> vapofjLolwffis, explained, 415. 
 Passions, tragic, what, 430. 
 
 Past times, preferred to present by Virgil, 
 534. by Homer, ibid, by Horace, 535. 
 by Juvenal, ibid, fact denied by Orosius, 
 ibid, and in appearance, with just founda- 
 tion, ibid. 
 
 Patience, generous, 491. See Averroes. 
 
 Paul, Saint, at Athens, 464. 
 
 Paulus Jovius, 527. 
 
 Pausanias, 462. 
 
 Peircefield, 526, 528. 
 
 Pericles, adorns Athens, 459. 
 
 Period, its character and utility, 416. 
 
 TlepnrtTfia. See Revolution. 
 
 Persians, called Barbarians, both by Greeks 
 and Arabians, 484. 
 
 Peter the Great, of Russia, his amazing ef- 
 forts to civilize his empire, 548. founds 
 learned academies, both at St. Petersburg 
 and Moscow, ibid. 
 
 Petrarch, 499, 518, 528. 
 
 Pharezdacus, sword of, 485. 
 
 Phidias, architect and sculptor to Pericles, 
 459. 
 
 Philanthropy. See Addison. 
 
 Philelphus, his account of the Greek lan- 
 guage of Constantinople in its last times, 
 475. of the pure Greek, then spoken at 
 the court, and by the women of quality 
 in particular, ibid. 
 
 Philology, its rise, 387. 
 
 Philoponus. See John the Grammarian. 
 
 Philosopher, self-taught, 485. 
 
 Philosophy, first, 392. 
 
 Philosophy and letters, cultivated most, 
 when, 459, 478. 
 
 Philosophy, its rise, 387. its fall, 457. 
 
 Photius, character of his work and himself, 
 469. 
 
 Physicians, Greek, translated into Arabic, 
 552. 
 
 Piety, destroyed, how, 538, in what it con- 
 sists, 539. 
 
 Pinelli, a printer at Venice, 410. 
 
 Places where the philosophers taught, 461, 
 462. See Academy, Lycseum, Portico. 
 
 Planudes, a Greek monk, studied the Latin 
 classics, 470. published an Anthology, ib. 
 
 Plato, a critic, as well as philosopher, 389. 
 mentioned, 460. taught in the academy, 
 461. saying of, 506. translated into 
 Arabic, 540. 
 
 Pleasure, its estimate by Epicurus, 461. 
 
 Pliny, 405, 462, 528. 
 
 Plutarch, Arabian historians like him, how, 
 480. quoted, 453, 459, 463, 492, 548, 
 549. 
 
 Pococke, the great Orientalist, 484, 485, 
 
 486, 496. 
 Poetry, of the Arabians, 484487. of the 
 
 latter Latins, 515 521. 
 Poets, minor, Leo, 516. Bernardus Morla- 
 
 nensis, 517. Odilo, ibid. 
 Poictou, count of. See William. 
 Political verses, what, 409, 410. 
 Polydore Virgil, 533. 
 Polygnotus, painter, 445, 459. 
 Pompey, Caesar, 463. 
 Pontanus, his account of alliteration, 414. 
 Pope, poet, 416. and a critic also, 392. 
 Portico, the place where Zeno taught, 461. 
 
 painted by Myro and Polygnotus, 462. 
 
 the subjects of their pictures, ibid, how 
 
 long the pictures lasted, ibid. 
 Potter's Arch. Grsec. 461. 
 Praise of times, a species of it ill founded, 
 
 535. refuted, how, 536, 537. a just 
 
 comparison of times to be formed, how, 
 
 537. 
 Precedence, or order of the constitutive 
 
 parts of the drama the fable first, 445, 
 
 446. next, the manners, 446. then the 
 
 sentiment, ibid, lastly, the diction, ibid. 
 Prefaces, two excellent ones of Ammonius, 
 
 457. 
 
 Present times, compared with past, 534. 
 Prideaux, bishop, 508. 
 Priests of Egypt, the consequence of their 
 
 leisure, 530. 
 Priscian, 471. 
 Printing, 499, 533. 
 Pronunciation, 405, 408. its importance, 
 
 420. 
 Prose, how decorated, 406, 408, 414. its 
 
 peculiar feet, what, 407, 408, 413, 414. 
 
 bad writers of it, both in Latin and in 
 
 Greek, 410. 
 
 Proteus, his fine song, 473. 
 Psellus, Michael, an able scholar, 469. said 
 
 to have commented Menander, ibid. 
 Pun, described, 443. pun from Horace, 
 
 ibid, from Homer, 444. from the em- 
 peror Charles the Bald, 487. 
 Quantity verbal, 405. differs from accent, 
 
 how, ibid, quantity accentual usurped 
 
 the place of syllabic, when and why, 
 
 408410. 
 Quintilian, a critic, 390. his character as 
 
 such, ibid, quoted, 404, 406, 408, 417, 
 
 418, 420. 
 
 Quixote, don, a character not merely ima- 
 ginary, 530. made probable, how, ibid. 
 
 resembled by whom, ibid. 
 Raphael, 453. 
 
 Readings, various. See Various. 
 Refinement, no good from too much, 404. 
 Regulus, 401. 
 Rembrandt, 447. 
 Revolution, dramatic, TreptTrereio, described. 
 
 429,431,446. 
 Reynolds, sir Joshua, 392. 
 
INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Rhetoric, cultivated by the Greek philoso- 
 phers, why, 460, 461. that and logic 
 elegantly illustrated, 460. 
 Rhyme, differs from rhythm, how, 515. its 
 origin, description, and use, ibid, samples 
 of it, 516, 517. not unknown to the 
 capital classics, though perhaps casual, 
 516. 
 
 Rhythm, 406. differs from metre, how, 
 ibid, constitutes musical time, both the 
 common and triple, ibid. 407. differs 
 from rhyme, how, 515. 
 Richard Coeur de Leon, a troubadour poet, 
 503. his name of Lion given to other 
 heroes, 511. preferred by Bohadin to 
 his colleague, the king of France, ibid. 
 intercourse between him and Saladin, 
 ibid, his letter to Saladin, 512. Saladin's 
 answer, ibid. Richard basely seized by 
 a duke of Austria, and redeemed, 513. 
 his death, and generous behaviour to the 
 person who had mortally wounded him, 
 ibid. 
 
 Richard the Third, of Shakspeare, 418. 
 his manners, both morally and poetically, 
 bad, why, 435. See Macbeth. 
 Riddles, 444. 
 Robert of Reading, and Adelard, two 
 
 learned monks, 488. 
 Roger de Hoveden, 513. 
 Roman empire, Western and Eastern, 454. 
 different duration of the one and the 
 other, ibid. 
 
 Rome, 454, 465, 471, 507. 
 Roscommon, lord, 392. 
 Rufus, William, 505. sample of his man- 
 ners, ibid, laughs at a monk, ibid. 
 Rules, defended, 448 452. rules or ge- 
 nius, which of the two prior, 450. 
 Russia, short account of its princes, and 
 their efforts to civilize, till the time of 
 Peter the Great, 546548. the acade- 
 mies founded there by that great prince, 
 549. various publications from the press 
 there in Greek and Latin, 548 551. 
 Virgil's Georgics published there in 
 Greek hexameters, and a sample given, 
 550. 
 
 Saeculum Obscurum, Ferreum, &c. 456. 
 Saladin, his extraordinary character and 
 behaviour under a variety of incidents, 
 480484. his affability, 480. his con- 
 versation, 481. his justice, ibid, his se- 
 verity, 481, 482. 483. his liberality, 
 483, 484. his contempt of money, ibid. 
 his intercourse and correspondence with 
 Richard Coeur de Leon, 511 513. 
 Salisbury cathedral, its elegance, 513. 
 Salisbury, John of. See John. 
 Salvator Rosa, 403, 526. 
 Samson, Agonistes, 430, 446. 
 Sanctius, a capital grammarian, account of 
 
 him, 393. 
 Sannazarius, his fine eclogues, 51.0. lived 
 
 at the beginning of a better and improv- 
 ing age, 520. describes his beautiful 
 villa, 527. 
 
 Saunderson, bishop, three books he always 
 studied, and had with him, what, 508. 
 
 Scholiasts, 391, 469, 476. 
 
 Schoolmen, their age, 508. their character, 
 ibid, their titles, ibid. 
 
 Schultens, 478, 484. 
 
 Scribleriad, fine quotations from, 520, 521. 
 
 Scriptor ad Keren, 415, 416, 420, 438. 
 
 Self, no man quotes himself for a villain,481. 
 
 Selim, emperor, 496. 
 
 Sentences, 416, 417. rule for compound 
 sentences, 417. 
 
 Sentiment, in a general sense, Sidvoia, 436, 
 437. in a more limited sense, yvufj.ri, 
 
 437, 438. sentiment in a general sense, 
 illustrated by examples, 437. in a more 
 limited sense, illustrated by examples, 
 437 439. without a reason, and with 
 one, 438. some, of evil tendence, ibid. 
 
 Severity. See Saladin, 481, 483. 
 Shaftesbury, lord, a critic, 392, 401. his 
 
 rule about monosyllables, 417. 
 Shakspeare, quoted, 403, 415, 416, 430, 
 
 438, 439, 442. his merit and demerit, 
 whence, 450 452. reasons Socratically, 
 though probably ignorant of Socratic rea- 
 soning, 451. quoted, ibid. 503. his pa- 
 troness, who, 394. 
 
 Simonides, 443. 
 
 Simplicius, 457. 
 
 Socrates, 459, 460. 
 
 Socratic reasoning, in Shakspeare, in Xe- 
 nophon, in Aristotle, 451. its mo&e,ibid. 
 
 Solomon, 485. thought a magician for his 
 wisdom, ibid. 
 
 Sophist, able decision of, 499. 
 
 Sophocles, 400, 430, 450, 452, 455, 459. 
 469, 470. 
 
 Speech, perfect coincidence of all its parts, 
 419. 
 
 Spencer, 415, 416. 
 
 Spelman, 455, 531. 
 
 Spon, 467. 
 
 Statues, fine Grecian ones, destroyed by the 
 barbarian Crusade, when they sacked 
 Constantinople, 472. the statues enume- 
 rated and described. See Nicetas. 
 
 Style, its importance, 417. defended against 
 vulgar objections, 418, 419, 461. 
 
 2rJo. See Portico. 
 
 Stobasus, character of his work, 468, 469. 
 
 Stoic philosophy, 460, 485, 487. 
 
 Stories, strange, see Tales, 465, 470, 471. 
 
 Strabo, fine MS. of, at Moscow, 551. 
 
 Strageris, the ancient Stageira ; the city 
 where Aristotle was born and buried, 
 523. 
 
 Stuart, (Antiquities of Athens,) 459, 466, 
 467. 
 
 Suidas, emended ably by Toupe, 396, 465. 
 character of his work, 468, 469. 
 
584 
 
 INDEX TO PHILOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 
 
 Sultan of Egypt, fine story of him and his 
 
 vizir, 494. 
 
 Sydenham, excellent translator, why, 395. 
 Sylla, his cruelty and devastation at Athens, 
 
 463. 
 
 Synesius, 462, 466. 
 Tacitus, 458. 
 
 Tales, Arabian and Turkish, 484. 
 Tales, absurd and strange, 493, 498, 499. 
 
 their estimate, see Bacon, lord Verulam. 
 Taste, to be acquired, how, 401, 453. rose 
 
 in the West of Europe, through what 
 
 causes, 477. See below, Vulgar. 
 Taylor, 397. 
 Tempe, Thessalian, 525. 
 Terence, 410, 430. 
 Terminus, the god, enigma concerning him, 
 
 444. 
 
 Theophrastus, 389. 
 Theopompus, entire, when, 469. 
 Thomas Aquinas, 508. 
 Time, musical, 407. 
 Times, their character in different ages, 504. 
 
 good old times, ibid. 534. story about 
 
 them, 537. 
 
 Titus Pomponius, called Atticus, why, 464. 
 Toleration, 543. 
 Totality, 425, 432. 
 Toupe, v 396, 468. 
 
 Town, taken by storm, described, 404. 
 Tragic and epic poetry, prior to comic, why, 
 
 400. 
 Tragic drama, differs from epic, how, 427. 
 
 its proper character, 430. tragic passions, 
 
 what, ibid. 
 Translation and translators, 394, 395. three 
 
 capital ones, (Casaubon, Carter, Syden- 
 ham,) and why, 395. others, respectable, 
 
 ibid. 
 
 Triclinius, scholiast, 470. 
 Troubadours, character of those poets, and 
 
 the subjects of their poetry, 502. princes 
 
 were of the number. See Richard Coeur 
 
 de Leon and William of Poictou, 503. 
 
 etymology of the name, 502. mentioned, 
 
 517. 
 
 Troy, its taking, 402, 404, 477. 
 Truce of God, what, 531. 
 Truth, immutable, 450, 452. in truth rules 
 
 and genius coincide, 452. 
 Turgid, 441. 
 Turks, 476, 542. Turkish envoy, story of, 
 
 496. 
 
 Tyranny, its effect, 391. 
 Tyrwhitt, an able critic, 394. 
 Valerius Maximus, 405. 
 Various readings in the days of antiquity, 
 
 both in Greek authors and in Latin, 396. 
 
 more necessary and more cultivated now 
 
 than formerly, why, ibid. 
 
 Vaucluse, the delight of Petrarch, 528. 
 
 Verses Leonine, 455. 507, 516, 517. 
 
 Versus Politic!, 409, 410. 
 
 Virgil, 395, 397, 401, 402, 403, 407, 414, 
 435, 452, 454, 473, 499, 516, 519, 525, 
 533, 534, 539, 543. curious account of a 
 various reading in him, from A. Gellius, 
 396. quoted, 543. sample of his Georgics 
 in Greek hexameters, 550. 
 
 Virtue, how estimated by Zeno, 460. how 
 by Epicurus, 461. 
 
 Ulysses, 441. 
 
 Upton, 394, 397. 
 
 Vulgar, their admiration, whence, 401. their 
 taste, for what, 525. (See Ox and Ass.) 
 true taste, to them incomprehensible, 526. 
 
 Wallis, 488. 
 
 Walsingham, historian, 455. 
 
 War, holy, 482, 501, 532. See Crusades, 
 Crusaders. 
 
 Warton, Dr. Warton and brother, both Eng- 
 lish critics, 394. 
 
 Waverly, historian, 516. 
 
 Westminster, that and Oxford, places of 
 education from high antiquity, 501. 
 
 Wheeler, the traveller, 467. 
 
 Whole and parts, 389, 399, 419. a whole 
 described, 42 i. beginning, middle, and 
 end, defined, ibid, whole illustrated from 
 Euclid, ibid, from Virgil's Georgics, 421 
 424. from the Menexenus of Plato, 
 424. from a modern sonnet, 425, 426. 
 ought to pass through all written compo- 
 sitions, as it passes through all nature, 
 425. 
 
 William, duke of Normandy, the Conqueror, 
 visits the Confessor, Edward, ibid, pre- 
 fers Ingulphus in the church, ibid. 501. 
 his character, 504. his taste, ibid. 505. 
 his spirited reply, 505. speech to his son 
 Henry, 506. 
 
 William, count of Poictou, a troubadour, 
 503. his licentious manners, ibid, his 
 treatment of two bishops, ibid, at last 
 turns bigot, ibid. 
 
 Women of quality, purity of their Greek at 
 Constantinople during a late age, and of 
 their Latin at Rome during the republic, 
 475. many women famous for literature 
 among the Arabians, 542. 
 
 Wyvil, bishop of Salisbury, 455. 
 
 Xenophon, his instance of Socratic reason- 
 ing, 451. mentioned, 395, 460, 528. 
 
 Xerxes and Darius, 459. 
 
 Youth, its character ; age, its character, 
 437. 
 
 Zeno, Stoic, short sketch of his doctrine, 
 460. 
 
 Zeuxis, painter, 445. 
 
 Zosimus, historian, 465. 
 
 VINCENT, PRINTER. OXFORD. 
 
 

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