ELEMENTS
OF TI-IE
OF
THE  HUMAN A I N DO
BY
DUGALD STEWART.
REVISED AND ABRIDGED,
WITH CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTES,
FOR THE USE OF COLLEGES AiL D SCHIOOLS.
BY FRANCIS BOWEN,
ALFORD PROFESSOR OF MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL PHILOSOPHY IN HARVARD COLLEGE.
NEW EDITION.
BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE:
JAIMES MUNROE AND COMIPANY.
1859.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
JAMES IMUNROE AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




PREFACE.
THOUGH Dugald Stewart has not added many new
truths to the Philosophy of Mind, and has hardly attempted to solve its more abstruse and intricate problems, he has done much to render it intelligible, popular, and useful. He is a great master of clear, harmonious, and ornate diction, which often rises into
eloquence, and never fails to impart interest and animation to the least promising portions of his subject.
But refined taste and elegant scholarship are among
the least of his merits; the doctrines which he inculcates are those of vigorous common sense and sound
morality, never deformed by a love of paradox, and
never compromising the interests of truth by straining
after novelty, or by unseasonable attempts to appear
ingenious and profound. The principles of social order
and good government, and the great interests of virtue
and religion, were never more impressively taught, or
eloquently defended, than by this professor of Scotch
metaphysics, who had the honor to reckon among his
pupils many who have since attained the highest distinction in the wralks of science, literature, and statesmanship. His writings, though he modestly says of
them that they are " professedly elementary," have been
more generally studied than those of any English
author upon the same subject during the last half century; and it is a striking proof of their merits, and of
the spirit of candor and amiability which is manifested
in them, that they have never been assailed by harsh




iv                  PREFACE.
or vindictive criticism. Those who controverted his
opinions have always spoken of him with much respect,
while his disciples appear to have regarded him, especially towards the close of his long and useful life, with
affectionate veneration.
His principal work, "' The Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind," has been frequently republished inll this country, and has been much used as a
text-book of instruction in metaphysical science in our
colleges and schools. When applied to such a purpose,
however, it must be admitted that it has many redundancies and some defects. The style, with all its merits, is somewhat diffuse, the digressions are numerous,
and the illustrations and citations from other authors,
more copious than the subject requires, or than the patience of the reader will always warrant.  I have
pruned these superfluities with great freedom, my purpose being to leave the statement of doctrine and the
course of the argument encumbered with no more extraneous matter than seemed necessary for the entertainment of the pupil. NrI. Stewart's caution in the statement of his opinions may appear excessive, and it occasionally betrays him into vagueness of expression and a
kind of indirect style, which leaves his meaning to be
ascertained rather by inference, than from the obvious
import of the language. He also takes for granted the
reader's acquaintance with the writings and opinions of
his more celebrated contemporaries and predecessors,
thus leaving many blanks to be filled by those who are
not particularly conversant with philosophical studies.
I have endeavored to supply some of these deficiencies
in the notes; but wishing not to swell the dimensions
of the book, and at the same time to make it contain
as much as possible of Stewart's own speculations, I
have preferred silently to omit those passages which
stood in great need of annotation, instead of introducing them with a commentary which should seem disproportioned in amount to the text. But these abridgments have been very carefully made, and I hope it will
be found that they do not mar the continuity of the
work, or leave any gaps which mlay create obscurity.




PREFACE.                    V
Whatever I have added to this edition, either in the
text or the notes, is inclosed in angular brackets, [ ],
so that the reader may easily distinguish Mr. Stewart's
words from those of his commentator. For the convenience both of teachers and learners, I have also given a
sort of analysis and abstract of the doctrines and arguments of the author, by prefixing to many of the paragraphs a brief statement, in italic type, of the subject to
which it relates, or of the point which it is designed to
prove. These headings of the sections are not inclosed
in brackets, being sufficiently indicated by their nature,
and by the change of type. Italics have also been
freely used in the body of the work, in order to direct
the student's attention to the particular words or sentences which contain the gist of the paragraph; — a precaution which diffuse and digressive writers may often
profitably adopt, in order that their readers may never
be at a loss to know what they are driving at.
The first portion of Mr. Stewart's " Elements " was
published in 1792; and " after an interval of more than
twenty years," he presented to the public the second
volume. It was less successful than its predecessor, as
the subject of which it treats is more abstruse and forbidding than the former theme, and not so well adapted
to the author's peculiar tastes and powers. The researches and speculations of later writers, moreover,
especially of Sir John Herschel, Mr. J. S. Mill, and
Dr. Whewell, have deprived this later volume, iil great
part, of the interest and importance which it formerly
possessed. I have, therefore, made comparatively little
use of it in this abridgment, omitting the latter half of
it altogether, and striking out large portions of the first
two chapters. Mr. Stewart's own annotations, a double
tier of which accompanies, and almost exceeds in quantity, the text, have also been diligently winnowed and
bolted, so that they are reduced to a small portion of
their primitive bulk.  Translations are given of the
Latin, Greek, and French citations, the original being
often removed to make room for them.
The following extract from Mr. Stewart's Preface to
his second volume, is a sufficient indication of the purA




vi          ~        PREFACE.
pose for which this abridgment of the whole work has
been prepared.. The book, he says, "is more particu.
larly intended for the use of academical students; and
is offered to them as a guide or assistant, at that impor.
tant stage of their progress when, the usual course of
discipline being completed, an inquisitive mind is naturally led to review its past attainments, and to form
plans for its future improvement. In the prosecution
of this design, I have not aimed at the establishment
of new theories; far less have I aspired to the invention
of and new organ for the discovery of truth. My principal object is to aid my readers in unlearning the
scholastic errors which, in a greater or less degree, still
maintain their ground in our most celebrated seats of
learning; and by subjecting to free, but I trust, not
skeptical discussion, the more enlightened though discordant systems of modern logicians, to accustom the
understanding to the unfettered exercise of its native
capacities.  That several of the views opened in the
following pages appear to myself original, and of some
importance, I will not deny; but the reception these
may meet with, I shall regard as a matter of comparative indifference, if my labors be found useful in training the mind to those habits of reflection on its own
operations, which may enable it to superadd to the
instructions of the schools, that higher education which
no schools can bestow."
While these sheets were passing through the press, the
second volume of Sir William  Hamilton's very handsome edition of " The Collected Works of Dugald
Stewart" was received in this country. It contains
the first volume of " Elements of the Philosophy of the
Human Mind," corresponding to the first seven chapters of the present work. I have examined it with care,
in the hope of finding some new matter which might be
added to this volume. But this hope was disappointed.
The additions are insignificant in extent and importance; they wouid not fill a page, and consist merely
of some additional references and brief citations from
other authors. Indeed, Sir William Hamilton says in
the Preface, "there has been nothing added by me, in




PREFACE.                   Vii
the view of vindicating, of supplementing or confirming,
of qualifying or criticising, Mr. Stewart's doctrines."
He also remarks, that though the volume was often
reprinted during the author's lifetime, after the second
edition in 1802, "no alteration or amplification, - none
certainly of any consequence, has been hitherto incorporated " with it.  Some "intended additions were
indeed supplied," when the third volume was published,
in 1827; and he observes that "these have only now
been entered in their proper places." Of course, he
here refers only to editions published in Great Britain;
as these additions were " entered in their proper places"
in an American edition published several years ago,
from which the present volume was printed. As the
Preface states that AMLr. Stewart was not satisfied with
the translations of quotations not in English, which
were made for the Boston edition of 1821, it is proper
to add, that these quotations have been translated anew
for this volume. They are not translated at all in Sir
William Hamilton's edition.
CAMBRIDGE, September 25, 1854.








CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
PAGE
PART I. Nature and Object of the Philosophy of the Human Mind    1
II. Utility of the Philosophy of the Human Mind... 11
CHAPTER I.
OF THE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.. 30
SECT. I. Theories formed by Philosophers to explain the manner in
which the Mind perceives external Objects..   30
II. Of Dr. Reid's Speculations on the Subject of Perception   38
III. Of the Origin of our Knowledge.... 44
CHAPTER II.
OF ATTENTION.......          a        49
CHAPTER III.
OF CONCEPTION...                                76
CHAPTER IV.
OF ABSTRACTION..                                        92
SECT. I. General Observations on this Faculty of the Mind      92
II. Objects of our Thoughts, when we employ general terms    97
III. Remarks on the opinions of some modern Philosophers on
the subject of the foregoing Section.. 112
IV. Inferences with respect to the Use of Language as an Instrument of Thought, and the Errors in Reasoning to
which it occasionally gives rise..      125




CONTENTS.
SECT. V. Of the Purposes to which the Powers of Abstraction and
Generalization aremsubservient...     129
VI. Of the Errors to which we are liable in consequence of a
rash Application of general Principles... 137
VII. Differences in the Characters of Individuals arising from
different Habits of Abstraction and Generalization  o  143
CHAPTER V.
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS                    10   0. 150
PART I. OF THE INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION IN REGULATING
THE SUCCESSION OF OUR THOUGHTS..  151
SECT. I. General Observations on'this Part of our Constitution. 151
II. Of the Principles of Association among our Ideas..  160
III. Of the Power which the Mind has over the Train of its
Thoughts.....165
IV. Illustrations of this Doctrine...       169
1. Of Wit.... 169
2. Of Rhyme........  173
3. Of Poetical Fancy.. 177
4. Of Invention in the Arts and Sciences            181
V. Application of the Principles stated in the foregoing Sections, to explain the Phenomena of Dreaming. 188
PART II. OF THE INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION ON THE INTELLECTUAL AND ON THE ACTIVE POWVERS. 208
SECT. I. Of the Influence of casual Associations on our speculative
Conclusions.e                            o. 208
II. Of the Influence of' the Association of Ideas on our Judgments in Matters of Taste.. 227
III. Of the Influence of Association on our active Principles
and on our moral Judgments..         o.         239
IV. General Remarks on the foregoing Subjects.           248
CIHAPTER VI.
OF ME-MORY.               ~., o       o  254
SECT. I. General Observations on Memory... 254
II. Of the Varieties of Memory in different Individuals. 269
Ill. Of the Improvement of Memory                    o. 290




CONTENTS.                           xi
SECT. IV. Of the Aid which the Memory derives from Philosophical
Arrangement... 295
V. Effects of committing to Writing our acquired Knowledge 304
VIo Of Artificial Memory..     311
VII. Importance of making a proper Selection among the Objects of our Knowledge, in order to derive Advantage
from the Acquisitions of Memory.        315
VIII. Of the Connection between Memory and Genius      o  323
C HAPTER  VII.
OF IMAGINATION...,  330
SECT. I. Analysis of Imagination...             330
II. Imagination considered in its Relation to the Fine Arts. 337
III. Relation of Imagination and of Taste to Genius..  349
IV. Influence of Imagination on Character and Happiness. 351
V. Inconveniences resulting from an ill-regulated Imagination 357
VI. Uses to which the Power of Imagination is subservient. 367
CHAPTER VIII.
OF REASON...  3.72
SECT. I. On the Vagueness and Ambiguity of Philosophical Language relative to this part of our Constitution.. 372
II. Of Matliematical Axioms...      380
III. Laws of Belief connected with the exercise of Consciousness, Memory, Perception, and Reasoning.. 392
C HAPTER IX.
OF REASONING AND OF DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. o. 405
SECT. I. 1. Doubts with respect to Locke's Distinction between the
Powers of Intuition and of Reasoning.. 405
2. Conclusions obtained by a Process of Deduction often
mistaken for Intuitive Judgments. 410
II. Of General Reasoning...,.,,  413
III. Of Mathematical Demonstration.,,,. 423
IV. Reasonings concerning Probable or Contingent Truths.  456








INTRODUCTION.
PART I.
OV THE NATURE AND OBJECT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE
HUMAN MIND.
Why the Philosop.y of the ulman aMind has hitherto made
little progress. -  The prejudice which is commonly entertained against metaphysical speculations, seems to arise chiefly
from two causes:.First, from an apprehension that the subjects
about which they are employed are placed beyond the reach
of the human faculties; and, secondly, from a belief that these
subjects have no relation to the business of life.
The frivolous and absurd discussions which abound in the
writings of most metaphysical authors, afford but too many
arguments in justification of these opinions; and if such discussions were to be admitted as a fair specimen of what the
human mind is able to accomplish in this department of science,
the contempt, into which it has fallen of late, might with justice be regarded as no inconsiderable evidence of the progress
which true philosophy has made in the present age. Among
the various subjects of inquiry, however, which, in consequence
of the vague use of language, are comprehended under the general title of l2etaphysics,* there are some, which are essentially
* [The term Physics comprehends the various branches of Physical or
Natural Philosophy, such as Chemistry, Mechanics, Astronomy, Botany,
etc. It properly denotes the science of things actually existing, whether those




2                       INTRODUCTION.
distingurished from  the rest, both by the degree of evidence
which accompanies their principles, and by the relation which
they bear to the useful sciences and arts; and it has unfortunately happened, that these have shared in that general discredit into which the other branches of metaphysics have
justly fallen. To this circumstance is probably to be ascribed
the little progress which has hitherto been made in the PHILOSOPHY OF THE HIUMAN MIND; -a science so interesting in its
nature, and so important in its applications, that it could scarcely have failed, in these inquisitive and enlightened times, to
have excited a very general attention, if it had not accidentally been classed, in the public opinion, with the vain and unprofitable disquisitions of the schoolmen.
In order to obviate these misapprehensions with respect to
the subject of tile following work, I have thought it proper,
in this preliminary chapter, first, to explain the nature of the
truths which I propose to investigate; and, secondly, to point
out some of the more important applications of which they are
susceptible.
things are material or immaterial; but it is usually confined to things material, and thus signifies the science of the external world. After Aristotle
had written books upon various branches of Physics, he composed certain
other treatises, to which he gave the name of Metaphysics, or things coming
after Physics. In its widest signification, therefore, the term Metaphysics
comprehends every study or science which does not belong to Physics. It
is the science of pure ideas, or of abstract and universal truths; the objects of
this science lie beyond the range of the senses, and are not attainable by
experience. That every event must have a cause —that qualities or attributes presuppose a substance in which they inhere - that the human will is
free, etc., are propositions which belong to Metaphysics. By many writers,
however, the word Metaphysics is loosely applied to denote the Philosophy of Mind. Such a Philosophy treats of the Association of Ideas, Memory, Attention, and other phenomena of mind; and as it consists only in
collecting facts and making inductions, it is properly an experimental science, and ought to be ranked under the head of Physics rather than of Metaphysics. Psychology is the latest term in use to denote the science of mental phenomena, while Physics, in its narrower signification, comprehends
only material phenomena; the one is the philosophy of mind, the other is
the philosophy of matter.]




INTRODUCTION.                         3
Our notions both of Matter and Mind are merely relative.The notion we annex to the words, matter and mind, as is well
remarked by Dr. Reid, (in his Essays on the Active Powers of
Man,) are merely relative.  If I am  asked, what I mean by
matter?  I can only explain myself by saying, it is that which
is extended, figured, colored, movable, hard or soft, rough or
smooth, hot or cold; —that is, I can define it in no other way
than by enumerating its sensible qualities.  It is not matter, or
body, which I perceive by my senses; but only extension, figure,
aolor, and certain other qualities, which the constitution of my nature leads me to refer to SOMETHING, which is extended, fiyured,
and colored. The case is precisely similar with respect to mrind
We are not immediately conscious of its existence, but we are
conscious of sensation, thought, and volition; operations, which
imply the existence of SOMETHING which feels, thinks, and wills.
Every main, too, is impressed with an irresistible conviction,
that all these sensations, thoughts, and volitions, belong to one
and the same being; to that being, which he calls himself; a
being, which he is led, by the constitution of his nature, to consider as something distinct from his body, and as not liable to be
impaired by the loss or mutilation of any of its organs.
Proof of the separate existence of l3ind.   From  these con.
siderations, it appears, that we have the same evidence for the existence of mind, that we have for the existence of body; nay, it
there be any difference between the two cases, that we have
stronger evidence for it; inasmuch as the one is suggested to us
by the subjects of our own consciousness,* and the other merely
* [ Consciousness is usually defined to be the notice which the mind takes oJ
its own operations. If I think or remember, I know, or am conscious, that I
think or remember; if I am pained or pleased, I know that I am so pained
or pleased. Thus, Consciousness is the witness or reporter of all mental
phenomena, just as the senses witness and report the phenomena of the
external universe. Consciousness reports the present phenomena of mind,
as memory reports its past phenomena.
By most writers, Consciousness is spoken of as if it were a separate
faculty of mind, whose special office it is to take cognizance of whatever
is passing within us. But Dr. Thomas Brown, Mr. James Mill, Sir W




4                        %INTRODUCTION.
by tile objects of our perceptions: and in this light, undoubtedly,
the fact would appear to every person, were it not, that, from
our earliest years, the attention is engrossed with the qualities
and laws of matter, an acquaintance with which is absolutely
necessary for the preservation of our animal existence.  Hence
it is, that these phenomena occupy our thoughts more than those
of mind; that we are perpetually tempted to explain the latter
[the phenomena of mind] by the analogy of the former [the
phenomena of matter], and even to endeavor to refer them to
the same general laws; and that we acquire habits of inattention to the subjects of our consciousness, too strong to be afterwards surmounted,  without the most persevering industry.
If the foregoing observations be well founded, they establish
the distinction between mind and matter, without any long process of metaphysical reasoning: * for if our notions of both are
Hamilton, and others, justly object to this doctrine. Having a sensation,
and being conscious of that sensation, are not two things; the thing is one,
the names only are two. If I say Ifeel a sensation, the expression is tautological, for thefeeling and the sensation are the same thing; the sensation
is the feeling. And to say lam conscious of a feeling, is merely to say that
Tfeel it; to have a feeling is to be conscious, and to be conscious is to have
a feeling. A single perception is simple and indivisible; it cannot be analyzed into a fact and the consciousness of that fact, for the event itself being an act of knowing, it does not exist, if it be not known to exist. See
Sir W. Hamilton's Discussions on Philosophy, 2d. ed. p. 47. James Mill's
Analysis of the Itmnzan Mind, I. p. 170. Bowen's Essays, p. 131. Dr. T.
Brown's Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human 1M1ind, I. pp. 244-261.]
In stating the relative notions which we have of mind and of body, I
have avoided the use of the word substance, as I am unwilling to furnish the
slightest occasion for controversy; and have contented myself with defining 2mind to be that which feels, thinks, wills, hopes, fears, desires, etc.
That my consciousness of these and other operations is necessarily accompanied with a conviction of my own existence, and with a conviction that
all of them belong to one and the same being, is not an hypothesis, but a
fact; of which it is no more possible for me to doubt, than of the reality
of my own sensations or volitions.
[Substance is the unkcnzowv something which underlies and supports all the
qualities by which any' thing is made known to us. We can define any particular body only by saying, that it is something which is extended, colored,




INTRODUCTION.                          tS
m-.,rely relative; if we know  the one only by such sensible
qualities as extension, figure, and solidity; and the other, by
such operations as sensation, thought, and volition; we are certainly entitled to say, that matter and mind, considered as objects of human study, are essentially different; the science of
the former resting ultimately on the phenomena exhibited to
our senses; that of the latter, on the phenomena of which we
are conscious. Instead, therefore, of objecting to the scheme of
materialism, that its conclusions are false, it would be more accurate to say, that its aim is unphilosophical. It proceeds on a
misapprehension of the proper object of science; the difficulty
which it professes to remove being manifestly placed beyond
the reach of our faculties. Surely, when we attempt to explain
the nature of that principle which feels and thinks and wills, by
saying that it is a material substance, or that it is the result of
material organization, we impose on ourselves by words; forgetting, that matter as well as mind is known to us by its qualities and attributes alone, and that we are totally ignorant of the
essence of either.*
The Philosophy of Mind susceptible of cultivation and progress. - It would probably contribute much to accelerate the
progress of the philosophy of mind, if, (1.) a distinct explanation were given of its nature and object; and if, (2.) some genhard or soft, hot or cold, etc.; that is, by enumerating those properties or
attributes, by means of which it manifests itself to our senses. So we can
define mind only by saying, that it is somethi2g which feels, thinks, remembers, conceives, etc.; that is, we enumerate the qualities or faculties
through which it manifests itself in consciousness. In both cases, this
unknown somethihng is called substance, which word, in plain English, means
that which stands under, or upholds, its various qualities.]
Some metaphysicians, who appear to admit the truth of the foregoing
reasoning, have further lurged, that for any thing we can prove to the contrary, it is possible, that the unknown substance which has the qualities of
extension, figure, and color, may be the same with the unknown substance
which has the attributes of feeling, thinking, and willing. But besides
that this is only an hypothesis, which amounts to nothing more than a
mere possibility, even if it were true, it would no more be proper to say
of mind, that it is material, than to say of body. that it is spiritual
1'*




6                         INTRODUCTION.
eral rules were laid down, with respect to the proper method of
conducting the study of it.
Upon a slight attention to the operations of our minds, they
appear to be so complicated, and so infinitely diversified, that it
seems to be impossible to reduce them  to any general laws.*
[What are general laws, or laws of nature, as they are generally termed?
Few phrases are more frequently and glibly used than these, yet, in the
minds of most persons, they have but a vague and uncertain signification.
It is worth while, then, to attempt to gain some clear and precise notions
respecting them.
A law of nature is nothing more than a general fact, or rather, a general
statemient comprehending under it many similar individual facts.  A law is the
result of a classification, and individual things are classed together on account of some similarity or uniformity that has been discovered between
them.
1. Objects that exist are classed together on account of their resemzblance
to each other.  Such classification may consist of several successive steps,
and is the proper work of Natural History.  Thus, all objects whatsoever
are divided into three great kingdoms, the Animal, the Vegetable, and the
Mineral.  The Animal kingdom  is subdivided into four classes, Vertebrates, Molluscs, Articulates, and RPadiates or Zobphites.  Again, Vertebrates are divided into Marmmifers, Birds, Reptiles, and Fishes.  All the
animals ranked under any one of these classes agree with each other in
certain respects; all Vertebrates, for instance, have a vertebral column
inclosing a spinal cord; all Birds have an apparatus, or the rudiments of
an apparatus, for flying. The General Fact, that all the animals so classed
possess the given organ or property, is called a Law of Nature.  It is a
LIaw of Nature, for instance, that all Vertebrates have a spinal cord and a
skull inclosing a brain; it is also a Law, that all Mammifers and Birds
have awarm  red blood, and a heart composed of four compartments.
Another Law of Nature is, that every animal is produced from  an egg.
These Laws are not necessary and immutable truths, but are mere inductions founded on experience; they hold good only until an instance is
discovered to the contrary.  Whanles were once classed with Fishes; they
are now properly ranked with Maimmifers, because unlike Fishes, they
suckle their young. It was once supposed to be a Law of Nature, that all
swans are white; black swans have since been discovered.
2. Ecents that take place, also, are classed together on account of their
uniformity.  Thus, it is a General Fact, or Law of Nature, that pressure
on a fluid is propagated equally in all directions, and that a heavy body,
if unsupported, falls to the eartlh. lIMany of these General Facts are so
familiar, that we never think of formally enunciating them; "no science,'




INTRODUCTION.                             7
In consequence, however, of a more accurate examination, the
prospect clears up; and the phenomena, which appeared, at first,
says J. S. Mill, " was needed to teach men that food nourishes, that water
drowns, or quenches thirst, that the sun gives light and heat, that bodies
fall to the ground."  These laws, also, are not necessary truths, but are
tunded on mere induction, - often on a not very extensive one. A
newly discovered metal, being found, by a single experiment, to be fusible
at a certain temperature, it is at once declared to be a Law of Nature, that
it does melt, always has melted, and always will melt, at the ascertained
degree of heat. It is certainly possible, though not probable, that another
piece of the metal should be discovered which will not melt at this temperature; such an instance would be only a parallel to the case of the
black swans. A particular event, comprehended under the statement of a
Law, is not properly said to be caused by the Law, but only to be a case,
or instance, hlappenilq under the Law. A cow does not suckle its calf because it is a Mammifer, but it is called a Mammifer because it suckles its
calf. So, it is not a law of Hydrostatics which causes water to remain at
the same level in the two arms of a bent tube; but the fact, that the water
stands at this level, is ranked among many other facts, which are comprehended under the general statement, called a Law, of Hydrostatics.  Gravitation does not make the stone fall, but the particular fact, that this stone
fell, is comprehended under the General Fact, or Law, of Gravitation. In
like manner, Gravitation does not make the earth revolve in an elliptical
orbit round the sun; but the fact, that the earth revolves in this manner,
is ranked with the falling of a stone, and with many other facts of a similar
character, under the general statement, or Law, of Gravitation.
HIence it is abundantly evident, to adopt Mr. Mill's language, that " the
expression, Laws of Nature, mLeans nothing but the uniformities which exist
among natural phenomena, when reduced to their simplest expression."
The Laws of Nature do not account for, or explain, the phenomena of nature; they only describe them. Description and classification are the sole
employments of Phliysical science.
To account for, or explain, the operations of nature, we must have
recourse to M1letaphl/sics - to something after, or above, nature. We must
ascend to the notion of Cause. The maxim, " every event must have a cause,"
is not, like the so-called Laws of Nature, a mere induction, founded on
experience, and holding good only until an instance is discovered to the
contrary; it is a necessary and immutable truth. It is not derived from
observation of natural phenomena, but is superimposed upon such observation by a necessity of the human intellect. It is not made known through
the senses; and its falsity, under any circumstances, is not possible - is not
even conceivable. The Cause, to which it points us, is not to be found in




8                     IN TRODUCTION.
to be too various for our comprehension, are found to be the
result of a comparativetly small number of sinple and uncompounzded faculties, or of simple anzd uncompjounded principles of
action.  These faculties and principles are the general laws of
our constitution, and hold the same place in the philosophy of
mind, that the general laws we investigate in physics, hold in
that branch of science.  In both cases, the laws which nature
has established are to be investigated only by an examination
of facts; and in both cases, a knowledge of these laws leads to
an explanation of an infinite number of.phenomena.
In the investigation of physical laws, it is well known that
our inquiries must always terminate in some general fact, of
which no account can be given, but that such is the constitution
of nature.  After we have established, for example, fiom  the
astronomical phenomena, the universality of the law of gravitation, it may still be asked, whether this law implies the constant agency of mind; and (upon the supposition that it does)
whether it be probable that the Deity always operates immediately, or by means of subordinate instruments?  But these
questions, however curious, do not fill under the province of the
natural philosopher.  It is sufficient for his purpose, if the universality of the fact be admitted.
The case is exactly the same in the philosophy of mind.
Wvhen we have once ascertained a general fact; such as, the
various laws which regulate the Association of Ideas, or the dependence of Memory on that effort of the mind which we call
Attention; it is all we ought to aim at, in this branch of science.
If we proceed no further than facts for which we have the evidence of our own consciousness, our conclusions wtill be no less
certain, than those in physics; but if our curiosity leads us to
attempt an explanation of the Association of Ideas, by certain
nature. The mere Physicist, after vainly searching, ever since the world
began, for a single instance of it, has at length abandoned the attempt as
hopeless, and now confines himself to the mere lescription of natural pllenomena. The trtce cause of these phenomena must be sought for in the
realm, not of matter, but of mind.]




INTROD UCTION.                          9
supposed vibrations, or other changes, in the state of the brain;
or to explain Memory, by means of supposed impressions and
traces in the sensorium; we evidently blend a collection of important and well-ascertained truths, with principles which rest
wholly on conjecture.*
The Analogy of Maktter no Guide to the Phioilopzhy of M:find.
B- eside this inattention to the proper limits of philosophical
inquiry, other sources of error, from which the science of physics is entirely exempted, have contributed to retard the progress of the philosophy of mind.  Of these, the most important
proceed from that disposition which is so natural to every person, at the commencement of his philosophical pursuits, to explain intellectual and moral phenomena by the analogy of the
material world.
I before took notice of those habits of inattention to the subjects of our consciousness, which take their rise in that period
of our lives when we are necessarily employed in acquiring a
knowledge of the properties and laws of matter.  In consequence of this early familiarity with the phenomena of the material world, they appear to us less mysterious than those of
mind; and we are apt to think that we have advanced one step
in explaining the latter, when we can point out some analogybetween them and the former.  It is owing to the same circumstance, that we have scarcely any appropriated language with
[" When I speak," says Crousaz, in his Art of Thinking, " of desire,
contentment, trouble, apprehension, doubt, certainty, of affirming, denying, approving, blaming, -I pronounce words the meaning of which I distinctly
understand; and yet I do not represent the things spoken of under any
image or corporeal form. While the intellect, however, is thus busy about
its own phenomena, the imagination is also at work in presenting its analogical theories; but so far from aiding us, it only misleads our steps and
retards our progress. Would you know what thought is? It is precisely
that which passes within you when you think. Stop but here, and you
are sufficiently informed. But the imagination, eager to proceed further,
would gratify our curiosity by comparing it to file, to vapor, or to other
active and subtile principles in the material world. And to what can all
this tend, but to divert our attention from what thought is, and to fix it
upon what it is not? "1




10                       INTRODUCTION.
respect to mind, and that the words which express its different
operations, are almost all borrowed from  the objects of our
senses.*  It must, however, appear manifest, upon a very little
reflection, that as the two subjects are essentially distinct, and
as each of them  has its peculiar laws, the analogies we are
pleased to faney between them, can be of no use in illustrating
either; and that it is no less unphilosophical to attempt an explanation of Perception, or of the Association of Ideas, upon
mechanical principles; than it would be to explain the phenomena of gravitation, by supposing, as some of the ancients did,
the particles of matter to be animatedl with principles of motion; or to explain the chemical phenomena of elective attractions, by supposing the substances among which they are observed, to be endowed with thought and volition. -  The analogy
of matter, therefore, can be of no use in the inquiries which form
the object of the following work; but, on the contrary, is to be
guarded against, as one of the principal sources of the errors to
which we are liable.
* [" If we critically examine any language, ancient or modern, and trace
its several terms or phrases to their source, we shall find it hold invariably,
that all the words made use of to denote spiritual and'itellectual things,
are in their origin metaphors, taken from objects of sense. This shows
evidently, that the latter [objects of sense] have made the earliest impressions, have by conseqtuence first obtained names in every tongue, and are
still, as it were, more present with us, and strike the imagination more
forcibly than the former [spiritual and intellectual things.]
Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, Book III. Chapter i. 3.
Numberless instances might be given; but a very few will suffice. Amaginzation is derived from an optical imactge; acuteness, from a Latin word
signifying the sharpness of a material instrument; reflection, from bending
back a ray of light; apprehension originally meant seizure, or taking hold of
something by the hand; instil means to drop into; spirit is breath; animal
and animation, (anima, ivepCof) come from breath, and ultimately from wind;
melancholy means black bile;.fitint-hearted a.nd mnilk-livered have come to
mean cowardly, and hard-hearted tlo mean cruel; understanding, foresight, inclination, penetration, etc., suggest their own etymology.]




INTRODUCTION.                      l
PART II.
OF THE UTILITY OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMIAN MIND.,
Connection of the Arts and Sciences with each other. — It
has been often remarlked, that there is a mutual connection between the different arts and sciences.; and that the improvements which are made in one branch of human knowledge, frequently throw light on others, to which it has apparently a very
remote relation. The modern discoveries in astronomy and in
pure mathematics have contributed to bring the art of navigation to a degree of perfection formerly unknown.  The rapid
progress which has been lately made in astronomy, anatomy,
and botany, has been chiefly owing to the aid which these sciences have received from the art of the optician.
Althlouth, however, the diffierent  departments of science and
of art mutually reflect light on each other, it is not always necessary either for the philosopher or the artist to aim at the acquisition of general knowledge. Both of them may safely take
many principles for granted, without being able to demnonstrate
their truth. A seaman, though ignorant of mathematics, may
apply, with correctness and dexterity, the rules for finding the
longitude. An astronomer or a botanist, though ignorant of
optics, may avail himself of the use of the telescope or the microscope.
These observations are daily exemplified in the case of the
artist; who has seldom either inclination or leisure to speculate
concerning the principles of his art. It is rarely, however, we
meet with a man of science who has confined his studies wholly
to one branch of knowledge. That curiosity, which he has been
accustomed to indulge in the course of his favorite pursuit, will
naturally extend itself to every remarkable object which falls
under his observation, and can scarcely fail to be a source of
perpetual dissatisfaction to his mind, till it has been so far gratified as to enable him  to explain all the various phenomena




12                      INTRODUCTION.
which his professional habits are every day presenting to his
view.
All the sciences and all human employments connected with the
science of mind. - As every particular science is in this manner connected with others, to which it naturally directs the
attention, so all the pursuits of life, whether they terminate in
speculation or action, are connected with that general science
wllich has the human mind for its object.  The powers of' the
understanding are instruments which all men employ; and his
curiosity must be small indeed, who passes through life in total
ignorance of faculties which his wants and necessities force him
habitually to exercise, and which so remarkably distinguish man
from the lower animals.*  The phenomena resulting from these
* ["'T is evident," says David Hume, " that all the sciences have a relation, greater or less, to human nature, and that, however wide any of
them may seem to run from it, they still return back by one passage or
another. Even mathematics, natural philosophy, and natural religion, are in
some measume dependent on the science of man; since they lie under the
cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties. It is
impossible to tell what changes and improvements we might make in
these sciences, were we thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force
of human understanding, and could explain the nature of the ideas we
employ, and of the operations we perform in our reasonings.
" If therefore, the sciences of mathematics, natural philosophy, and
natural religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what
may be expected in the other sciences, whose connection with human nature is more close and intimate? The sole end of logic is to explain the
principles and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature of our
ideas; morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments; and politics
consider men as united in society, and dependent on each other. In these
four sciences of logic, morals, criticism, and politics, is comprehended
almost every thing which it can any way import us to be acquainted with,
ol which can tend either to the improvement or ornament of the human
mind.
"Here, then, is the only expedient from which we can hope for success
in our philosophical researches; to leave the tedious, lingering method
which we have hitherto followed; and instead of taking, now and then, a
castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital or centre of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once masters of,
we may everywhere else hope for an easy victory. From this station, we




INTRODUCTION.                        I3
faculties and principles of the mind, are every moment soliciting
our notice, and open to our examination a field of discovery as
inexhaustible as the phenomena of the material world, and exhibiting not less striking marks of divine wisdom.
While all the sciences and all the pursuits of life have this
common tendency to lead our inquiries to the philosophy of human nature, this last branch of knowledge borrows its principles
from no other science whatever.  Hence there is something in
the study of it which is peculiarly gratifying to a reflecting and
inquisitive mind, and something in the conclusions to which it
leads on which the mind rests with peculiar satisfaction. Till
once our opinions are in some degree fixed with respect to it,
we abandon ourselves, with reluctance, to particular scientific
investigations; and, on the other hand, a general knowledge of
such of its principles as are most fitted to excite the curiosity,
not only prepares us for engaging in other pursuits with more
liberal and comprehensive views, but leaves us at liberty to
prosecute them  with a more undivided and concentrated attention.
Direct advantages of a study of tle phenomena of mind. - It
is not, however, merely as a subject of speculative curiosity that
the principles of the human mind deserve a careful examination. The advantages to be expected from a successful analysis
of it are various; and some of them of such importance, as to
render it astonishing, that, amidst all the success with which the
subordinate sciences have been cultivated, this, which comprehends the principles of all of them, should be still suffered to
remain in its infancy.
I shall endeavor to illustrate a few of these advantages, beginning with what appears to me to be the most important of
may extend our conquests over all those sciences which more intimately
concern human life, and may afterward proceed at leisure to discover more
fully those which are the objects of pure curiosity. There is no question
of importance whose decision is not comprised in the science of man; and
there is none which can be decided with any certainty, before we become
acquainted with that science."]
2




14                        INTRODUCTION.
any; the light whiclh a philosophical analysis of the principles
of tlhe mind would necessarily throw on the subjects of intellectual
and moral education.
The nature and purposes of education. -  The most essential
objects of education are the two following: First, to cultivate
all the various principles of our nature, both speculative and
active," in such a manner as to bring them  to the greatest perfection of which they are susceptible; and, secondly, by watching over the impressions and associations which the mind receives in early life, to secure it against the influence of prevailing errors; and, as far as possible, to engage its prepossessions
on the side of truth.  It is only upon a philosophical analysis
of the mind, that a systematical plan can be founded for the accomplishment of either of these purposes.
There are few individuals whose education has been conducted in every respect with attention and judgment.  Almost
every man of reflection is conscious, when he arrives at maturity, of many defects in his mental powers, and of many inconvenient habits, which might have been prevented or remedied in his infancy or youth.  Such a consciousness is the first
step towards improvement; and the person who feels it, if he: [By the speculative principles of our nature, Stewart here means the
various powers or faculties of the intellect or the sunderstancldba, in the narrowest sense of these terms; such as the faculties of perception, menory,
tjudgment, imayination, etc. All these powers we might conceive to be in
full employment, though man should lead a life of mere contemplation or
reverie, never putting forth any voluntary exertion whatsoever, either of
mind or body.  What Stewart calls the active principles of human nature
might be more properly termed principles of action, or rather imptlses to action, —such as the cappetites, desires, afections, sel-love, and conscience.
These stimulate us to exertion; these point out ends to be pursued, while
tle intellect furnishes, as it were, the means for their attainment.
"l Reason the cardl but passion is the galc.1:
Stewart's phraseology here is faulty, for tile intellectual powers, such as
memory and imagination, may be just as active (that is, in as fill exercise,)
as the appetites or the conscience; but the former do not stimulate man to
voluntary exertion, unless they are conjoined with some desire.]




INTRODUCTION.                      15
is possessed of resolution and steadiness, will not scruple to begin, even in advanced years, a new course of education for himself. The degree of reflection and observation, indeed, which
is necessary for this purpose, cannot be expected from any one
at a very early period of life, as these are the last powers of the
mind which unfold themselves; hut it is never too late to think
of the improvement of our faculties; and much progress may
be made in the art of applying them successfully to their proper
objects, or in obviating the inconveniences resulting from their
imperfection, not only in manhood, but in old age.
Inzjurious effects of exclusive addiction to one employment or
pursuit. - It is not, however, to the mistakes of our early instructors, that all our intellectual defects are to be ascribed.
There is no profession or pursuit which has not habits peculiar
to itself, and which does not leave some powers of the mind dormant, while it exercises and improves the rest.  If we wish,
therefore, to cultivate the mind to the extent of its capacity, we
must not rest satisfied with that employment which its faculties
receive from our particular situation in life. It is not in the awkward and professional form of a mechanic, who has strengthened
particular muscles of his body by the habits of his trade, that
we are to look for the perfection of our animal nature; neither
is it among men of confined pursuits, whether speculative or active, that we are to expect to find the human  mind in its highest
state of cultivation.  A variety of exercises is necessary to preserve the animal frame in vigor and beauty; and a variety of
those occupations which literature and science afford, added to
a promiscuous intercourse with the world, in the habits of conversation and business, is no less necessary for the improvement
of the understanding.  I acknowledge, that there are some professions in which a man of very confined acquisitions may arrive
at the first eminence, and in which he will perhaps be the more
likely to excel, the more he has concentrated the whole force of
his mind to one particular object.  But such a person, however
distinguished in his own sphere, is educated merely to be a literary artisan, and neither attains the perfection nor the happiness of his nature. 1" That education only can be considered as




16                   INTRODUCTION.
complete and generous, which" (in the language of Milton)
"fits a man to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, all
the offices, both private and public, of peace and of war."
I hope it will not be supposed, from  the foregoing observations, that they are meant to recommend an indiscriminate attention to all the objects of speculation and of action. Nothing
can be more evident, than the necessity of limiting the field of
our exertion, if we wish to benefit society by our labors. But
it is perfectly consistent with the most intense application to
our favorite pursuit, to cultivate that general acquaintance with
letters and with the world which may be sufficient to enlarge
the mind, and to preserve it from any danger of contracting the
pedantry of a particular profession. In many cases, (as was
already remarked,) the sciences reflect light on each other;
and the general acquisitions, which we have made in other pursuits, may furnish us with useful helps for the further prosecution of our own. But even in those instances in which the case
is otherwise, and in which these liberal accomplishments must
be purchased by the sacrifice of a part of our professional eminence, the acquisition of them will amply repay any loss we
may sustain. It ought not to be the leading object of any one,
to become an eminent metaphysician, mathematician, or poet,
but to render himself happy as an individual, and an agreeable,
a respectable, and a useful member of society. A man who
loses his sight, improves the sensibility of his touch; but who
would consent, for such a recompense, to part with the pleasures
which he receives from the eye?
Light thrown by the philosophy of mind upon the theory and
practice of education. - It is almost unnecessary for me to remark, how much individuals would be assisted in the proper and
liberal culture of the mind, if they were previously led to take
a comprehensive survey of human nature in all its parts; of its
various faculties, and powers, and sources of enjoyment, and of
the effects which are produced on these principles by particular
situations. It is such a knowledge alone of the capacities of
the mind, that can enable a person to judge of his own acquisitions, and to employ the most effectual means for supplying his




INTRODUCTION,                      17
defects and removing his inconvenient habits.  Without some
degree of it, every man is in danger of contracting bad habits
before he is aware, and of suffering some of his powers to go to
decay, for want of proper exercise.
If the business of early education were more thoroughly and
more generally understood, it would be less necessary for individuals, when they arrive at maturity, to form plans of improvement for themselves.  But education never can be systematically directed to its proper objects, till we have obtained, not
only an accurate analysis of the general principles of our nature, and an account of the most important laws which regulate
their operation; but an explanation of the various modifications
and combinations of these principles, which produce that diversity of talents, genius, and character, we observe among men.
To instruct youth in the languages and in the sciences is comparatively of little importance, if we are inattentive to the habits they acquire, and are not careful in giving to all their different faculties, and all their different principles of action, a proper
degree of employment.  Abstracting entirely from the culture
of their moral powers, how extensive and difficult is the business of conducting their intellectual improvement! To watch
over the associations which they form in their tender years; to
give them early habits of mental activity; to rouse their curiosity, and to direct it to proper objects; to exercise their ingenuity and invention; to cultivate in their minds a turn for
speculation, and at the same time preserve their attention alive
to the objects around them; to awaken their sensibilities to the
beauties of nature, and to inspire them with a relish for intellectual enjoyment; — these form but a part of the business of
education, and yet the execution even of this part requires an
acquaintance with the general principles of our nature, which
seldom falls to the share of those to whom the instruction of
youth is commonly intrusted.
Nor will such a theoretical knowledge of the human mind as
I have now described, be always sufficient in practice.  An uncommon degree of sagacity is frequently requisite, in order to
accommodate general rules to particular tempers and charac2*




18                    INTRODUCTION.
ters.  In whatever way we choose to account for it, whether by
original organization or by the operation of moral causes in very
early infancy, no fact can be more undeniable, than that there
are important differences discernible in the minds of children,
previous to that period at which, in general, their intellectual
education commences. There is, too, a certain hereditary character (whether resulting from physical constitution, or caught
from imitation and the influence of situation) which appears remarkably in particular families. One race, for a succession of
generations, is distinguished by a genius for the abstract sciences, while it is deficient in vivacity, in imagination, and in
taste; another is no less distinguished for wit, and gaiety, and
fancy; while it appears incapable of patient attention or of profound research. The system of education which is proper to
be adopted in particular cases, ought undoubtedly to have some
reference to these circumstances, and to be calculated, as much
as possible, to develop and to cherish those intellectual and active principles in which a natural deficiency is most to be apprehended.  Montesquieu, and other speculative politicians,
have insisted much on the reference which education and laws
should have to climate. I shall not take upon me to say how
far their conclusions on this subject are just; but I am fully
persuaded, that there is a foundation in philosophy and good
sense for accommodating, at a very early period of life, the education of individuals to those particular turns of mind to which,
from hereditary propensities, or from moral situation, they may
be presumed to have a natural tendency.
There are few subjects more hackneyed than that of education; and yet there is none, upon which the opinions of the
world are still more divided.  Nor is this surprising; for most
of those who have speculated concerning it, have confined their
attention chiefly to incidental questions about the comparative
advantage of public or private instruction, or the utility of particular languages or sciences; without attempting a previous
examination of those faculties and principles of the mind, which
it is the great object of education to improve. Many excellent
detached observations, indeed, both on the intellectual and moral




INTRODUCTION.                      19
powers, are to be collected from the writings of ancient and
modern authors; but I do not know, that, in any language, an
attempt has been made to analyze and illustrate the principles
of human nature, in order to lay a philosophical foundation for
their proper culture.
The usefulness of systemnatic and thorough education defended.
— I have even heard some very ingenious and intelligent men
dispute the propriety of so systematical a plan of instruction.
The most successful and splendid exertions, both in the sciences
and arts, (it has been frequently remarked,) have been made
by individuals, in whose minds the seeds of genius were allowed
to shoot up wild and free; while, from the most careful and
skilful tuition, seldom any thing results above mediocrity.  I]
shall not, at present, enter into any discussions with respect to
the certainty of the fact on which this opinion is founded. Supposing the fact to be completely established, it must still be rememnbered, that originality of genius does not always imply vigor
and comprehensiveness and liberality of mind; and that it is
desirable only in so far as it is compatible with these more valuable qualities. I have already hinted, that there are some
pursuits, in which, as they require the exertion only of a small
number of our faculties, an individual, who has a natural turn
for them, will be more likely to distinguish himself, by being
suffered to follow his original bias, than if his attention were distracted by a more liberal course of study.  But wherever such
men are to be found, they must be considered, on the most
favorable supposition, as having sacrificed, to a certain degree,
the perfection and the happiness of their nature, to the amusement or instruction of others. It is, too, in times of general
darkness and barbarism, that what is commonly called originality of genius most frequently appears: and surely the great aim
of an enlightened and benevolent philosophy is, not to rear a
small number of individuals, )vho may be regarded as prodigies
in an ignorant and admiring age, but to diffuse, as widely as
possible, that degree of cultivation which may enable the bulk
of a people to possess all the intellectual and moral improvement of which their nature is susceptible. "Original genius,'




20                    INTRODUCTI()N.
(says Voltaire) 1" occurs but seldom in a nation where the literary taste is formed. The number of cultivated minds which
there abound, like the trees in a thick and flourishing forest,
prevent any single individual from rearing his head far above
the rest.  Where trade is in few hands, we meet with a small
number of overgrown fortunes in the midst of a general poverty: in proportion as it extends, opulence becomes general,
and great fortunes rare. It is precisely because there is, at
present, much light and much cultivation in France, that we
are led to complain of the want of superior genius."
How far education conduces to happiness. —To what purpose,
indeed, it may be said, is all this labor?  Is not the importance of every thing to man to be ultimately estimated by its
tendency to promote his happiness?  And is not our daily experience sufficient to convince us, that this is, in general, by no
means proportioned to the culture which his nature has received?  Nay, is there not some ground for suspecting, that the
lower orders of men enjoy, on the whole, a more enviable con
dition, than their more enlightened and refined superiors?
The truth, I apprehend, is, that happiness, in so far as it
arises from the mind itself, will be always proportioned to the
degree of perfection which its powers have attained; but that,
in cultivating these powers with a view to this most important
of all objects, it is essentially necessary that such a degree of
attention be bestowed on all of them, as may preserve them
in that state of relative strength, which appears to be agree..
able to the intentions of nature. In consequence of an exclusive attention to the culture of the imagination, the taste, the
reasoning faculty, or any of the active principles, it is possible
that the pleasures of h]uman life may be diminished, or its pains
increased; but the inconveniences which are experienced in such
cases are not to be ascribed to education, but to a partial and injudicious education.  In such cases, it is possible that the poet,
the metaphysician, or the man of taste and refinement, may appear to disadvantage when compared with the vulgar; for such
is the benevolent appointment of Providence with respect to the
lower orders, that, although not one principle of their nature be




INTRODUCTION.                     21
completely unfolded, the whole of these principles preserve
among themselves that balance which is favorable to the tranquillity of their minds, and to a prudent and steady conduct in
the limited sphere which is assigned to them, far more completely than those of their superiors, whose education has been
conducted on an erroneous or imperfect system: but all this,
far from weakening the force of the foregoing observations, only
serves to demonstrate how impossible it always will be, to form
a rational plan for the improvement of the mind without an accurate and comprehensive knowledge of the principles of the
human constitution.
That the memory, the imagination, or the reasoning faculty
are to be instantly strengthened in consequence of our speculations concerning their nature, it would be absurd to suppose;
but it is surely far from being unreasonable to think, that an
acquaintance with the laws which regulate these powers may
suggest some useful rules for their gradual cultivation, for remecdying their defects in the case of individuals, and even for extending those limits which nature seems, at first view, to have
assigned them.
To how great a degree of perfection the intellectual and moral
nature of man is capable of being raised by cultivation, it is
difficult to conceive. The effects of early, continued, and systematical education in the case of those children who are trained,
for the sake of gain, to feats of strength and agility, justify, perhaps, the most sanguine views which it is possible for a philosopher to form  with respect to the improvement of the
species.
The P/hilosophy of lfind enables us to control early impressions
and associations.- I now proceed to consider, how far the philosophy of mind may be useful in accomplishing the second object of education; by assisting us in the management of early
impressions and associations.
By far the greater part of the opinions on which we act in
life, are not the result of our own investigations; but are adopted
implicitly, in infancy and youth, upon the authority of others.
Even the great principles of morality, although implanted in




22                    INTRODUCTION,
every heart, are commonly aided and cherished, at least to a
certain degree, by the care of our instructors. All this is undoubtedly agreeable to the intentions of nature; and, indeed,
were the case otherwise, society could not subsist; for nothing
can be more evident, than that the bulk of mankind, condlemned
as they are to laborious occupations, which are incompatible
with intellectual improvement, are perfectly incapable of forming their opinions onl some of the most important subjects that
can employ the human mind.  It is evident, at the same time,
that as no system of education is perfect, a variety of prejudices
must, in this way, take an early bold of our belief; so as to acquire over it an influence not inferior to that of the most incontrovertible truths.  W~hen a child hears either a speculative
absurdity, or an erroneous principle of action, recommended and
enforced daily, by the same voice which first conveyed to it
those simple and sublime lessons of morality and religion which
are congenial to its nature, is it to be wondered at, that, in
future life, it should find it so difficult to eradicate prejudices
which have twined their roots with all the essential principles
of the human frame? -If such, however, be the obvious intentions of nature, with respect to those orders of men who are
employed in bodily labor, it is equally clear, that she meant to
impose it as a double obligation on those who receive the advantages of a liberal education, to examine, with the most scrupulous care, the foundation of all those received opinions which
have any connection with morality, or with human happiness.
If the multitude must be led, it is of consequence, surely, that
it should be led by enlightened conductors; by men who are
able to distinguish truth from error, and to draw the line between those prejudices which are innocent or salutary, (if
indeed there are any prejudices which are really salutary,) and
those which are hostile to the interests of virtue and of mankind.
_Necessity of unlearning early errors. -In such a state of
society as that in which we live, the prejudices of a moral, a
political, and a religious nature, which we imbibe in early life,
are so various, and at the same time so intimately blended with




INTRODUCTION.                      23
the belief we entertain of the most sacred and important truths,
that a great part of the life of a philosopher must necessarily be
devoted, not so much to the acquisition of new knowledge, as to
unlearn the errors to which he had been taught to give an implicit assent before the dawn of reason and reflection. And
unless he submit in this manner to bring all his opinions to the
test of a severe examination, his ingenuity and his learning,
instead of enlightening the world, will only enable him to give
an additional currency, and an additional authority, to established errors.  To attempt such a struggle against early prejudices is, indeed, the professed aim of all philosophers; but how
few are to be found who have force of mind sufficient for accomplishing their object; and who, in freeing themselves from one
set of errors, do not allow themselves to be carried away with
another? To succeed in it completely, Lord Bacon seems to
have thought, (in one of the most remarkable passages of his
writings,) to be more than can well be expected fiom human
railty.
Philosoph2y guards s against general skepticism. - Nor is it
merely in order to free the mind from the influence of error,
that it is useful to examine the foundation of established opinions. It is such an examination alone, that, in an inquisitive
age like the present, can secure a philosopher from the danger
of unlimited skepticism.  To this extreme, indeed, the complexion of the times is more likely to give him a tendency, than
to implicit credulity.  In the former ages of ignorance and
superstition, the intimate association which had been formed, in
the prevailing systems of education, between truth and error, had
given to the latter an ascendant over the minds of men, which
it could never have acquired, if divested of such an alliance.'The case has, of late years, been most remarkably reversed;
the common sense of mankind, in consequence of the growth of
a more liberal spirit of inquiry, has revolted against many of
those absurdities, which had so long held human reason in captivity; and it was, perhaps, more than could reasonably have
been expected, that, in the first moments of their emancipation,
philosophers should have stopped short at the precise boundary,




24                   INTRODUCTIONo
which cooler reflection, and more moderate views, would have
prescribed. The fact is, that they have passed far beyond it;
and that, in their zeal to destroy prejudices, they have attempted
to tear up by the roots many of the best and happiest and most
essential principles of our nature. Having remarked the powerful influence of education over the mind, they have concluded,
that man is wholly a factitious being; not recollecting, that this
very susceptibility of education presupposes certain original
principles, which are common to the whole species; and that,
as error can only take a permanent hold upon a candid mind
by being grafted on truths, which it is unwilling or unable to
eradicate, even the influence, which false and absurd opinions
occasionally acquire over the belief, instead of being an argument for universal skepticism, is the most decisive argument
against it; inasmuch as it shows, that there are some truths so
incorporated and identified with our nature, that they can reconcile us even to the absurdities and contradictions with which we
suppose them to be inseparably connected. The skeptical philosophers, for example, of the present age, have frequently attempted to hold up to ridicule those contemptible and puerile
superstitions, which have disgraced the creeds of some of the
most enlightened nations, and which have not only commanded
the assent, but the reverence, of men of the most accomplished
understandings. But these histories of human imbecility are,
in truth, the strongest testimonies Nlwhich can be produced, to
prove how wonderful is the influence of the fundamental principles of morality over the belief; when they are able to sanctify, in the apprehensions of mankind, every extravagant opinion, and every unmeaning ceremony, which early education has
taught us to associate with them.
_Feeble and unphilosophical minds exposed both to credulity/ and
skepticism.- That implicit credulity is a mark of a feeble mind,
will not be disputed; but it may not perhaps be as generally
acknowledged, that the case is the same with unlimited skepticism: on the contrary, we are sometimes apt to ascribe this disposition to a more than ordinary vigor of intellect.  Such a
prejudice was by no means unnatural at that period in the his



INTRODUCTIONo                     25
tory of modern Europe, when reason first began to throw off
the yoke of authority; and when it unquestionably required a
superiority of understanding, as well as of intrepidity, for an individual to resist the contagion of prevailing superstition.  But
in the present age, in which the tendency of fashionable opinions is directly opposite to those of the vulgar, the philosophical creed, or the philosophical skepticism of by far the greater
number of those who value themselves on an emancipation from
popular errors, arises from the very same weakness with the
credulity of the multitude: nor is it going too far to say, with
Rousseau, that, "He who, in the end of the eighteenth century,
has brought himself to abandon all his early principles without
discrimination, would probably have been a bigot in the days
of the League."  In the midst of these contrary impulses, of
fashionable and vulgar prejudices, he alone evinces the superiority and the strength of his mind, who is able to disentangle
truth from error; and to oppose the clear conclusions of his
own unbiassed faculties, to the united clamors of superstition
and of false philosophy.  Such are the men, whom  nature
marks out to be the lights of the world, to fix the wavering
opinions of the multitude, and to impress their own characters
on that of their age.
For securing the mind completely ffom the weakness I have
now been describing, and enabling it to maintain a steady course
of inquiry between implicit credulity and unlimited skepticism,
the most important of all qualities is a sincere and devoted attachment to truth; which seldom fails to be accompanied with
a manly confidence in the clear conclusions of human reason.
It is such a confidence, united (as it generally is) with personal
intrepidity, which forms what the French writers call force of
character; one of the rarest endowments, it must be confessed,
of our species; but which, of all endowments, is the most essential for rendering a philosopher happy in himself, and a blessing to mankind.
Enlightened education in youth thle best preservative against
skepticism. - From the observations which have been made, it
sufficiently appears, that, in order to secure the mind, on the one
3




26                   INTRODUCTION~
hand, from the influence of prejudice, and on the other, from a
tendency to unlimited skepticism, it is necessary that it should
be able to distinguish the original and universal principles and
laws of human nature from the adventitious effect of local situation. But if, in the case of an individual who has received an
imperfect or erroneous education, such a knowledge puts it in
his power to correct, to a certain degree, his own bad habits,
and to surmount his own speculative errors, it enables him to
be useful, in a much higher degree, to those whose education he
has an opportunity of superintending from early infancy. Such,
and so permanent, is the effect of first impressions on the character, that, although a philosopher may succeed, by perseverance, in freeing his reason from the prejudices with which it
was entangled, they will still retain some hold of his imagination and his affections; and, therefore, however enlightened his
understanding may be in his hours of speculation, his philosophical opinions wvill frequently lose their influence over his
mind, in those very situations in which their practical assistance
is most required; when his temper is soured by misfortune, or
when he engages in the purgsuits of life, and exposes himself to
the contagion of popular errors.  His opinions are supported
merely by speculative arguments; and, instead of being connected with any of the active principles of his nature, are counteracted and thwarted by some of the most powerful of them.
How different would the case be, if education were conducted
from the beginning with attention and judgment! Were the
same pains taken to impress truth on the mind in early infancy,
that are often taken to inculcate error, the great principles of our
conduct would not only be juster than they are, but, in consequence of the aid which they would receive from the imagination and the heart, trained to conspire with them in the same
direction, they would render us happier in ourselves, and would
influence our practice more powerfully and more habitually.
There is surely nothing in error which is more congenial to the
mind than truth. On the contrary, when exhibited separately
and alone to the understanding, it shocks our reason and provokes our ridicule; and it is only (as I had occasion already to




I.NTIOD U C TION.                  27
remark) by an alliance with truths which we find it difficult to
renounce, that it can obtain our assent or command our reverence. What advantages, then, might be derived from a proper
attention to early impressions and associations, in giving support to those principles which are connected with human happiness?  The long reign of error in the world, and the influence
it maintains, even in an age of liberal inquiry, far from  being
favorable to the supposition, that human reason is destined to
be forever the sport of prejudice and absurdity, demonstrates
the tendency which there is to permanence in established opinions and in established institutions, and promises an eternal
stability to true philosophy, when it shall once have acquired
the ascendant, and when proper means shall be employed to
support it by a more perfect system of education.
Our daily experience may convince us, how susceptible the
tender mind is of deep impressions, and what important and
permanent effects are produced on the characters and the happiness of individuals, by the casual associations formed in childhood among the various ideas, feelings, and affections with
which they were habitually occupied. It is the business of education not to counteract this constitution of nature, but to give
it a proper direction; and the miserable consequences to which
it leads, when under an improper regulation, only show what an
important instrument of human improvement it might be rendered in more skilful hands. If it be possible to interest the
imagination and the heart in favor of error, it is, at least, no less
possible to interest them in favor of truth. If it be possible to
extinguish all the most generous and heroic feelings of our nature, by teaching us to connect the idea of them with those of
guilt and impiety, it is surely equally possible to cherish and
strengthen them, by establishing the natural alliance between
our duty and our happiness.  If it be possible for the influence
of fashion to veil the native deformity of vice, and to give to
low and criminal indulgences the appearance of spirit, of elegance, and of gaiety, can we doubt of the possibility of connecting, in the tender mind, these pleasing associations with pur.
suits that are truly worthy and honorable?




28                      INTRODUCTION.
A complicated clreed exposes one, by reactionz, to general skepticism. - I shall conclude this subject with' remarking, that, although in all moral and religious systems there is a great mixture of important truth, and although it is in consequence of this
alliance that errors and absurdities are enabled to preserve their
hold of the belief, yet it is commonly found, that, in proportion
as an established creed is complicated in its dogmas and in its
ceremonies, and in proportion to the number of accessory ideas
which it has grafted upon the truth, the more difficult is it for
those who have adopted it in childhood to emancipate themselves completely from  its influence; and in those cases in
which they at last succeed, the greater is their danger of abandoning, along with their errors, all the truths which they had
been taught to connect with them.  The Roman Catholic system is shaken off with much greater difficulty than those which
are taught in the Reformed churches; but when it loses its
hold on the mind, it much more frequently prepares the way
for unlimited skepticism.  The cause of this I may, perhaps,
have an opportunity of pointing out, in treating of the Association of Ideas.*
[* Sir WVilliam Hamilton places the usefulness of the Philosophy of
Mind, considered as a means of education, on different, and, as we think,
better chosen, grounds.
" On this ground," he says, "we rest the preeminent utility of metaphysical speculations. That they comprehend all the sublimest objects of
our theoretical and moral interest; - that every natural conclusion concerning God, the soul, the present worth, and the future destiny of man,
is exclusively metaphysical, will be at once admitted. But we do not
found the importance on the paramount dignity of the pursuit. It is as
the best gymnastic of the mind, - as a means, principally and almost exclusively conducive to the highest education of our noblest powers, that we
would vindicate to these speculations the necessity which has too frequently been denied them. By no other intellectual application, (and,
least of all, by physical pursuits, ) is the soul thus reflected on itself, and its
faculties concentred in such independent, vigorous, unwonted, and continuous energy; - by none, therefore, are its best capacities so variously
and intensely evolved. Where there is the most life, there is the victory."
-Discussions on Philosophy, etc. 2d ed. p. 41.




INTRODUCTION.                             29
"Plato has profoundly defined man' the hunter of truth;' for in this
chase, as in others, the pursuit is all in all, the success comparatively nothing. We exist only as we energize; pleasure is the reflex of unimpaired
energy; energy is the vmeanz by which our faculties are developed; and a
higher energy, the end which their development proposes.  In action is
thus contained the existence, happiness, improvement, and perfection of
our being; and knowledge is only precious, as it may afford a stimulus to
the exercise of our powers, and the condition of their more complete activity.  Speculative truth is, therefore, subordinate to speculation itself; and its
value is directly measured by the quantity of energy which it occasions, -
immediately in its discovery, mediately through its consequences. Life
to Endymion was not preferable to death; aloof from  practice, a waking
error is better than a sleeping truth. -Neither, in point of fact, is there
found any proportion between the possession of truths, and the development
of the mind in which they are deposited. Every learner in science is now
familiar with more truths than Aristotle or Plato ever dreamt of knowing; yet, compared with the Stagirite or the Athenian, how few, even of
our masters of modern science, rank higher than intellectual barbarians."
-lb. p. 40.
" All profitable study is a silent disputation - an intellectual gymnastic; and the most improving books are precisely those which most excite
the reader —to understand the author, to supply what he has omitted,
and to canvass his facts and reasonings. To read passively, to learnis, in reality, not to learn at all. In study, implicit faith, belief upon authority, is worse even than, for a time, erroneous speculation.  To read
profitably, we should read the authors, not most in unison with, but most
adverse to, our opinions; for whatever may be the case in the cure of
bodies, enantiopathy, and not homeopathy, is the true medicine of minds.
Accordingly, such sciences and such authors, as present only unquestionable truths, [pure mathematics, for instance, when made a chief object
of pursuit,] determining a minimum of self-activity in the student, are, in
a rational education, subjectively, naught. Those [such] sciences and
authors, on the contrary, as constrain the student to independent thought,
[metaphysics, for example,] are, whatever be their objective certainty, subjectively, educationally, best."] -lb. p. 773.
3*




PHILOSOPHY
OF.
T HE HUMAN MX INI D
CHAPTER I.
OF THE POWTERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
I. Of the theories wiichl have been formed by Philosophers, to explain the manner in which the MIND perceives external Objects.Among the various phenomena which the human mind presents
to our view, there is none more calculated to excite our curiosity
and our wonder, than the communication which is carried on
between the sentient, thinking, and active principle within us,
and the material objects with which we are surrounded. How
little soever the bulk of mankind may be disposed to attend to
such inquiries, there is scarcely a person to be found, who has
not occasionally turned his thoughts to that mysterious influence,
which the will possesses over the members of the body; and to
those powers of perception which seems to inform us, by a sort
of inspiration, of the various changes which take place in the
external universe. Of those who receive the advantages of a
liberal education, there are perhaps few, who pass the period of
childhood, without feeling their curiosity excited by this incomprehensible communication between mind and matter. For my
own part, at least, I cannot recollect the date of my earliest
speculations on the subject.




EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.                   31
Which sense is alone considered in most theories of perception. - In considering the phenomena of perception, it is natural
to suppose that the attention of philosophers would be directed,
in the first instance, to the sense of seeing. The variety of information and of' enjoyment we receive by it; the rapidity with
which this information and enjoyment are conveyed to us; and
above all, the intercourse it enables us to maintain with the
more distant part of the universe, cannot fail to give it, even in
the apprehension of the most careless observer, a preeminence
over all our other perceptive faculties,  Hence it is, that the
various theories, which have been formed to explain the operations of our senses, have a more immediate reference to that of
seeing; and that the greater part of the metaphysical language,
concerning perception in general, appears evidently, from its
etymology, to have been suggested by the phenomena of vision.
Even when applied to this sense, indeed, it can at most amuse
the fancy, without conveying any precise knowledge; but when
applied to the other senses, it is altogether absurd and unintelligible.
Objections to all the hypotheses that have been framed to explain the process of perception. - It would be tedious and;tseless, to consider particularly the different hypotheses which
have been advanced upon this subject. To all of them, I apprehend, the two following remarks will be-found applicable: First,
that, in the formation of them, their authors have been influenced by some general maxims of philosophizing, borrowed
from p2hysics; and secondly, that they have been influenced by
an indistinct, but deep-rooted conviction of the immateriality of
the soul; which, although not precise enough to point out to
them the absurdity of attempting to illustrate its operations by
the analogy of matter, was yet sufficiently strong to induce
them to keep the absurdity of their theories as far as possible
out of view, by allusions to those physical facts in which the
distinctive properties of matter are the least grossly and palpably exposed to our observation. To the former of these circumstances is to be ascribed the general principle, upon which
all the known theories of perception proceed; that, in order to




32                EXTERlNAL PERCEPTION.
explain the intercourse between the mind and distant objects, it
is necessary to suppose the existence of something intermediate,
by which its perceptions are produced; to the latter, the various
metaphorical expressions of ideas, species, forms, shadows, phantasms, images; which, while they amused the fancy with some
remote analogies to the objects of our senses, did not directly
revolt our reason, by presenting to us any of the tangible qualities of body.
The doctrine of mediate perception, or of perception through
the intervention of images or ideas.-It was the doctrine of
Aristotle, (says Dr. Reid,) that as our senses cannot receive
external material objects themselves, they receive their species;
that is, their images or forms, without the matter; as wax receives the form of the seal, without any of the matter of it.
These images or forms, impressed upon the senses, are called
sensible species; and are the objects only of the sensitive part
of the mind: but by various internal powers, they are retained,
refined, and spiritualized, so as to become objects of memory
and imagination; and, at last, of pure intellection. When they
are objects of memory and of imagination, they get the name of
phantasms.  When, by further refinement, and being stripped
of their peculiarities, they become objects of science, they are
called intelligible species; so that every immediate object, whether of sense, of memory, of imagination, or of reasoning, must
be some phantasm, or species, in the mind itself.
The [Platonists, too, although they denied the great doctrine
of the Peripatetics, that all the objects of human understanding
enter at first by the senses; and maintained, that there exist
eternal and immutable ideas, which were prior to the objects of
sense, and about which all science was employed; yet appear
to have agreed with them in their notions concerning the mode
in which external objects are perceived. This Dr. Reid infers,
partly from the silence of Aristotle about any difference between
himself and his master upon this point; and partly from a passage in the seventh book of Plato's Republic, in which he compares the process of the mind in perception to that of a person
in a cave, who sees not external objects themselves, but only
their shadows.




EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.                   33
6"Two thousand years after Plato,"' (continues Dr. Reid,)
J 3r. Locke, who studied the operations of the human mind so
much, and with so great success, represents our manner of perceiving external objects by a similitude very much resembling
that of the cave.   M oi{ethinks,' says he,  the understanding is
not much unlike a closet, wholly shut from light, with only some
little opening left, to let in external visible resemblances or ideas
of things without. Would the pictures coming into such a dark
room but stay there, and lie so orderly as to be found upon occasion, it would very much resemble the understanding of a
man, in reference to all objects of sight, and the ideas of
them.'
" Plato's subterranean cave, and Mir. Locke's dark closet,
may be applied with ease to all the systems of perceptions that
have been invented: for they all suppose, that we perceive not
external objects immediately; and that the immediate objects of
perception are only certain shadows of the external objects.
Those shadows, or images, which we immediately perceive, were
by the ancients called species, forms, phantasms. Since the time
of Des Cartes, they have commonly been called ideas; and by
gMr. Hume, impressions.  But all philosophers, from Plato to
Mr. Hume, agree in this, that we do not perceive external objects immediately; and that the immediate object of perception
must be some image present to the mind."  On the whole, Dr.
Reid remarks, "that in their sentiments concerning perception,
there appears an uniformity which rarely occurs upon subjects
of so abstruse a nature."
Objections to this doctrine of mediate perception. - The very
short and imperfect view we have now taken of the common
theories of perception, is almost sufficient, without any commentary, to establish the truth of the two general observations formerly made; for they all evidently proceed on a supposition,
suggested by the phenomena of physics, (1.) that there must of'
necessity exist some medium of communication between the objects of perception and the percipient mind; and they all indicate a secret conviction in their authors, (2.) of the essential dis.
tinction between mind and matter; which, although not ren



34               EXTEInNAL PERCEiPTION.
dered, by reflection, sufficiently precise and satisfactory to show
them the absurdity of attempting to explain the mode of their
communication; had yet such a degree of influence on their
speculations, as to induce them to exhibit their supposed medium
under as mzysterious and ambiguous a form as possible, in order
that it might remain doubtful to which of the two predicaments,
of body or mind, they meant that it should be referred.  By
refining away the grosser qualities of matter, and by allusions
to some of the most aerial and magical appearances it assumes,
they endeavored, as it were, to spiritualize the nature of their
medium; while at the same time, all their language concerning
it implied such a reference to matter, as was necessary for furnishing a plausible foundation for applying to it the received
maxims of natural philosophy.
Another observation, too, which was formerly hinted at, is
confirmed by the same historical review; that, in the order of
inquiry, the phenomena of vision had first engaged the attention
of philosophers, and had suggested to them the greater part of
their language with respect to perception in general; and that,
in consequence of this circumstance, the common modes of expression on the subject, unphilosophical and fanciful at best,
even when applied to the sense of seeing, are, in the case of all
the other senses, obviously unintelligible and self-contradictory.
As to objects of sight, says Dr. Reid, I understand what is
meant by an image of their figure in the brain; but how shall
we conceive an image of their color, where there is absolute
darkness?  And, as to all other objects of sense, except figure
and color, I am unable to conceive what is meant by an image
of them. Let any man say, what he means by an image of
heat and cold, an image of hardness or softness, an image of
sound, or smell, or taste. The word image, when applied to these
objects of sense, has absolutely no meaning.  This palpable imperfection in the ideal theory has plainly taken rise from the
natural order in which the phenomena of perception present
themselves to the curiosity.
That in the case of the perception of distant objects, we are
naturally inclined to suspect, either something to be emitted from




EXTEIRNAL PERCEPTION.                  35
thie object to the organ.of sense, or soe me edium to intervene bed
tween the object and organ, by means of which the former may
communicate an impulse to the latter, appears from the common modes of expression on the subject, which are to be found
in all languages.  In our own, for example, we frequently hear
the vulgar speak of light strifcing the eye; not in consequence
of any philosophical theory they have been taught, but of their
own crude and undirected speculations. Perhaps there are
few men among those who have attended at all to the history
of their own thoughts, who will not recollect the influence of
these ideas, at a period of life long prior to the date of their
philosophical studies. Nothing, indeed, can be conceived more
simple and natural than their origin. When an object is
placed in a certain situation with respect to a particular organ
of the body, a perception arises in the mind; when the object
is removed, the perception ceases.  Hence we are led to apprehend some connection between the object and the perception; and
as we are accustomed to believe, that matter produces its effects
by impulse, we conclude that there must be some material medium intervening between the object and organ, by means of
which the impulse is communicated from the one to the other.
- That this is really the case, I do not mean to dispute. - I
think, however, it is evident, that the existence of such a medium does not in any case appear ct priori: and yet the natural
prejudices of men have given rise to an universal belief of it,
long before they were able to produce any good arguments in
support of their opinion.
Nor is it only to account for the connection between the object and the organ of sense, that philosophers have had recourse
to the theory of impulse.  They have imagined that the imipression on the organ of sense is communicated to the mind, in a simr
ilar manner. As one body produces a change in the state of
another by impulse, so it has been supposed, that the external
object produces perception, (which is a change in the state of
the mind,) first, by some material impression made on the organ
of sense; and, secondly, by some material impression communicated from the organ to the mind along the nerves and braimn




36               EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
These suppositions, indeed, as I had occasion already to hint,
were, in the ancient; t;heories of perception, rather implied than
expressed;' but by modern philosophers, they have been stated
in the form of explicit propositions.' "As to the manner," says
Mr. Locke, "in which bodies produce ideas in us, it is manifestly by impulse, the only way which we can conceive bodies
operate in."  Dr. Clark has expressed the same idea still more
confidently, in the following passage of one of his letters to
Leibnitz. "Without being present to the images of the things
perceived, the soul could not possibly perceive them. A living
substance can only there perceive, where it is present. Nothing can any more act, or be acted upon, where it is not present,
than it can when it is not."  "Hlow body acts upon mind, or
mind upon body," (says Dr. Porterfield) "I know not; but this
I am very certain of, that nothing can act, or be acted upon,
where it is not; and therefore our mind can never perceive any
thing but its own proper modifications, and the various states of
the sensorium, to which it is present: so that it is not the external sun and moon, which are in the heavens, which our mind
perceives, but only their image or representation, impressed
upon the sensorium. How the soul of a seeing man sees these
images, or how it receives those ideas, from such agitations in
the sensorium, I know not; but I am sure it can never perceive
the external bodies themselves, to which it is not present."
2Theories of perception by ilonboddo and  i~alebranche. - The
same train of thinking, which had led these philosophers to suppose that external objects are perceived by means of species
proceeding from the object to the mind, or by means of some
material impression made on the mind by the brain, has suggested to a late writer a very different theory; that the mind,
when it perceives an external object, quits the body, and is
present to the object of perception.  " The mind," (says the
learned author of Ancient Metaphysics,) " is not where the
body is, when it perceives what is distant from the body, either
in time or place, because nothing can act, but when, and where,
it is. Now, the mind acts when it perceives. The mind,
theref6re of every animal who has memory or imagination, acts,




EXTERNAL PERC.EPTIXON"                 37
and by consequence exists, when and where the body is not;
for it perceives objects distant friom te body both in time and
place." Indeed, if we take for granted, that in perception the
mind acts upon the object, or the object upon the mind, and, at
the same time, admit the truth of the maxim, that " nothing can
act but where it is," we must, of necessity conclude, either that
objects are perceived in a way similar to what is supposed in
the ideal theory, or that, in every act of perception, the soul
quits the body, and is present to the object perceived.  And
accordingly, this alternative is expressly stated by Malebralche;
who differs, however, from the writer last quoted, in the choice
which he makes of his hypothesis; and even rests his proof of
its truth on the improbability of the other opinion. " I suppose," says he, " that every one will grant, that we perceive not
external objects immediately, and of themselves.  We see the
sun, the stars, and an infinity of objects without us; and it is
not at all likely that, upon such occasions, the soul sallies out of
the body in order to be present to the objects perceived.  She
sees them not therefore by themselves; and the immediate object of the mind is not the thing perceived, but something which
is intimately united to the soul; and it is that which I call an
idea: so that by the word idea, I understand nothing else here
but that which is nearest to the mind when we perceive any object. It ought to be carefully observed, that, in order to the
mind's perceiving any object, it is absolutely necessary that the
ideas of that object be actually present to it. Of this it is not
possible to doubt.  The things which the soul perceives, are of
two kinds.  They are either in the soul, or they are without
the soul. Those that are in the soul, are its own thoughts;
that is to say, all its different modifications.  The soul has no
need of ideas for perceiving these things.  But with regard to
things without the soul, we cannot perceive them but by means
of ideas."
All these theories appear to me to have taken their rise, ferst,
from an inattention to the'proper object of philosophy, and, secondly, from an apprehension, that we understand the connection
between impulse and motion better than any other physical
4




38                EXTERNAL PEPRCEPTION.
fact.  From the detail which I have given, it appears how extensive an influence this prej(udice halis hadl on the inqluiries both
of natural pllilosoph-lle'!s 1nl1 of' l n,Il lyieiuls.
II. Of Dr. Reeid's,.Sfecultolat   ons o?.?, e u/'ect cf Perception. - It,
was, chiefly in consequence of tile slepticlal conclusions which'Bishop Berkeley and Mr. MTIme lhad dduced f iom the ancient
theories of perception, that )Dr. Reid was led to call them  in
question; and he appears to me to have shown, in the most satisfactory manner, not only that they'are perfectly hypothetical,
but that the suppositions they involve are absurd and imnpossible.  His reasonings, on this part of our constitution, undoubtedly form  the most important accession which the philosophy
of the human mind has received since the time of Mfr. Locke.
But although Dr. Reid has been at much pains to overturn
the old ideal system, he has not ventured to substitute any hypothesis of his own in its place.  And, indeed, he was too well
acquainted with the limits prescribed to our philosophical inquiries, to think of indulging his curiosity in such unprofitable
speculations. All, therefore, that he is to be understood as aiming at, in his inquiries, concerning our perceptive powers, is to
give a precise statement of the fcact, divested of all theoretical expressions; in order to prevent philosophers from imposing on
themselves any longer, by words without meaning; and to extort
from them an acknowledgment, that, with respect to the process
of nature in perception, they are no less ignorant than the
vullgar.
Useful effect of plain truth in reminding us of our ignorance,
and reviving our natural feelings. - According to this view of
Dr. Reid's reasonings on the subject of perception, the purpose
to which they are subservient may appear to some to be of no
very considerable importance; but the truth is, that one;,_f the
most valuable effects of genuine philosophy, is to remind us of
the limited powers of the human understanding; aid to revive
those natural feelings of wonder and admiration, at the -:pectacle
of the universe, which are apt to languish, in consequence of
long familiarity.  The most profound discoveries which are
placed within the reach of our researches, lead.to a confession




EXTERNAL PERItCEPTION.                 39
of human ignorance; for, while they flatter the pride of" manl,
and increase his power, by enabling him to trace the simple and
beautiful laws by which physical events are regulated, they call
his attention, at the same time, to those general and ultimate
facts which bound the narrow  circle of his knowledge; and
which, by evincing to him the operation of powers, whose nature
lmust for ever remain unknown, serve to remind him of the insufficiency of his faculty to penetrate the secrets of the universe.
lWherever we direct our inquiries; whether to the anatomy and
physiology of animals, to the growth of vegetables, to the chemical attractions and repulsions, or to the motions of the heavenly
bodies; we perpetually perceive the effects of powers which
cannot belong to matter.  To a certain length we are able to
proceed; but in every research, we meet with a line which no industry nor ingenuity can pass. It is a line, too, which is marked
with sufficient distinctness; and which no man now thinks of'
passing, who has just views of the nature and object of philosophy. It forms the separation between that field which falls under the survey of the physical inquirer, and that unknown region
of which, though it was necessary that we should be assured of
its existence, in order to lay a foundation for the doctrines of
natural theology, it hath not pleased the Author of the universe
to reveal to us the wonders, in this infant state of our being.
It was, in fact, chiefly by tracing out this line, that Lord Bacon
did so much service to science.
Beside this effect, which is common to all our philosophical
pursuits, of' impressing the mind with a sense of that mysterious
agency, or efficiency, into which general laws must be resolved;
they have a tendency, in many cases, to counteract the influence
of habit, in weakening those emotions of wonder and of curiosity,
which the appearances of nature are so admirably fitted to excite.' For this purpose, it is necessary, either to lead the attention to facts which are calculated to strike by their novelty, or
to present familiar appearances in a new light: and such are
the obvious effects of philosophical inquiries; sometimes extending our views to objects which are removed from vulgar observation;' and sometimes correcting our first apprehensions with




40               Ei XTERNAL PERCEPTION.
respect to ordinary events. The communication of motion by
impulse, (as I already hinted,) is as unaccountable as any phenomenon we know; and yet, most men are disposed to consider
it as a fact which does not result from will, but from necessity.
To such men, it may be useful to direct their attention to the
universal law of gravitation; which, although not more wonderful in itself than the common effect of impulse, is more fitted,
by its novelty, to awaken their attention, and to excite their
curiosity.
Contrary effect of erroneous theories. - If such, however, be
the effects of our philosophical pursuits when successfully cons
ducted, it must be confessed that the tendency of imperfect or
erroneous theories is widely different. By a specious solution
of insuperable difficulties, they so dazzle and bewilder the understanding, as, at once, to prevent us from  advancing, with
steadiness, towards the limit of human knowledge; and from
perceiving the existence of a region beyond it, into which philosophy is not permitted to enter. In such cases, it is the business of genuine science to unmask the imposture, and to point
out clearly, both to the learned and to the vulgar, what reason
can, and what she cannot, accomplish. This, I apprehend, has
been done with respect to the history of our perceptions, in the
most satisfactory manner, by Dr. Reid.  When a person little
accustomed to metaphysical speculation is told, that, in the case
of volition, there are certain invisible fluids, propagated from the
mind to the organ which is moved, and that, in the case of perception, the existence and qualities of the external object are
made known to us by means of species, or phantasms, or images,
which are present to the mind in the sensorium; he is apt to
conclude that the intercourse between mind and matter is much
less mysterious than he had supposed; and that, although these
expressions may not convey to him any very distinct meaning,
their import is perfectly understood by philosophers. It is
now, I think, pretty generally acknowledged by physiologists,
that the influence of the will over the body, is a mystery which
has never yet been unfolded; but singular as it may appear,
Dr. Reid was the first person who had courage to lay completely




EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.                       41
aside all the common hypothetical language concerning perception, and to exhibit the. difficulty in all its magnitude, by a plain
statement of the fact.
Statement of Dr. Reid's doctrine. -  To what then, it may be
asked, does this statement amount?  Mierely to this; that the
mind is so formed, that certain impressions produced on our organs of sense by external objects, are followed by correspondent
sensations; and that these sensations, (twhich have no more resemblance to the qualities of matter, than the words of a language
have to the things they denote,) are followed by a perception of
the existence and qualities of the bodies by which the imrpressions are made: that all the steps of this process are equally
incomprehensible; and that, for any thing we can prove to the
contrary, the connection between the sensation and the perception, as well as that between the impression and the sensation,
may be both arbitrary; that it is therefore by no means impossible, that our sensations may be merely the occasions on which
the correspondent perceptions are excited; and that, at any
rate, the consideration of these sensations, which are attributes
of mind, can throw no light on the manner in which we acquire
our knowledge of the existence and qualities of body.*  From
X [The distinction between sensation and perception is the most original
and important feature of Dr. Reid's philosophy. The following explanation of it is nearly in his own words, though it is formed by bringing
together many sentences from different portions of his Inquiry and his
Essays.
The same mode of expression is used to denote sensation and perception;
the things coalesce in our imagination, and are considered as one simple
operation, for the ordinary purposes of life do not require them to be distinguished. But the philosopher needs to distinguish them, and is able to
analyze the operation compounded of them. Thus, - Ifeel a pain; Isee
a tree. The first of these propositions denotes a sensation, the last a perception.'Sensation has no object distinct from itself  When I am pained, I cannot
say that the pain I feel is one thing, and my feeling it is another thing. They
are one and the same thing, and cannot be disjoined even in imagination.
The sensation, moreover, can have no existence but in a sentient mind;
pain, when it is not felt, has no existence.
Perception, on the other hand, always has an object distinct firom itself
4*




42:EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
this view of the subject, it follows, that it is the external objects
themselves, and not any species or images of these objects, that
Thus, I perceive a tree; there is here an object which is perceived, and an
act of the mind by which it is perceived; and the two are not only distinguishable, but are extremely unlike in their natures.  And the tree'exists,
whether it is perceived or not.  The tree, also, which is the object perceived, is made up of a trunk, branches, and leaves; the act of the mind
by which it is perceived has neither trunk, branches, nor leaves.
Every perception is accompanied by a sensation, without which it could
not exist. But every sensation has not a perception as its necessary concomitant; it may exist alone.  When I smell a rose, there is in this operation both sensation and perception. The agreeable odor I feel, considered by itself, without relation to any external object, is merely a sensation.
This sensation may be felt, when no rose is perceived; as when I enter a
room strongly impregnated with otto of rose, though the flower - the rose
itself- is not there.  This sensation can be nothing else than it is felt to
be; its very essence consists in being felt, and when it is not felt, it is
not.
Now let us attend to the perception which we have in smelling a rose.
Perception always has an external object; and the object of my perception, in this case, is that quality in the rose which I discern by or through
the sense of smell. This quality in the rose, which produces an effect on
my olfactory nerves, is the object of perception; and the act by which I
recognize it, and believe it to exist, is perception.
Sir WV. Hamilton even lays it down as a general rule, that, above a certain point, the stronger tle Sensation, the weaker the Perception; and the distincter the Perception, the less obtrusive the Sensation.  In c fher words, Pereeption and Sensation are alwzays found in an inverse ratio to each other. Thus,
if I strike my hand lightly against the corner of the table, the sensation
which is produced is slight, and I have a very distinct perception of the
hardness and angularity of the table which produce the sensation.  But if
I strike my hand violently against it, the sensation produced is acute and
painful, andt, my attention being absorbed by it, I hardly perceive the shape
of the object which has done me the injury.  So, again, if I look at the
unclouded sun at mid-day, the sensation produced is so vivid and overpowering, that I have hardly any perception either of its form or color.  But
if I look at the same object towards evening, when it is partially obscured
by clouds, the sensation is light. and agreeable, and I have a very distinct
perception of the sun's circular form and red or golden color.
Buet observe, the sensation which is felt, and the quality which is perceived, are both called by the same name.  In the instance first given, the
smell of a rose is the name given to both.  Hence has arisen the curious
question, whether the smell be in the rose, or in the mind that feels




EXTERNAL  PERCEPTION.                          43
the mindperceives: and that, although by the constitution of our
nature, certain sensations are rendered the constant antecedents
of our perceptions, yet it is just as difficult to explain how our
perceptions are obtained by their means, as it would be upon
the supposition that the mind were all at once inspired with
them, without any concomitant sensations whatever.*
These remarks are general, and apply to all our various perceptions; and they evidently strike at the root of all the common theories upon the subject.  The laws, however, which reg.
it. The answer is, that there are two different things signified by the
smell of a rose; one, the sensation, is in the mind, and cannot exist out of
the mind; the other, the quality perceived, is in the rose. These two
things are called by the same name, not on account of their similitude, for
they do not at all resemble each other, but on account of their constant
concomitancy.  They always go together.  All the names we have for
snmells, tastes, sounds, and for the various degrees of heat and cold, have a
like ambiguity; they signify both a sensation, and a quality perceived by
means of that sensation.  The first is the sign, the last the thing signified.
We say that wefeel the toothache, not that we perceive it. On the other
hand, we say that we perceive the color of a body, not that we feel it. Is
there any reason for this difference of phraseology? I apprehend that, in
both cases, sensation and perception are conjoined. But in the toothache,
the sensation, being very painful, engrosses the attention; so that we speak
of it as if it were felt only, and not perceived. But in seeing a colored
body, the sensation is indifferent, and draws no attention.  The quality in
the body, which we call its color, is the only object of attention; and
therefore we speak of it as if it were perceived, and not felt.]
This language has been objected to, as bordering on mysticism,
whereas, in truth,.it is merely a statement of a fact, accompanied with an
acknowledgment of our total ignorance of the manner in which it is to be
explained. Is it any thing more than an extension to the phenomena of
perception of what Mr. Hume has so justly and so profoundly remarked
concerning the phenomena of voluntary motion?  " Is there any principle
in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul and body, by wshich a supposed spiritual stubstance acquires sulch an influence over a material one, that the
most refined thought is able to actuate the grossest matter?  TWere we emnpowered,
by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbits, this
extensive authority wzould not be more extraordclinary, nor more beyond our comprehension."  I do not know that Mr. Hume was ever charged with any tendency to mysticism; and yet the two cases seem to me to be perfectly anale
ogous.




44               EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
ulate these perceptions, are different in tile case of the different
senses, and form a very curious object of philosophical inquiry.
Those, in particular, which regulate the acquired perceptions of
sight, lead to some very interesting and important speculations;
and, I think, have never yet been explained in a manner completely satisfactory.
III. Of the. Origin of our Knowledge. - The philosophers who
endeavored to explain the operations of the human mind by the
theory of ideas, and who took for granted, that, in every exertion of thought, there exists in the mind some object distinct
from  the thinking substance, were naturally led to inquire
whence these ideas derive their origin; in particular, whether
they are conveyed to the mind from without by means of the
senses, or form part of its original furniture?
With respect to this question, the opinions of the ancients
were various; but as the influence of these opinions on the prevailing systems of the present age is not very considerable, it
is not necessary, for any of the purposes I have in view in this
work, to consicler them particularly.  The moderns, too, have
been much divided on the subject; some holding with Des
Cartes, that the mind is furnished with certain innate ideas;
others, with Mr. Locke, that all our ideas may be traced from
sensation and reflection; and many, (especially among the later
metaphysicians in France,) that they may be all traced from
sensation alone.
Of these theories, that of 31r. Locke deserves more particularly our attention; as it has served as a basis of most of the
metaphysical systems which have appeared since his time; and
as the difference between it and the theory which derives all
our ideas from sensation alone, is rather apparent than real.
T/he theory of Locke. - In order to convey a just notion of
Air. Locke's doctrine concerning the origin of our ideas, it is
necessary to remark, that he refers to sensation all the ideas
which we are supposed to receive by tho external senses; our
ideas, for example, of colors, of sounds, of hardness, of extension,
of motion; and, in short, of all the qualities and modes of matter: to reflection, the ideas of our own mental operations which




EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.                   45
we derive from consciousness; our ideas, for example, of mem-,
ory, of imagination, of volition, of pleasure, and of pain. These
two sources, according to him, furnish us with all our simple
ideas, and the only power which the mind possesses over them,
is to perform certain operations, in the way of composition, abstraction, generalization, etc., on the materials which it thus
collects in the course of its experience.  The laudable desire of
MIr. Locke to introduce precision and perspicuity into metaphysical speculations, and his anxiety to guard the mind against
error in general, naturally prepossessed him in favor of a doctrine, which, when compared with those of his predecessors, was
intelligible and simple; and which, by suggesting a method, apparently easy and palpable, of analyzing our knowledge into its
elementary principles, seemed to furnish an antidote against
those prejudices which had been favored by the hypothesis of
innate ideas.
Refutation of it by Dr. Reid. - If Dr. Reid's reasonings on
the subject of ideas be admitted, all these speculations with
respect to their origin fall to the ground; and the question to
which they relate is reduced merely to a question of fact; concerning the occasions on which the mind is first led to form those
simple notions into which our thoughts may be analyzed, and
which may be considered as the principles or elements of human knowledge.  With respect to many of these notions, this
inquiry involves no difficulty.  No one, for example, can be at
a loss to ascertain the occasions on which the notions of colors
and soutnds are first formed by the mind: for these notions are
confined to individuals who are possessed of particular senses,
and cannot, by any combination of words, be conveyed to those
who never enjoyed the use of them.  The history of our
notions of extension and figure, (which may be suggested to the
mind by the exercise either of sight or of touch,) is not altogether so obvious; and accordingly it has been the subject of
various, controversies. To trace the origin of these, and of our
other simple notions with respect to the qualities of matter; or,
in other words, to describe the occasions on which, by the laws
of our nature, they are suggested to the mind, is one of the leads




46               EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
ing objects of Dr. Reid's inquiry, in his analysis of our external
senses; in which he carefully avoids every hypothesis with
respect to the inexplicable phenomena of perception and of
thought, and confines himself scrupulously to a literal statement of facts.  Similar inquiries to these may be proposed,
concerning the occasions on which we form the notions of time,
of motion, of number, of causation, and an infinite variety of
others. Thus, it has been observed by different authors, that
every perception of change suggests to the mind the notion of a
cause, without which that change could not have happened.
Dr. Reid remarks, that, without the faculty of memory, our
perceptive powers could never have led us to form the idea of
motion. I shall afterwards show, in the sequel of this work,
that without the same faculty of memory, we never could have
formed the notion of' time; and that without the faculty of
abstraction, we could not have formed the notion of number.
Such inquiries with respect to the origin of our knowledge, are
curious and important; and if conducted with judgment, they
may lead to the most certain conclusions; as they aim at
nothing more than to ascertain facts, which, although not
obvious to superficial observers, may yet be discovered by
patient investigation.
Whether all knowledge is derived ultimately from our sensations. - With respect to the general question, Whether all our
knowledge may be ultimately traced from our sensations?
I shall only observe at present, that the opinion we form concerning it is of much less consequence than is commonly supposed. That the mind cannot, without the grossest absurdity,
be considered in the light of a receptacle, which is gradually
furnished from without by materials introduced by the channel
of the senses; nor in that of a tabula rasa, upon which copies or
resemblances of things external are imprinted; I have already
shown at sufficient length. Although, therefore, we should
acquiesce in the conclusion, that, without our organs of sense,
the mind must have remained destitute of knowledge, this concession could have no tendency whatever to favor the principles
of materialism; as it implies nothing more than that the imS




EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.                    47
pressions made on our senses by external objects furnish te,
occasions on which the mind, by the laws of its constitution, is
led to perceive the qualities of the material world, and to exert all
the different modifications of thought of which it is capable.
From the very slight view of the subject, however, which has
been already given, it is sufficiently evident, that this doctrine,
which refers the origin of all our knowledge to the occasions
furnished by sense, must be received with many limitations.
That those ideas, which Mr. Locke calls ideas of reflection, (or
in other words, the notions which we form  of the subjects of
our own consciousness,) are not suggested to the mind immediately by the sensations arising fiom -the use of our organs of
perception, is granted on all hands; and, therefore, the amount
of the doctrine now mentioned is nothing more than this; that
the first occasions on which our various intellectual faculties are
exercised, are furnished by the impressions made on our organs
of sense; and consequently, that, without these impressions, it
would have been impossible for us to arrive at the knowledge
of our faculties.  Agreeably to this explanation of the doctrine,
it may undoubtedly be said with plausibility, (and I am inclined
to believe, with truth,) that the occasions on vwhich all our notions are formzed, are farmished either immediately or ultimately
bj sense; but if I am not much mistaken, this is not the meaning which is commonly annexed to the doctrine, either by its
advocates or their opponents.* One thing at least is obvious,
that, in this sense, it does not lead to those consequences which
have interested one party of philosophers in its defence, and
another in its refutation.
The faculties of the mind may come into operation before we
know of the existence of the material world. - There is another
very important consideration which deserves our attention in
this argument: that, even on the supposition that certain im[" All knowledge begins with experience," says Kant,," but all knowL
edge is not derived fiom experience." I mlay always wake up when the
clock strikes five; but it is not necessarily the striking of the clock which
wakes me up.]




48               EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
pressions on our organs of sense are necessary to awaken the
mind to a consciousness of its own existence, and to give rise to
the exercise of its various faculties; yet all this might have happened without our having any knowledge of the qualities, or even
of the existence, of the material world. To facilitate the admission of this proposition, let us suppose a being formed in every
other respect like man; but possessed of no senses, excepting
those of hearing and smelling. I mlake choice of these two
senses, because it is obvious, that, by means of them alone, we
never could have arrived at the knowledge of the primary qualities of matter, or even of the existence of things external. All
that we could possibly have inferred from our occasional sensations of smell and sound, would have been that there existed
some unknown cause by which they were produced.
Let us suppose, then, a particular sensation to be excited in
the mind of such a being. The moment this happens, he must
necessarily acquire the knowledge of two facts at once: that of
the existence of the sensation; and that.of his own existence, as
a sentient being. After the sensation is at an end, he can remember he felt it; he can conceive that he feels it again. If he
has felt a variety of different sensations, he can compare them
together in respect of the pleasure or the pain they have afforded him; and will naturally desire the return of the agreeable sensations, and be afraid of the return of those which were
painful.  If the sensations of smell and sound are both excited
in his mind at the same time. he can attend to either of them he
chooses, and withdraw his attention from the other; or he can
withdraw his attention from both, and fix it on some sensation
lie has felt formerly. In this manner, he might be led, merely
by sensations existing in his mind, and conveying to him no information concerning matter, to exercise many of his most important faculties; and amidst all these different modifications
and operations of his mind, he would feel, with irresistible conviction, that they all belong to one and the same sentient and
intelligent being; or, in other words, that they are all modifications and operations of himself. I say nothing, at present, of
the various simple notions, (or simple ideas, as they are corn



ATTENTION.                      49
monly called,) which would arise in his mind; for example, the
ideas of number, of duration, of cause and effect, of personal identity; all of which, though perfectly unlike his sensations, could.
not fail to be suggested by means of them. Such a being, then,
might know all that we know of mind at present; and as his
language would be appropriated to mind solely, and not borrowed
by analogy from material phenomena, he would even possess
important advantages over us in conducting the study of pneumatology.
From these observations it sufficiently appears, what is the
real amount of the celebrated doctrine, which refers the origin
of all our knowledge to our sensations; and that, even granting
it to be true, (which, for my own part, I am disposed to do, in
the sense in which I have now explained it,) it would by no
means follow from it, that our notions of the operations of mind,
nor even many of those notions which are commonly suggested
to us, in thefirst instance, by the perception of external objects,
are necessarily subsequent to our knowledge of the qualities, or
even of the existence, of matter.
CHA PTER I Lo
OF ATTENTION.
Attention necessary to memory, if not to perception. - When
we are deeply engaged in conversation, or occupied with any
speculation that is interesting to the mind, the surrounding objects either do not produce in us the perceptions they are fitted
to excite; or these perceptions are instantlyforgotten. A clock,
for example, may strike in the same room with us, without our
being able, next moment, to recollect whether we heard it or
not.
In these, and similar cases, I believe, it is commonly taken




50                        ATTENTION.
for granted, that we really do not perceive the external object.
From  some analogous facts, however, I am  inclined to suspect
that this opinion is not well founded. A person who falls asleep
at church, and is suddenly awaked, is unable to recollect the
last words spoken by the preacher; or even to recollect that he
was speaking at all. And yet, that sleep does not suspend entirely the powers of perception may be inferred from this, that
if the preacher were to make a sudden pause in his discourse,
every person in the congregation who was asleep would instantly awake.  In this case, therefore, it appears, that a person
may be conscious of a perception, without being able afterwards
to recollect it.
Other instances illustrating this fact. -  Many other instances
of the samne general fact might be produced. When we read a
book, (especially in a language which is not perfectly familiar
to us,) we must perceive successively every different letter, and
must afterwards combine these letters into syllables and words,
before we comprehend the meaning of a sentence.  This process, however, passes through the mind, without leaving any
trace in the memory.
It has been proved by optical writers, that, in perceiving the
distances of visible objects from the eye, there is a ju-dgment of the
understanding antecedent to the perception.*  In some cases, this
[ I" It is, I think, agreed by all," says Berkeley, " that distance of itself,
and immediately, cannot be seen. For distance being a line directed cndwise to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of the eye; which
point remains invariably the same, whether the distance be longer or
shorter."  Take the following example. If a traveller on a dark night
and a strange road sees before him a fixed light which is a mere bright
point, he cannot tell whether it is'a rod or a mile distant from him; he
may even confound it with a star near the horizon. If the light, however,
has a visible magnitude, and especially if he can see it flicker, so that he
can form some guess as to its origin and nature, he may estimate its distance very correctly. But even in this case, he does rot see its distance,
but infers it from the magnitude, color, flickering, or some other circumstance which previous experience has taught him the meaning of.
Many other facts show the necessity of experience before we can obtain
correct not'ons of distance from the eye alone. We are not so much accus



ATTENTION.                          51
judgment is founded on a variety of circumstances combined
together; the conformation of the organ necessary for distinct
vision; the inclination of the optic axes; the distinctness or
indistinctness of the minute parts of the object; the distances of
the intervening objects from each other, and from the eye; and,
perhaps, on other circumstances besides these: and yet, in consequence of our familiarity with such processes from our earliest
infancy, the perception seems to be instantaneous; and it requires much reasoning, to convince persons unaccustomed to
philosophical speculations, that the fact is otherwise.
Another instance, of a still more familiar nature, may be of'use, for the further illustration of the same subject.  It is well
known that our thoughts do not succeed each other at random, but
according to certain laws of association, which modern philosophers have been at much pains to investigate.  It frequently,
however, happens, particularly when the mind is animated by
conversation, that it makes a sudden transition from one subject
to another, which, at first view, appears to be very remote from
it; and that it requires a considerable degree of reflection, to enable a person himself by whom the transition was made, to ascertain what were the intermediate ideas.  A curious instance of
such a sudden transition is mentioned by Hobbes in his Leviathan.  " ITn a company," (says he,) "in which the conversation
turned on the civil war, what could be conceived more impertinent, than for a person to ask abruptly, What was the value of
a Roman denarius? On a little reflection, however, I was easily
able to trace the train of thought which suggested the question:
tomed to see objects at a distance from us in a vertical line, as in a horizontal one; hence, the same visible appearance, if placed directly above or below our own position, does not suggest the same magnitude, as when seen
at an equal distance on a level with the eye. If we are standing on the seashore, a ship distant a few hundred feet appears of the natural size, and
men, not pigmies, walk her deck.  But ascend to the brow of the cliff,
and
s The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark
Diminished to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight',] 




52                     ATTENTION.
for the original subject of discourse naturally introduced the history of the king, and of the treachery of those who surrendered
his person to his enemies; this again introduced the treachery
of Judas Iscariot, and the sum of money which he received for
his reward. And all this train of ideas," says Hobbes, " passed
through the mind of the speaker in a twinkling, in consequence
of the velocity of thought." It is by no means improbable, that
if the speaker himself had been interrogated about the connection of ideas, which led him aside from the original topic of discourse, he would have found himself, at first, at a loss for an
answer.
In the instances which have been last mentioned, we have
also a proof, that a perception or an idea, which passes through
the mind without leaving any trace in the memory, may yet serve
to introduce other ideas connected with it by the laws of association. Other proofs of this important fact shall be mentioned
afterwards.
When a perception or an idea passes through the mind, without our being able to recollect it the next moment, the vulgar
themselves ascribe our want of memory to a want of attention.
Thus, in the instance already mentioned, of the clock, a person,
upon observing that the minute-hand had just passed twelve,
would naturally say, that he did not attend to the clock when it
was striking. There seems, therefore, to be a certain efbfrt of
mind upon which, even in the judgment of the vulgar, memory
in some measure depends; and which they distinguish by the
name of attention.
The connection between attention and memory has been remarked by many authors. " Nec dubium est," (says Quinctilian, speaking of memory,) " quin plurimum in hac parte valeat
mentis intention et velut acies luminum a prospectu rerum quas
intuetur non aversa."  [" There is no doubt that great effect is
produced by close attention, just as vision is most perfect when
the eyes are steadily fixed on the object seen."]  The same observation has been made by Locke, and by most of the writers
on the subject of education.
Attention a separate facultg of the mind. - But although the




ATTENTION.                        53
connection between attention and memory has been frequently
remarked in general terms, I do not recollect that the power of
attention has been mentioned by any of the writers on pneumatology, in their enumeration of the faculties of the mind; * nor
has it been considered by any one, so far as I know, as of sufficient importance to deserve a particular examination. Helvetius, indeed, in his very ingenious work, De l'Esprit, has entitled
one of his chapters, De l'inegale capacite d'Attention; but
what he considers under this article, is chiefly that capacity of
patient inquiry, (or as he calls it, continuous attention,) upon
which philosophical genius seems in a great measure to depend.
He has also remarked, with the writers already mentioned, that
the impression which any thing make.s on the memory, depends
much on the degree of attention we give to it; but he has taken
no notice of that effort which is absolutely essential to the lowest degree of memory. It is this effort that I propose to consider at present: not those different degrees of attention which
imprint things more or less deeply on the mind, but that act or
effort without which we have no recollection or memory whatever.
Some attention necessary for any act of memory whatever.With respect to the nature of this effort, it is perhaps impossible
for us to obtain much satisfaction.  W'e often speak of greater
and less degrees of attention; and, I believe, in these cases,
conceive the mind (if I may use the expression) to exert itself
with different degrees of energy.  I am doubtful, however, if
this expression conveys any distinct meaning. For my own
part, I am inclined to suppose, (though I would by no means be
understood to speak with confidence,) that it is essential to memory, that the perception or the idea that we would wish to remember,
should remain in the mindfor a certain space of time, and should
Some important observations on the subject of attention occur in different parts of Dr. Reid's writings. To this ingenious author we are
indebted for the remark, that attention to things external is properly called
observation; and attention to the subjects of our consciousness, reflection.
He has also explained the causes of the peculiar difficulties which accompany this last exertion of the miiltd, and which form the chief obstacles to
the progress of pncumatology.
5*




54                     zATTENTION.
be contemplated by it exclusively of every thing else; and that
attention consists partly (perhaps entirely) in the effort of the
mind to detain the idea or the perception, and to exclude the
other objects that solicit its notice.
Notwithstanding, however, the difficulty of ascertaining in
what this act of the mind consists, every person must be satisfied of its reality from his own consciousness; and of its essential connection with the power of memory. I have already
mentioned several instances of ideas passing through the mind,
without our being able to recollect them next moment. These instances were produced, merely to illustrate the meaning I annex
to the word attention; and to recall to the recollection of the
reader, a few striking cases, in which the possibility of our carrying on a process of thought which we are unable to attend to
at the time, or to remember afterwards, is acknowledged in the
received systems of philosophy. I shall now mention some
other phenomena, which appear to me to be very similar to
these, and to be explicable in the same manner; although they
have commonly been referred to very different principles.
The facility of action which results from habit, explained. -
The wonderful effect of practice in the formation of habits, has
been often and justly taken notice of, as one of the most curious
circumstances in the human constitution. A mechanical operation, for example, which we at first performed with the utmost
difficulty, comes, in time, to be so familiar to us, that we are
able to perform it without the smallest danger of mistake; even
while the attention appears to be completely engaged with other
subjects.  The truth seems to be, that in consequence of the
association of ideas, the different steps of the process present
themselves successively to the thoughts without any [effort of]
recollection on our part, and with a degree of rapidity proportioned to the length of our experience, so as to save us entirely
the trouble of hesitation and reflection, by giving us every moment a precise and steady notion of the effect to be produced.*
* I do not mean by this observation, to call in question the effects which
the practice of the mechanical arts has on the muscles of the body. These




ATTENTION.                          55
In the case of some operations which are very familiar to us,
we find ourselves unable to attend to, or to recollect, the acts of
the will by which they are preceded; and accordingly, some.
philosophers of great eminence have called in question the ex
istence of such volitions; and have represented our habitual
actions as involuntary and mechanical.  But surely the circumstance of our inability to recollect our volitions, does not authorize us to dispute their possibility; any more than our inability
to attend to the process of the mind, in estimating the distance
of an object from the eye, authorizes us to affirm that the perception is instantaneous.  Nor does it add any force to the objection to urge, that there are instances in which we find it difficult, or perhaps impossible, to check our habitual actions by a
contrary volition. For it must be remembered, that this contrary volition does not remain with us steadily during the whole
operation; but is merely a general intention or resolution, which
is banished from  the mind, as soon as the occasion presents
itself with which the habitual train of our thoughts and volitions
is associated.-'
It may indeed be said, that these observations only prove the
possibility that our habitual actions may be voluntary.  But if
this be admitted, nothing more can well be required; for surely,
are as indisputable as its effects on the mind. A man who has been accustomed to write with his right hand, can write better with his left hand, than
another who never practised the art at all; but he cannot write so well
with his left hand as with his right. The effects of practice, therefore, it
should seem, are produced partly on the mind, and partly on the body.
The solution of this difficulty, which is given by Dr. Porterfield, is
somewhat curious. " Such is the power of custom and habit, that many
actions which are no doubt voluntary, and proceed from our mind, are in
certain circumstances rendered necessary, so as to appear altogether mechanical, and independent of our wills; but it does not from thence follow, that our mind is not concerned in such motions, but only that it has
imposed upon itself a law, whereby it regulates and governs them to the
greatest advantage. In all this, there is nothing of intrinsical necessity;
the mind is at absolute liberty to act as it pleases; but ibeing a wise agent,
it cannot choose but to act in conformity to this law, by reason of the utility and advantage that arises fronm this way of acting."




56           ~ATTENTION.
if these phenomena are clearly explicable from the known and
acknowledged laws of the human mind, it would be unphilosophical to devise a new principle, on purpose to account for
them. The doctrine, therefore, which I Ihave laid down with
respect to the nature of habits, is by no means founded on hypothesis, as has been objected to me by some of my friends;
but on the contrary, the charge of hypothesis falls on those who
attempt to explain them by saying that they are mechanical or
automatic; a doctrine which, if it is at all intelligible, must be
understood as implying the existence of some law of our constitution, which has been hitherto unobserved by philosophers;
and to which, I believe, it will be difficult to find any thing
analogous in our constitution.
Reid and Hartley on habits in which both body and mind are
concerned. - In the foregoing observations, I have had in view
a favorite doctrine of Dr. Hartley's, which has been maintained
also of late by a much higher authority, I mean Dr. Reid.
" Habit," (says this ingenious author,) "differs from instinct,
not in its nature, but in its origin; the last being natural, the
first acquired. Both operate without will or intention, without
thought, and therefore may be called mechanical principles."
In another passage, he expresses himself thus: "I conceive it
to be a part of our constitution, that what we have been accustomed to do, we acquire not only a facility, but a proneness, to
do on like occasions; so that it requires a particular will or
effort to forbear it; but to do it requires, very often, no will
at all."
The same doctrine is laid down still more explicitly by Dr.
Hartley.
"c Suppose," says he, " a person who has a perfectly voluntary
command over his fingers, to begin to learn to play on the harpsichord. The first step is to move his fingers from key to key,
with a slow motion, looking at the notes, and exerting an express act of volition in every motion. By degrees, the motions
cling to one another and to the impressions of the notes, in the
way of association so often mentioned, the acts of volition growing less and less express all the time, till at last they become




ATTENTION.                       57
evanescent and imperceptible. For an expert performer will
play from notes, or ideas laid up in the memory, and at ths
same time carry on quite a different train of thoughts in his
mind; or even hold a conversation with another. Whence we
may conclude, that there is no intervention of the idea, or state
of mind, called the will."  Cases of this sort, Hartley palls,
"transitions of voluntary actions into automatic ones."
Confutation of Hartley's doctrine. -I cannot help thinking
it more philosophical to suppose, that those actions which are
originally voluntary, always continue so; although, in the case
of operations which are become habitual in consequence of long
practice, we may not be able to recollect every different volition.
Thus, in the case of a performer on the harpsichord, I apprehend, that there is an act of the will preceding every motion of
every finger, although he may not be able to recollect these volitions afterwards; and although he may, during the time of his
performance, be employed in carrying on a separate train of
thoughto  For, it must be remarked that the most rapid performer can, when he pleases, play so slowly, as to be able to
attend to, and to recollect, every separate act of his will in the
various movements of his fingers; and he can gradually accelerate the rate of his execution, till he is unable to recollect these
acts. Now in this instance, one of two suppositions must be
made; the one is, that the operations in the two cases are carried on precisely in the same manner, and differ only in the
degree of rapidity; and when this rapidity exceeds a certain
rate, the acts of the will are too momentary to leave any impression on the memory. The other is, that when the rapidity
exceeds a certain rate, the operation is taken entirely out of our
hands; and is carried on by some unknown power, of the nature of which we are as ignorant, as of the cause of the circulation of the blood, or of the motion of the intestines.*  The last
* This seems to have been the opinion of Bishop Berkeley, whose doctrine concerning the nature of our habitual actions, coincides with that of
the two philosophers already quoted. "It must be owned, we are not
conscious of the systole and diastole of the heart, or the motion of the dia



D58'ATTENTXION.
supposition seems to me to be somewhat similar to that of a
man, who should maintain, that, although a body projected with
a moderate velocity is seen to pass through all the intermediate
spaces in moving from one place to another, yet we are not entitled to conclude, that this happens when the body moves so
quickly as to become invisible to the eye. The former supposition is supported by the analogy of many other facts in our
constitution.  Of some of these, I have already taken notice;
and it would be easy to add to the number.  An expert accountant, for example, can sum up, almost with a single glance of his
eye, a long column of figures.  He can tell the sum with unerring certainty; while, at the same time, he is unable to recollect any one of the figures of which that sum is composed: and
yet nobody doubts, that each of these figures has passed through
his mind, or supposes, that when the rapidity of the progress
becomes so great that he is unable to recollect the various steps
of it, he obtains the result by a sort of inspiration. This last
supposition would be perfectly analogous to Dr. Hartley's doctrine concerning the nature of our habitual exertions.
Rapidity of the mind's action. - The, only plausible objection
which, I think, can be offered to the principles I have endeavored to establish on this subject, is founded on the astonishing,
and almost incredible, rapidity they necessarily suppose in our
intellectual operations.  When a person, for example, reads
aloud, there must, according to this doctrine, be a separate volition preceding the articulation of every letter; and it has been
phragm. It may not, nevertheless, be thence inferred, that unknowing
nature can act regularly as well as ourselves. The true inference is, that
the self thinking individual, or human person, is not the real author of
those natural motions. And, in fact, no man blames himself, if they are
wrong, or values himself, if they are right. The same may be said of the
fingers of a musician, which some object to be moved by habit, which understands not; it being evident that what is done by rule, must proceed
from something that understands the rule; therefore, if not from the musician himself, from some other active intelligence; the same, perhaps,
which governs bees and spiders, and moves the limbs of those who walk
in their sleep."




ATTENTION.                           59
found, by actual trial,* that it is possible to pronounce about
two thousand letters in a minute.  Is it reasonable to'suppose,
* " The contractions of the muscles take place and are repeated with
incredible quickness. We see this in the running of animals, especially
of quadrupeds; and in the movement of the tongue, which articulates in a
minute about 400 words, comprising perhaps 2,000 letters; though for the
enunciation of many of the letters, several contractions of the muscles are
necessary." - Gregory's View of the Tleory of Mledicine.
In Gibbon's Posthumous Works, I find a statement still more curious,
as it relates to the number of words pronounced in a given time by a
speaker, in the course of an extempore speech. "As I was waiting in the
manager's box at Mr. Hastings' trial in Westminster Hall, I had the curiosity to inquire of the shorthand writer, how many words a ready and
rapid orator might pronounce in an hour? From 7,000 to 7,500 was the
answer. The medium of 7,200 will afford 120 words in each minute."
In this instance, however, here referred to by Gibbon, the business of
articulation forms but a very inconsiderable part of the voluntary exertions
the speaker is incessantly making. One of his efforts, and a very complicated and wonderful one, is taken notice of by Quinctilian in the following passage: "But after all, what is extemporary speaking, but a vigorons exertion of memory [and of attention]? For when we are speaking
of one thing, we are premeditating another that we are about to speak.
This premeditation is carried forward to other objects, and whatever discoveries it makes, it deposits them in the memory; and thus the invention
having placed it there, the memory becomes a kind of intermediate instru
ment that hands it to the elocution."
A much more comprehensive view, however, of this astonishingly complicated exertion of the mind, is given by Dr. Reid.
"From what cause does it happen, that a good speaker no sooner conceives what he would express, than the letters, syllables, and words arrange themselves according to innumerable rules of speech, while lie never
thinks of these rules? He means to express certain sentiments; in order
to do this properly, a selection must be made of the materials out of many
thousands. He makes this selection without any expense of time or
thought. The materials selected must be arranged in a particular order,
according to innumerable rules of grammar, rhetoric, and logic, and accompanied with a particular tone and emphasis. He does all this as it
were by inspiration, without thinking of any of those rules, and without
breaking one of them.
"This art, if it were not so common, would appear more wonderful,
than that a man should dance blindfold amidst a thousand burning ploughshares, without being burnt. Yet all this may be done by habit."
It must be owned, that it is difficult to conceive, that, in such a case as




60                      dATTENTION.
that the mind is capable of so many different acts in an interval
of time so very inconsiderable?
With respect to this objection, it may be observed, in the first
place, that all arguments against the foregoing doctrine with. respect to our habitual exertions, in so far as they are founded
on the inconceivable rapidity which they suppose in our intellectual operations, apply equally to the common doctrine concerning our perception of distance by the eye.  But this is not
all. - To what does the supposition amount, which is considered
as so incredible? Only to this, that the mind is so formned, as
to be able to carry on certain intellectual processes, in intervals
of time too short to be estimated by our faculties; a supposition
which, so far from being extravagant, is supported by the analogy of many of our most certain conclusions in natural philosophy. The discoveries made by the microscope, have laid open
to our senses a world of wonders, the existence of which hardly
any man would have admitted upon inferior evidence; and have
gradually prepared the way for those physical speculations,
which explain some of the most extraordinary phenomena of
nature, by means of modifications of matter far too subtile for
the examination of our organs.  Why then should it be considered as unphilosophical, after having demonstrated the existence of various intellectual processes which escape our attention in consequence of their rapidity, to carry the supposition
a little further, in order to bring under the known laws of the
human constitution a class of mental operations, which must
otherwise remain perfectly inexplicable? Surely, our ideas of
time are merely relative, as well as our ideas of extension; nor
is there any good reason for doubting, that, if our powers of
attention and memory were more perfect than they are, so as
this, there is a separate act of the will accompanying all the intellectual
operations here described; and therefore it is not surprising that some
philosophers should have attempted to keep the difficulty out of sight, by
the use of one of these convenient phrases to which it is not possible to annex a clear or a precise idea. This, at least, I must confess, is the case
with me, with respect to the words mechanical, automatical, and organical,
as emplojy d on this occasion




ATTENTION.                       61
to give us the same advantage in examining rapid events, which
the microscope gives for examining minute portions of extension, they would enlarge our views with respect to the intellectual world, no less than that instrument has with respect to the
material.
It may contribute to remove, still more completely, some of
the scruples which are naturally suggested by the foregoing
doctrine, to remark, that, as the great use of attention and memory is to enable us to treasure up the results of our experience
and reflection for the future regulation of our conduct, it would
have answered no purpose for the Author of our nature to have
extended their province to those intervals of time, which we
have no occasion to estimate in the common business of life.
All the intellectual processes I have mentioned are subservient
to some particular end, either of perception or of action; and it
would have been perfectly superfluous, if, after this end were
gained, the steps which are instrumental in bringing it about,
were all treasured up in the memory. Such a constitution of
our nature would have had no other effect but to store the mind
with a variety of useless particulars.
After all I have said, it will perhaps be still thought, that
some of the reasonings I have offered are too hypothetical; and
it is even possible, that some may be disposed rather to dispute
the common theory of vision, than admit the conclusions I have
endeavored to establish. To such readers, the following considerations may be of use, as they afford a more palpable instance
than I have yet mentioned, of the rapidity with which the
thoughts may be trained, by practice, to shift from one thing to
another.
Instances of the quickness of mental operation. - When an
equilibrist balances a rod upon his finger, not only the attention
of his mind, but the observation of his eye, is constantly requisite. It is evident that the part of his body which supports the
object is never wholly at rest; otherwise the object would no
more stand upon it, than if placed in the same position upon a
table. The equilibrist, therefore, must watch, in the very beginning, every inclination of the object from the proper position,
6




62                      ATTENTION.
in order to counteract this inclination by a contrary movement.
In this manner, the object has never time to fall in any one
direction, and is supported in a way somewhat analogous to that
in which a top is supported on a pivot, by being made to spin
upon an axis. That a person should be able to do this in the
case of a single object, is curious; but that he should be able to
balance, in the same way, two or three, upon different parts of
his body, and at the same time balance himself on a small cord
or wire, is indeed wonderful.  Nor is it possible to conceive
that, in such an instance, the mind, at one and the same moment, attends to these different equilibriums; for it is not merely
the attention which is requisite, but the eye.  We must therefore conclude that both of these, [the mind and the eye,] are
directed successively to the different equilibriums, but change
from one object to another with such velocity, that the effect,
with respect to the experiment, is the same as if they were
directed to all the objects constantly.
It is worth while to remark further, with respect to this last
illustration, that it affords direct evidence of the possibility of
our exerting acts of the will, which we are unable to recollect;
for the movements of the equilibrist do not succeed each other
in a regular order, like those of the harpsichord player in performing a piece of music; but must, in every instance, be regulated by accidents, which may vary in numberless respects, and
which indeed must vary in numberless respects, every time he
repeats the experiment: and therefore, although, in the former
case, we should suppose, with Hartley, " that the motions cling
to one another, and to the impressions of the notes, in the way
of association, without any intervention of the state of mind
called will," yet in this instance, even the possibility of such a
supposition is directly contradicted by the fact.
The dexterity of jugglers (which, by the way, merits a greater
degree of attention from philosophers, than it has yet attracted,)
affords many curious illustrations of the same doctrine. The
whole of this art seems to me to be founded on this principle;
that it is possible for a person, by long practice, to acquire a
power, not only of carrying on certain intellectual processes




t IIIr7TION.                          63
more quickly than other men, (for all tlle feats of legerdermanrl
suppose the exercise of observation, thought, and volition,) but
of performing a variety of movements with the hand, before the
eyes of a company, in an interval of time too short to enable
the spectators to exert that degree of attention which is necessary to lay a foundation for memory.*
M Mr. Locke, in his Essay on Hunman Understanding, has taken notice
of thfe quickness with which the operations of the mind are carried on, and
has referred to the acquired perceptions of sight as a proof of it.
"We are further to consider, concerning perception, that the ideas we
receive by sensation are often, in grown people, altered by the judgment,
without our taking notice of it. When we set before our eyes a round
globe of any uniform color, for example, gold, alabaster, or jet, it is certain
that the idea thereby imprinted on our mind is of a flat circle, variously
shadowed, with several degrees of light and brightness coming to our eyes.
But we, having by use been accustomed to perceive what kind of appearance convex bodies are wont to make in us, and what alterations are made
in the reflections of light by the difference of the sensible figure of bodies;
the judgment presently, by a habitual custom, alters the appearances into
their causes; so that, from that which truly is variety of shadow or color,
collecting the figure, it makes it pass for a mark of figure, and frames to
itself a perception of convex figure, and an uniform color; when the idea
we receive from thence is only a plane variously colored; as is evident in
painting."- Chap. ix. sec. 8.
"But this is not, I think, usual in any of our ideas but those received
by sight; because sight, the most comprehensive of all our senses, conveying to our minds the ideas of lights and colors, which are peculiar only to
that sense, and also the far different ideas of space, figure, and motion, the
several varieties whereof change the appearances of its proper object,
namely, light and colors, we bring ourselves by use to judge of the one by
the other. This, in many cases, by a settled habit in things whereof we
have frequent experience, is performed so constantly, and so quick, that
we take that for the perception of our sensation, which is an idea formed
by our judgment; so that one, namely, that of sensation, serves only to
excite the other, and is scarce taken any notice of itself; as a man who
reads or hears with attention and understanding, takes little notice of the
character or sounds, but of the ideas that are excited in him by them.
"/Nor need we wonder that this is done with so little notice, if we consider how very quick the actions of the mind are performed; for as itselt
is thought to take up no space, to have no extension, so its actions seem
to require no time, but many of them seem to be crowded into an instant,
I speak this in comparison with the actions of the body. Any one may




64                        lATTENTION.
The will does not control the vital motions. -  As some philosophers have disputed the influence of the will in the case of
habits, so others (particularly Stahl and his followers) have
gone into the opposite extreme, by referring to the will all the
vital motions [such as the beating of the heart, the peristaltic
easily observe this in his own thoughts, who will take the pains to reflect
on them. How, as it were in an instant, do our minds, with one glance,
see all parts of a demonstration, which may very well be called a long one,
if we consider the time it will require to put it into words, and step by
step show it to another? Secondly, we shall not be much surprised that
this is done in us with so little notice, if we consider how the facility which
we get of doing things by a custom of doing, makes them often pass in us
without our notice. Habits, especially such as are begun very early, come
at last to produce actions in us, which often escape our observation. How
frequently do we in a day cover our eyes with our eyelids, without perceiving that we are at all in the dark! Men that by custom have got the
use of a byword, do almost in every sentence pronounce sounds, which,
though taken notice of by others, they themselves neither hear nor observe; and, therefore, it is not so strange that our mind should often
change the idea of its sensation into that of its judgment, and make one
serve only to excite the other, without our taking notice of it." - Ibid.
sees. 9, 10.
The habit mentioned by Locke, in this paragraph, of occasionally winking with the eyelids, (which is not accompanied with any memory of our
being, in every such instance, in a momentary state of total darkness,) deserves to be added to the cases already mentioned, to show the dependence
of memory upon attention.
[Stewart and Locke are here mistaken in supposing that, when the eyelids wink, we are placed "in a momentary state of total darkness." It is
a well ascertained fact, that impressions made upon the retina of the eye
continue for about an eighth of a second after the object which produces
them is removed. An obvious illustration of this fact is the familiar experiment of whirling round in a circle a stick which is tipped with fire; the
sensation then produced is that of a continuous circle of fire, because the
impression made by the fiery end at each point in the circle continues until
the stick comes round to that point again. In winking, the eyelids being
closed less than the eighth part of a second, the sensation of the light and of
objects before us is not at all interrupted; no darkness is perceived. Just
so, if a humming top, which has an orifice, about three-quarters of an inch
square, in its periphery, is spun rapidly, the orifice becomes invisible, because the impression left by the unbroken portion of the periphery then
becomes continuous.]




ATTENTION.                        65
motion of the intestines, etc.]  If it be admitted, say these philosophers, that there are instances in which we will an effect,
without being able to make it an object of attention, is it not
possible that, what we commonly call the vital and involuntary
motions, may be the consequences of our own thought and volition?  But there is surely a wide difference between those
cases, in which the mind was at first conscious of thought and
volition, and gradually lost the power of attending to them, from
the growing rapidity of the intellectual process; and a case in
which the effect itself is perfectly unknown to the bulk of mankind, even after they arrive at maturity, and in which this effect
has continued to take place with the most perfect regularity,
from the very beginning of their animal existence, and long before the first dawn of either reflection or experience.
Some of the followers of Stahl have stated the fact rather inaccurately, even in respect to our habitual exertions. Thus Dr.
Porterfield, in his Treatise on the Eye, is at pains to prove that
the soul may think and will without knowledge or consciousness.
But this, I own, is to me inconceivable.  The true state of the
fact, I apprehend is, that the mind may think and will, without
attending to its thoughts and volitions, so as to be able afterwards
to recollect them.  Nor is this merely a verbal criticism; for
there is an important difference between consciousness and attention, which it is very necessary to keep in view, in order to
think upon this subject with any degree of precision.* The one
is an involuntary state of the mind; the other is a voluntary
act; the one has no immediate connection with memory; but
the other is so essentially subservient to it, that, without some
degree of it, the ideas and perceptions which pass through the
mind, seem to leave no trace behind them. t
* The distinction between attention and consciousness is pointed out b3
Dr. Reid. " Attention is a voluntary act; it requires an active exertion to
begin and to continue it, and it may be continued as long as we will; hut
consciousness is involuntary, and of no continuance, changing with every
thought."
t [Here, and elsewhere, Stewart assumes too absolutely, that every act
or movement is either entirely voluntary or entirely involuntary. But the
6*




66                         ATTENTION.
EBow the attention is distributed among simultaneous sensations.
— When two persons are speaking to us at once, we can attend
control which the will exercises, according to the best physiologists, is
often partial or imperfect. "There are many involuntary movements,"
says Miller, an eminent physiologist, "performed by muscles which are
[generally] subject to the will, -movements in some cases following as
regular a rhythm as do the motions of the heart. Certain muscles also,
which are quite independent of the influence of the will, are nevertheless
influenced by particular states of the mind."
The associate or consensual movements are those "which, contrary to our
uwill, accompany other, voluntary, motions... Very few persons indeed
can cause the different muscles of the face to act singly; they cannot, in
most instances, make the individual muscles act, except in groups with
other muscles." We find a difficulty in calling into action separately the
different fingers of the same hand; in extending, for instance, the third or
fourth finger without extending at the same time the first and second.
The muscles of the eyes have this tendency to association; it is impossible, for example, to turn one eye downwards and the other outwards, or
both outwards at the same time. When one eye is turned outwards, the
other is always rotated involuntarily inwards. During violent bodily exertion, many muscles act by association, although their action shows no
apparent purpose; a man using great muscular exertion moves the muscles of his face, as if they were aiding him in raising his load; during labored respiration, and in persons in a state of debility, the muscles of the
face act simultaneously, but involuntarily; although, except by raising the
"wings of the nostrils," they can in no way assist respiration.
" The less perfect the action of the nervous system," continues Mfiiller,
"' the more frequently do associate motions occur. It is only by education
that we acquire the power of confining the influence of volition in the production of voluntary motions to a certain number of nervous fibres issuing
from the brain. An awkward person, in performing one voluntary movement, makes many others, which are produced involuntarily by consensual nervous action. In the piano-forte player, we have an example, on
the other hand, of the faculty of insulation of the nervous influence in its
highest perfection."
Now, if education and habit, as is here stated, can insulate movements
which are by nature consensual, if they can enable us to perform separately
motions which were originally associated, it would seem that education and
habit might also associate acts which were at first independent of each
other, or, in other words, might teach us to perform by a single effort of
the will several movements each of which originally required a distinct volition. To adopt Stewart's illustration, the equilibrist or the rope-dancer
may need but one volition to put in motion several distinct muscles whose




ATTENTION.                       67
to either of them at pleasure, without being much disturbed by
the other. If we attempt to listen to both, we can understand
neither.  The fact seems to be, that when we attend constantly
to one of the speakers, the words spoken by the other make no
impression on the memory, in consequence of our not attending
to them; and affect us as little as if they had not been uttered.
This power, however, of the mind to attend to either speaker at
pleasure, supposes that it is, at one and the same time, conscious
of the sensations which both produce.
Another well-known fact may be of use in illustrating the
same distinction. A person who accidentally loses his sight,
never fails to improve gradually in the sensibility of his touch.
Now, there are only two ways of explaining this. The one is,
that, in consequence of the loss of the one sense, some change
takes place in the physical constitution of the body, so as to improve a different organ of perception. The other, that the
mind gradually acquires a power of attending to and remembering those slighter sensations of which it was formerly conscious,
but which, from our habits of inattention, made no impression
whatever on the memory. No one, surely, can hesitate for a
moment, in pronouncing which of these two suppositions is the
most philosophical.
Having treated, at considerable length, of those habits in
which both mind and body are concerned, I proceed to make a
few remarks on some phenomena which are purely intellectual;
and which, I think, are explicable on the same principles with
those which have been now under our review.
The influence of attention on memory illustrated by phenomena
and habits purely intellectual. - Every person who has studied
the elements of geometry, must have observed many cases in
which the truth of a theorem struck him the moment he heard the
enunciation. I do not allude to those theorems, the truth of
joint action is necessary to enable him to recover his balance. The muscular contractions that were originally isolated come, as it were, to cling
together, and take place under a single volition, as when both eyes turn to
the right or left, or all the fingers of the hand open or shut, by one impulse.]




68                     ATTENTrON.
which is obvious almost to sense; such as, that any two sides
of a triangle are greater than the third side; or that one circle
cannot cut another circle in more than two points; but to some
propositions with respect to quantity, considered abstractly, (to
some, for example, in the fifth book of Euclid,) which almost
every student would be ready to admit without a demonstration.
These propositions, however, do by no means belong to. the class
of axioms; for their evidence does not strike every person
equally, but requires a certain degree of quickness to perceive
it. At the same time, it frequently happens, that although we
are convinced the proposition is true, we cannot state immediately to others upon what our conviction is founded. In such
cases, I[ think it highly probable, that before we give our assent
to the theorem, a process of thought has passed through the mind,
but has passed through it so quickly, that we cannot, without difficulty, arrest our ideas in their rapid succession, and state them
to others in their proper and logical order. It is some confirmation of this theory, that there are no propositions of which it is
more difficult to give a legitimate proof fiom first principles,
than of those which are only removed a few steps from the class
of axioms; and that those men who are the most remarkable
for their quick perception of mathematical truth, are seldom
clear and methodical in communicating their knowledge to
others. A man of a moderate degree of quickness, the very
first time he is made acquainted with the fundamental principles
of the method of fluxions, or of the method of prime and ultimate ratios, is almost instantaneously satisfied of their truth;
yet how difficult is it to demonstrate these principles rigorously!
aWhat I have now said with respect to mathematics, may be
applied in a great measure to the other branches of knowledge.
How many questions daily occur to us, in morals, in politics, and
in common life; in considering which we almost instantaneously
see where the truth lies, although we are not in a condition, all
at once, to explain the grounds of our conviction! Indeed, I
apprehend, there are few, even among those who have devoted
themselves to study, but why) have not been habituated to com



ATTENTION.                       69
municate their knowledge to others, who are able to exhibit, in
their natural order, the different steps of any investigation by
which they have been led to form a particular conclusion. The
common observation, therefore, that an obscure elocution always
indicates an imperfect knowledge of the subject; although it
may perhaps be true with respect to men who have cultivated
the art of speaking, is by no means to be relied on as a general
rule, in judging of the talents of those whose speculations have
been carried on with a view merely to their own private satisfaction.
In the course of my own experience, I have heard of more
than one instance, of men who, without any mathematical education, were able, on a little reflection, to give a solution of any
simple algebraical problem; and who, at the same time, were
perfectly incapable of explaining by what steps they obtained
the result.* In these cases, we have a direct proof of the possibility of investigating even truths which are pretty remote, by
an intellectual process which, as soon as it is finished, vanished
almost entirely from the memory. It is probable, that something of the same kind takes place much more frequently in the
other branches of knowledge, in which our reasonings consist
commonly but of a few steps. Indeed, I am inclined to think,
that it is in this way that by far the greater part of our speculative conclusions are formed.
There is no talent, I apprehend, so essential to a public
speaker, as to be able to state clearly every different step of
those trains of thought by which he himself was led to the conclusions he wishes to establish. Much may be here done by
study and experience. Even in those cases in which the truth
of a proposition seems to strike us instantaneously, although we
may not be able, at first, to discover the media of proof, we seldom fail in the discovery by perseverance. Nothing contributes
so much to form this talent as the study of metaphysics; not
[Prodigies of arithmetical ability, like Buxton and Zerah Colburn,
have usually been found incapable of explaining the processes by which
they performed their computations with such marvellous quickness.]




70                      ATTENTION.
the absurd metaphysics of the schools, but that study which has
the operations of the mind for its object.  By habituating us to
reflect on the subjects of our consciousness, it enables us to retard, in a considerable degree, the current of thought; to arrest
many of those ideas, which would otherwise escape our notice;
and to render the arguments which we employ for the conviction of others, an exact transcript of those trains of inquiry and
reasoning, which originally led us to form our opinions.
These observations lead me to take notice of an important
distinction between the intellectual habits of men of speculation
and of action.  The latter, who are under a necessity of
thinking and deciding on the spur of the occasion, are led to
cultivate, as much as possible, a quickness in their mental operations; and sometimes acquire it in so great a degree, that their
judgment seems to be almost intuitive.  To those, on the other
hand, who have not merely to form opinions for themselves, but
to communicate them to others, it is necessary to retard the
train of thought as it passes in the mind, so as to be able afterwards to recollect every different step of the process; a habit
which, in some cases, has such an influence on the intellectual
powers, that there are men who, even in their private speculations, not only make use of words as an instrument of thought,
but form these words into regular sentences.
Contributions of philology to philosophy. — It may perhaps
appear, at first, a paradoxical observation, that one great employment of philosophers, in a refined age, is to bring to light
and arrange those rapid and confused trains of thought, which
appear, from the structure of languages and firom the monuments of ancient laws and governments, to have passed through
the minds of men in the most remote and unenlightened periods.
In proof, however, of this, it is sufficient to mention the systematical analogy which we findl, to a certain degree, running
through the structure of the most imperfect tongues, (for example, in the formation of the different parts of the verbs,) and
those general principles which the philosophical lawyer traces
amidst an apparent chaos of precedents and statutes.  In the
language, too, of the rudest tribe, we find-words transferred from




ATTENTION.                      71
one subject to another, which indicate, in the mind of the individual who first, made the transference, some perception of resemblance or of' analogy. Such transferences can halrdly be
ascribed to accident, but may be considered as proofs that the
analogies, which the philosopher afterwards points out between
the objects which are distinguished by the same name, had been
perceived by the inventors of language, although it is more than
probable that they never expressed them in words, nor could
even have explained them if they had been questioned on the
subject.
Nor will this appear a bold or incredible supposition, if we
reflect on the sagacity and ingenuity which savages, and even
peasants, discover, in overcoming the difficulties which occur in
their situation. They do not, indeed, engage in long processes
of abstract reasoning, for which they have no inclination, and
which it is impossible to carry on without the use of a cultivated
and a copious language; but when pressed by present circumstances, they combine means to accomplish particular ends, in a
manner which indicates the exercise both of invention and of
reasoning. It is probable that such processes are carried on in
their minds, with much less assistance from language, than a
philosopher would derive on a similar occasion; and it is almost
certain, that they would find themselves perfectly incapable of
communicating to others the steps by which they were led to
their conclusions. In consequence of these circumstances, the
attainments of the human mind, in its ruder state, perish with
the individual, without being recorded in writing, or perhaps
expressed in words; and we are left to infer them indirectly
from the structure of language, or from the monuments of ancient customs and institutions.
What trains of thoughz t are most cbfficult to be remembered.When a train of thought leads to any interesting conclusion, or
excites any pleasant feeling, it becomes peculiarly difficult to arrest our fleeting ideas; because the mind, when once it has felt
the pleasure, has little inclination to retrace the steps by which
it arrived at it. This is one great cause of the difficulty attending
plhilosophical criticism. When a critic explains to us why we




72                      ATTENTION.
are pleased with any particular beauty, or offended with any
defect, it is evident, that if his theory be just, the circumstances
which he points out as the foundation of our pleasure or uneasiness, must have occurred to our minds before we were pleased
with the beauty, or offended with the defect. In such cases, it
sometimes happens, when a critic has been fortunate in his theory, that we recognize at first sight our old ideas, and without
any further consideration, are ready to bear testimony to the
truth, from our own consciousness. So very difficult, however,
is it to attend to the ideas which excite such feelings, that it
often appears to be doubtful, whether a theory be right or
wrong; and that where there is every reason to believe that
the pleasure is produced in all men in the same way, different
critics adopt different theories with respect to its cause. It is
long practice alone, joined to what is commonly called a metaphysical turn of mind, (by which, I think, is chiefly to be understood a capacity of reflecting on the subjects of our consciousness,) tflhat can render such efforts of attention easy. Exquisite
sensibility, so far from being useful in this species of criticism,
both gives a disrelish for the study, and disqualifies for pursuing it.
Inability to attend to more than one thing at once. - Before
we leave the subject of attention, it is proper to take notice of a
question which has been stated with respect to it; whether we
have the power of attending to more than one thing at one and
the same instant; or, in other words, whether we can attend at
one and the same instant to objects which we can attend to separately? This question has, if I am not mistaken, been already
decided by several philosophers in the negative; and I acknowledge for my own part, that although their opinion has not
only been called in question by others, but even treated with
some degree of contempt as altogether hypothetical, it appears
to me to be the most reasonable and philosophical that we can
form on the subject.
There is, indeed, a great variety of cases, in which the mind
apparently exerts different acts of attention at once; but from
the instances which have already been mentioned, of the aston



ATTENTION.                       73
ishing rapidity of thought, it is obvious, that all this may be explained without supposing these acts to be coexistent; and I
may even venture to add, it may all be explained in the most
satisfactory manner, without ascribing to our intellectual operations a greater degree of rapidity than that with which we know,
from the fact, that they are sometimes carried on.  The effect
of practice, in increasing this capacity of apparently attending to
different things at once, renders this explanation of the phenomenon in question more probable than any other.
The case of the equilibrist and rope-dancer, already mentioned,
is particularly favorable to this explanation; as it affords direct
evidence of the possibility of the mind's exerting different successive acts in an interval of time so short, as to produce the
same sensible effect as if they had been exerted at one and the
same moment. In this case, indeed, the rapidity of thought is
so remarkable, that if the different acts of the mind were not all
necessarily accompanied with different movements of the eye,
there can be no reason for doubting that the philosophers, whose
doctrine I am now controverting, would have asserted, that they
are all mathematically coexistent.
Upon a question, however, of this sort, which does not admit
of a perfectly direct appeal to the fact, I would by no means be
understood to decide with confidence; and therefore I should
wish the conclusions I am now to state, to be received as only
conditionally established.  They are necessary and obvious consequences of the general principle, "; that the mind canll only attend to one thing at once;" but must stand or fall with the
truth of that supposition.
Illustrations of this doctrine. - It is commonly understood, I
believe, that, in a concert of music, a good ear can attend to the
different parts of the music separately, or can attend to them all
at once, and feel the full effect of the harmony.  If the doctrine,
however, which I have endeavored to establish, be admitted, it
will follow, that in the latter case, the mind is constantly varying its attention from the one part of the music to the other, and
that its operations are so rapid as to give us no perception of
an interval of time.
7




74                      ATTENTIONo
The saone doctrine leads to some cur,.J conclusions with respect to vision.  Suppose the eye to be fixed in a particular
position, and the picture of an object to be painted on the retina.
Does the mind perceive the complete figure of the object at
once, or is this perception the result of the various perceptions
we have of the different points in the outline?  With respect
to this question, the principles already stated lead me to conelude, that the mind does, at one and the same time, perceive
every point in the outline of the object, (provided the whole of
it be painted on the retina at the same instant;) for perception,
like consciousness, is an involuntary operation. As no two
points, however, of the outline are in the same direction, every
point, by itself, constitutes just as distinct an object of attention
to the mind, as if it were separated by an interval of empty
space from all the rest. If the doctrine, therefore, formerly
stated be just, it is impossible for the mind to attend to more
than one of these points at once; and as the perception of the
figure of the object implies a knowledge of the relative situation of the different points with respect to each other, we must
conclude that the perception of figure by the eye is the result
of a number of different acts of attention. These acts of attention, however, are performed with such rapidity, that the effect,
with respect to us, is the same as if the perception were instantaneous.
In further confirmation of this reasoning, it may be remarked,
that if the perception of visible figure were an immediate consequence of the picture on the retina, we should have, at the
first glance, as distinct an idea of a figure of a thousand sides,
as of a triangle or a square. The truth is, that when the figure
is very simple, the process of the mind is so rapid, that the perception seems to be instantaneous; but when the sides are multiplied beyond a certain number, the interval of time necessary
for these different acts of attention becomes perceptible.
It may perhaps be asked, what I mean by a point in the outline of a figure, and what it is that constitutes this point one obje(t of attention?  The answer, I apprehend, is, that this point




ATTENTION.                            75
is the minsimum visibile.  If the point be less, we cannot perceive it; if it be greater, it is not all seen in one direction.
If these observations be admitted, it will follow, that, without
the faculty of memory, we could have had no perception of visible figure.?'
4 I have been accused of overlooking, in the preceding Chapter, a very
important distinction between Voluntary and Involuntary attention. In
some cases, (it is said,) attention attaches itself spontaneously to its object.
In others, it requires a painful effort to keep it steady, - nay, when we will
to fix it on one subject, we find it perpetually wandering to another. The
fact on which the criticism is founded must unquestionably be admitted,
but the conclusion drawn from it is nevertheless erroneous. It proceeds
on a vague use of the words voluntary and involuntary. These words, as
well as the substantive will, are often, but very inaccurately, employed to
express a general purpose or intention, as well as that state of mind which is
the immediate antecedent of action. Thus, if I resolve to keep my eyes
steadily open, I may, according to common modes of speech, be said to
will to keep them open, and if in consequence of some sudden alarm, I
should depart from my purpose, the winking of my eyelids may be said to
be involuntary. And yet, in strict philosophical propriety, the winking of
my eyelids is an act purely voluntary; an operation which I will to perform, in consequence of the effect which my alarm has to banish my general purpose or resolution from my mind. The case is perfectly parallel
with respect to attention. When I am anxious to attend to a particular
subject, I am apt to say that I will to attend to it, and when I forget my
purpose, that my inattention is involuntary; whereas the fact is, that the
unintended distraction, like the unintended winking of the eyelids, was the
effect of a particular volition of the mind, exerted in consequence of a momentary forgetfulness of my general purpose. Indeed, to those who are at
all accustomed to precision in the use of language, the phrase involuntary
attention must appear a manifest contradiction in terms.
[Stewart is mistaken in supposing that the winking of the eyelids is
always, or even generally, a voluntary act. Physiologists are now agreed
that, most frequently, it is as involuntary as sneezing, or coughing from
irritation of the larynx. Recent discoveries have established the existence
of what is called the reflex action of the nerves, by which, without any sensation being communicated to the brain, and consequently without any effort of the will, an impression made upon the end of a nerve is transmitted
to the spinal cord, and thence sent back again, as it were, along one of the
motor nerves to its extremity, producing there a contraction of the nerves
and the requisite movement of the limb or organ. Isolate this pair of
nerves entirely, by cutting off its communication, not only with the head,




a76(L3                  C ONCEPTIONo
CHAPTER  Ill..OF CONCEPTION.o
Offce of Conception. — By conception, I mean that power
of the mind, which enables it to form a notion of an absent ob.
ject of perception; or of a sensation which it has formerly felt.
I do not contend that this is exclusively the proper meaning of
the word, but I think that the faculty which I have now defined,
deserves to be distinguished by an appropriated name.
Conception is often confounded with other powers.  When a
painter makes a picture of a friend, who is absent or dead,
he is commonly said to paint from  memory; and the expression is sufficiently correct for common conversation.  But in an
analysis of the mind, there is ground for a distinction. The
power of conception enables him  to make the features of his
friend an object of thought, so as to copy the resemblance; the
power of memory recognizes these features as a former object
of perception. Every act of memory includes an idea of the
past; conception implies no idea of time whatever.*
According to this view of the matter, the word conception corresponds to what was called by the schoolmen simple apprehen.
sion; with this difference only, that they included, under this
name, our apprehension of general propositions; whereas I
but with the upper and lower portions of the spinal column, reserving only
a segment of this column to connect the excitor with the motor nerve, and
the reflex movement may still be produced. Thus, when the mucous
membrane of the nose is irritated, sneezing follows in spite of any effort
of the will to prevent it. Winking takes place involuntarily, whenever an
object comes suddenly near or before the eyes, or when water needs to be
carried off through the tear passage.]
* Shakspeare calls this power " the mind's eye."
Hamlet. - " My father! Methinks I see my father.
Horatio. — " Where, my Lord?
Hamlet. - " In my mind's eve, Horatio." - Act x. Scene G4




CONCEPTION.                          77
should wish to limit the application of the word conception to
our sensations, and the objects of our perceptions.  Dr. Reid,
in his Inquiry, substitutes the word conception instead of the
simple apprehension of the schools, and employs it in the same
extensive signification. I think it may contribute to make our
ideas more distinct, to restrict its meaning: — and for such a
restriction, we have the authority of philosophers in a case perfectly analogous. In ordinary language, we apply the same
word, perception, to the knowledge which we have by our senses
of external objects, and to our knowledge of speculative truth:
and yet an author would be justly censured, who should treat
of these two operations of the mind under the same article of
perception. I apprehend there is as wide a difference between
the conception of a truth, and the conception of an absent object
of sense, as between the perception of a tree, and the perception
of a mathematical theorem. I have therefore taken the liberty
to distinguish also the two former operations of the mind; and
under the article of conception, shall confine myself to that faculty whose province it is to enable us to form a notion of our
past sensations, or of the objects of sense that we have formerly
perceived.?
x [Stewart, who is a strict Nominalist, maintains that we can form a
conception only of an individual object that can be perceived by the senses,
- as of a particular house or tree. Reid and all other metaphysicians, ex'
cept the Nominalists, maintain that we may have conceptions also of what
abstract and general terms stand for; that is, they say we can apprehend
the meaning of such words as wisdom, virtue, courage, etc., and also of triangle, man, tiger,- understanding thereby, not any particular triangle, or
man, but the general idea answering to any or all triangles, any or all men,
etc. If we did not apprehend their meaning, we could not argue about
them, or use their names intelligibly. But the doctrine of the Nominalists
is, that when we use these abstract, general terms, the mere words are our
only objects of thought, and that we limit and fix the meaning of those
words by calling up, when necessary, the image or conception of a particular thing comprehended under them. If I speak of a triangle in general,
and wish to have something more definite before the mind than the mera
word "triangle," they say that I call up the image of some particular triangle, and limit my attention, in considering it, to those qualities which it
possesses in common with all triangles. According to the Nominalists,
7X




78                       CONCEPTION.
Conception distinguished from Incagination. -  Conception is
frequently used as synonymous with imagination. Dr. Reid
says, that "imagination, in its proper sense, signifies a lively
conception of objects of sight."  "This is a talent," he remarks,
"of importance to poets and orators; and deserves a proper
name, on account of its connection with their arts."  He adds,
that "imagination is distinguished from  conception as a part
from the whole."
I shall not inquire at present into the proper English meaning of the words conception and imagination.  In a study such
as this, so far removed from common purposes of speech, some
latitude may perhaps be allowed in the use of words; provided
only we define accurately those we employ, and adhere to our
own definitions.
The business of conception, according to the account I have
given of it, is to present us with an exact transcript of what we
have felt or perceived.  But we have, moreover, a power of
modifying our conceptions, by combining the parts of different
ones together, so as to form new wholes of our own creation.
I shall employ the word imagination to express this power;
and, I apprehend, that this is the proper sense of the word, if
imagination be the power which gives birth to the productions
of the poet and the painter.  This is not a simple faculty of the
mind.  It presupposes abstraction, to separate from each other
qualities and circumstances which have been perceived in conjunction; and also judgment and taste, to direct us in forming
the combinations.  If they are made wholly at random, they
are proofs of insanity.*
then, the only objects of thought are (1.) mere words, and (2.) the conceptions of particular, material objects, such as can be imaged or pictured forth
in the fancy. Reid and the Conceptualists maintain, that there are also
(3.) conceptions of abstract and general things, - conceptions which are
more definite than mere words, but less definite than images or pictures
of particular objects.
But these differences of opinion between the Nominalists, Realists, and
Conceptualists, will be explained more fully hereafter.]
* In common discourse, we often use the phrase of thinking upon an object,
to express what I here call the conception of it. In the following passage




CONCEPTION.                        79
Some objects ( re conceived more easily thfan others. - The first
remarkable fad which strikes us with respect to conception is,
that we can conceive the objects of some senses much more
easily than those of others. Thus we can conceive an absent
visible object, such as a building that is familiar to us, much
more easily than a particular sound, a particular taste, or a particular pain, which we have formerly felt.  It is probable, however, that this power might be improved in the case of some of our
senses.  Few people, I believe, are able to form a very distinct
conception of sounds; and yet it is certain, that by practice, a
person may acquire a power of amusing himself with reading
written music. And in the case of poetical numbers, it is universally known, that a reader may enjoy the harmony of the
verse, without articulating the words, even in a whisper. In
such cases, I take for granted, that our pleasure arises from  a
very strong conception of the sounds which we have been accustomed to associate with particular written characters.
Why visible objects are easily conceived.  The peculiarity in
the case of visible objects, seems to arise from this; that when
we think of a sound or of a taste, the object of our conception
is one single detached sensation; whereas every visible object is
complex; and the conception which we form of it as a whole
is aided by the Association of Ideas.  To perceive the force of
this observation, it is necessary to recollect what was formerly
said on the subject of attention.  As we cannot at one instant
attend to every point of the picture of an object on the retina,
Shakspeare uses the former of these phrases, and the words imagination
and apprehension as synonymous with each other.
-   Who can hold a fire in his hand,
By tlhinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast i
Or wallow naked in December's snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
Oh no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
K. RICHARD II. Act I Scene 6.




80                     CONCEPTION.
so, I apprehend, we cannot at one instant form a conception of
the whole of any visible object; but that our conception of
the object as a whole, is the result of many conceptions. The
association of ideas connects the different parts together, and
presents them to the mind in their proper arrangement; and
the various relations which these parts bear to one another in
point of situation, contribute greatly to strengthen the associations. It is some confirmation of this theory, that it is more
easy to remember a succession of sounds, than any particular
sound which we have heard detached and unconnected.
The power of conceiving visible objects, like all other powers
that depend on the association of ideas, may be wonderfully
improved by habit. A person accustomed to drawing retains
a much more perfect notion of a building or of a landscape
which he has seen, than one who has never practised that art.
A portrait painter traces the form of the human body from
memory, with as little exertion of attention, as he employs in
writing the letters which compose his name.
In the power of conceiving colors, too, there are striking differences among individuals: and, indeed, I am inclined to suspect, that, in the greater number of instances, the supposed
defects of sight in this respect ought to be ascribed rather to a
defect in the power of conception.  One thing is certain, that
we often see men who are perfectly sensible of the difference
between two colors when they are presented to them, who cannot give names to these colors, with confidence, when they see
them apart; and are perhaps apt to confound the one with the
other. Such men, it should seem, feel the sensation of color
like other men, when the object is present, but are incapable
(probably in consequence of some early habit of inattention) to
conceive the sensation distinctly when the object is removed.
Without this power of conception, it is evidently impossible for
them, however lively their sensations may be, to give a name
to any color; for the application of the name supposes not only
a capacity of receiving the sensation, but a power of comparing
it with one formerly felt. At the same time, I would not be
understood by these observations to deny, that there are cases,




CONCEPTION.                      81
in which there is a natural defect of the organ in the perception
of color. In some cases, perhaps, the sensation is not felt at all;
and in others, the faintness of the sensation may be one cause
of those habits of inattention, from which the incapacity of con
ception has arisen.
What uses the power of conception is subservient to. —A
talent for lively description, at least in the case of sensible objects, depends chiefly on the degree in which the describer
possesses the power of conception. We may remark, even in
common conversation, a striking difference among individuals
in this respect. One man, in attempting to convey a notion of
any object he has seen, seems to place it before him, and to
paint from actual perception: another, although not deficient in
a ready elocution, finds himself, in such a situation, confused and
embarrassed among a number of particulars imperfectly apprehended, which crowd into his mind without any just order and
connection. Nor is it merely to the accuracy of our descriptions that this power is subservient: it contributes more than
any thing else to render them striking and expressive to others,
by guiding us to a selection of such circumstances as are most
prominent and characteristical; insomuch that I think it may
reasonably be doubted, if a person would not write a happier
description of an object from the conception than from the actual
perception of it. It has been often remarked, that the perfection
of description does not consist in a minute specification of circumstances, but in a judicious selection of them; and that the best
rule for making the selection is to attend to the particulars that
make the deepest impression on our own minds.  When the object is actually before us, it is extremely difficult to compare the
impressions which different circumstances produce; and the very
thought of writing a description, would prevent the impressions
which would otherwise take place. When we afterwards conceive the object, the representation of it we form to ourselves,
however lively, is merely an outline; and is made up of those
circumstances, which really struck us most at the moment;
while others of less importance are obliterated. The impression,
indeed, which a circumstance makes on the mind, will vary




82                    eCONCEPTION.
considerably with the degree of a person's taste; but I am
inclined to think, that a man of lively conceptions, who paints
from these, while his mind is yet warm from the original scene,
can hardly fail to succeed in descriptive composition.
Observations applicable both to conception and imagination.The facts and observations which I have now mentioned, are
applicable to conception as distinguished from imagination.
The two powers, however, are very nearly allied; and are frequently so blended, that it is difficult to say, to which of the
two some particular operations of the mind are to be referred.
There are also many general facts which hold equally with
respect to both. The observations which follow, if they are
well founded, are of this number, and might have been introduced with equal propriety under either article. I mention
them here, as I shall have occasion to refer to them in the
course of the following work, in treating of some subjects,
which will naturally occur to our examination, before we have
another opportunity of considering this part of our constitution.
On the belief which attends the conception or imagination.It is a common, I believe I may say a universal, doctrine
among logicians, that conception (or imagination, which is often
used as synonymous with it) is attended with no belief of the
existence of its object.  "Perception," says Dr. Reid, "is
attended with a belief of the present existence of its object;
memory, with a belief of its past existence; but imagination is
attended with no belief at all; and was therefore called by the
schoolmen, apprehensio simplex."
It is with great diffidence, that I presume to call in question
a principle, which has been so generally received; yet there
are several circumstances which lead me to doubt of it. If it
were a specifical distinction between perception and imagination, that the former is always attended with belief, and the latter with none; then the more lively our imagination were of
any object, and the more completely that object occupied the
attention, the less would we be apt to believe its existence; for
it is reasonable to think, that when any of our powers is
employed separately from  the rest, and there is nothing to




CONCEPTION.                        83
withdraw the attention from it, the laws which regulate its operation will be most obvious to our observation, and will be
most completely discriminated from those which are characteristical of the other powers of the mind.  So very different,
however, is the fact, that it is matter of common remark, that
when imagination is very lively, we are apt to ascribe to its
objects a real existence, as in the case of dreaming or of madness; and we may add, in the case of those who, in spite of
their own general belief of the absurdity of the vulgar stories
of apparitions, dare not trust themselves alone with their own
imaginations. in the dark.  That imagination is in these instances attended with belief, we have all the evidence that the
nature of the thing admits of; for we feel and act in the same
manner as we should do, if we believed that the objects of our
attention were real; which is the only proof that metaphysicians produce, or can produce, of the belief which accompanies
perception.
In these cases, the fact that I wish to establish is so striking
that it has never been called in question; but in most cases, the
impression which the objects of imagination make on the mind
is so momentary, and is so immediately corrected by the surrounding objects of perception, that it has not time to influence
our conduct.  Hence we are apt to conclude, on a superficial
view, that imagination is attended with no belief; and the conclusion is surely just in most cases, if by belief we mean a permanent conviction which influences our conduct.  But if the
word be used in the strict logical sense, I am inclined to think,
after the most careful attention to what I experience in myself,
that the exercise both of conception and imagination is always
accompanied with a belief that their objects exist.*
* One of the arguments which I have stated, in opposition to the common doctrine concerning imagination, appears to me to be authorized, in
some measure, by the following reasoning of Dr. Reid's on a different subject. In considering those sudden bursts of passion, which lead us to
wreak our vengeance upon inanimate objects, he endeavors to show, that
we have, in such cases, a momentary belief that the object is alive. "I
confess," says he, "it seems to be impossible, that there should be resent



84                       42  CODNCEPTION.
WVhen a painter conceives the face and figure of an absent
friend, in order to draw his picture, he believes for the moment
that his friend is before him.  The belief, indeed, is only momentary; for it is extremely difficult, in our waking hours, to
keep up a steady and undivided attention to any object we conceive or imagine; and as soon as the conception or the imagination is over, the belief which attended it is at an end. We
find that we can recall and dismiss the objects of these powers at
pleasure; and therefore we learn to consider them as creations
of the mind, which have no separate and independent existence.
The compatibility of such a speculative disbelief, as I have
here supposed, of the existence of an object, with a contrary momentary belief, may perhaps be more readily admitted, if the,
following experiment be considered with attention.
ment against a thing, which, at that very moment, is considered as inanimate; and consequently incapable either of intending hurt, or of being
punished. There must, therefore, I conceive, be some momentary notion
or conception, that the object of our' resentment is capable of punishment."
In another passage, the same author remarks, that " men may be governed, in their practice, by a belief, which, in speculation, they reject."
" I knew a man," says he, "rwho was as much convinced as any man,
of the folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark: yet he could
not sleep in a room alone, nor go alone into a room in the dark. Can it
be said, that his fear did not imply a belief of danger? This is impossible. Yet his philosophy convinced him, that he was in no more danger
in the dark when alone, than with company. Here an unreasonable belief,
which was merely a prejudice of the nursery, stuck so fast as to govern his
conduct, in opposition to his speculative belief as a philosopher and a man
of sense.
"There are few persons who can look down from the battlement of a
very high tower withiout fear; while their reason convinces them, that they
are in no more danger than when standing upon the ground."
These facts are easily explicable, on the supposition, that whenever the
objects of imagination engross the attention wholly, (which they may do,
in opposition to any speculative opinion with respect to their non-existence,) they produce a temporary belief of their reality. Indeed, in the
last passage, Dr. Reid seems to admit this to be the case; for, to say that
a man who has a dread of apparitions, believes himself to be in danger
when left alone in the dark, is to say, in other words, that he believes (for
the time) that the objects of his imagination are real.




CONCEPTION.                      85
Suppose a lighted candle to be so placed before a concave
mirror, that the image of the flame may be seen between the
mirror and the eye of the observer.  In this case, a person who
is acquainted with the principles of optics, or who has seen the
axperiment made before, has so strong a speculative conviction
)f the non-existence of the object in that place where he sees its
nmage, that he would not hesitate to put his finger to the apparent flame, without any apprehension of injury.
Suppose, however, that in such a case it were possible for the
observer to banish completely from his thoughts all the circumstances of the experiment, and to confine his attention wholly
to -is perception; would he not believe the image to be a reality? and would he not expect the same consequences from
touching it, as fiom touching a real body in a state of inflammation?  If' these questions be answered in the affirmative, it will
follow; that the effect of the perception, while it engages the attention completely to itself is to produce belief; and that the
speculative disbelief, according to which our conduct in ordinary
cases is regulated, is the result of a recollection of the various
circumstances with which the experiment is accompanied.
If, in such a case as I have now supposed, the appearance
exhibited to us is of such a nature as to threaten us with any
immediate danger, the effect is the same as if we were to banish
from our thoughts the circumstances of the experiment, and to
limit our attention solely to what we perceive: for here the belief, which is the first effect of the perception, alarms our fears,
and influences our conduct, before reflection has time to operate. In a very ingenious optical deception, which was lately
exhibited in this city, the image of a flower was presented to
the spectator; and when he was about to lay hold of it with his
hand, a stroke was aimed at him by the image of a dagger. If
a person who has seen this experiment is askedl, in his cooler
moments, whether or not he believes the dagger which he saw
to be real, he will readily answer in the negative; and yet the
accurate statement of the fact undoubtedly is, that the first and
the proper effect of the perception is belief; and that the disbhlief he feels is the effect of subsequent reflection.
^




86                      CONCEPTION.
The speculative disbelief which we feel with respect to the
illusions of imagination, I conceive to be analogous to our speculative disbelief of the existence of the object exhibited to the
eye in this optical deception; as our belief that the illusions of
imagination are real, while that faculty occupied the mind exclusively, is analogous to the belief produced by the optical
deception while the attention is limited to our perception, and is
withdrawn from the circumstances in which the experiment is
made.
Orn the belief which attends perception. - These observations
lead me to take notice of a circumstance with respect to the belief accompanying perception, which it appears to me necessary
to state, in order to render Dr. Reid's doctrine on that subject
completely satisfactory.  He has shown, that certain sensations
are, by a law of our nature, accompanied with an irresistible
belief of the existence of certain qualities of external objects.
But this law extends no further than to the present existence
of the quality; that is, to its existence while we feel the corresponding sensation.  Whence is it then, that we ascribe to the
quality an existence independent of our perception? I apprehend we learn to do this by experience alone. WVe find that
we cannot, as in the case of imagination, dismiss or recall the
perception of an external object. If I open my eyes, I cannot
prevent myself from seeing the prospect which is before me. I
learn, therefore, to ascribe to the objects of my senses, not only
an existence at the time I perceive them, but an independent
and a permanent existence.
In sleep and madness, imagination is fully believed. - It is a
strong confirmation of this doctrine, that in sleep, when (as I
shall endeavor afterwards to show) the influence of the will
over the train of our thoughts is suspended, and when, of consequence, the time of their continuance in the mind is not regulated by us, we ascribe to the objects of imagination an independent and permanent existence, as we do when awake to the
objects of perception.  The same thing happens in those kinds of
madness, in which a particular idea takes possession of the attention, and occupies it to the exclusion of every thing else. Indeed,




CONCEPTION.                       87
madness seems in many cases to arise entirely from a suspension
of the influence of the will over the succession of our thoughts;
in consequence of which, the objects of imagination appear to
have an existence independent of our volition; and are therefore, agreeably to the foregoing doctrine, mistaken for realities.
Numberless other illustrations of the same general fact occur
to me; but the following is, I think, one of the most striking. I
mention it in preference to the rest, as it appears to me to connect the doctrine in question with some principles which are
now universally admitted among philosophers.
Office of conception in vision. - The distinction between the
original and the acquired perceptions of sight, is familiarly
known to every one who has the slightest acquaintance with the
elements of optics. That this sense, prior to experience, conveys to us the notion of extension in two dimensions only, and
that it gives us no information concerning the distances at which
objects are placed from the eye, are propositions which nobody,
I presume, in the present state of science, will be disposed to
controvert. In what manner we are enabled, by a comparison
between the perceptions of sight and those of touch, to extend
the province of the former sense to a variety of qualities originally perceived by the latter sense only, optical writers have
explained at great length; but it is not necessary for my present purpose to enter into any particular details with respect to
their reasonings on the subject. It is sufficient for me to remark, that, according to the received doctrine, the original perceptions of sight become, in consequence of experience, signs of
the tangible qualities of external objects, and of the distances at
which they are placed from the organ; and that, although the
knowledge we obtain, in this manner, of these qualities and distances, seems, from early and constant habits, to be an instantaneous perception; yet, in many cases, it implies an exercise of
the judgment, being founded on a comparison of a variety of
different circumstances.'*
* [See note to page 50, respecting the perception of distance by the eye.
d HI a sphere of one uniform color be set before me," says Dr. Reid, "it




88                       oONCEiPTION.
From these principles, it is an obvious consequence, that the
knowledge we obtain, by the eye, of the tangible qualities of
bodies, involves the exercise of conception, according to the
definition of that power which has already been given. In
ordinary discourse, indeed, we ascribe this knowledge, on
account of the instantaneousness with which it is obtained, to
the power of perception; but if the common doctrine on the
subject be just, it is the result of a complex operation of the
mind; comprehending, first, the perception of those qualities,
which are the proper and original objects of sight; and,
secondly, the  conception of those tangible qualities of which
the original perceptions of sight are found from experience to
be the signs. The notions, therefore, we form, by means of the
eye, of the tangible qualities of bodies, and of the distances of
these objects from  the organ, are mere conceptions; strongly,
and indeed indissolubly, associated, by early and constant habit,
with the original perception of sight.
When we open our eyes on a magnificent prospect, the
various distances at which all its different parts are placed
from the eye, and the immense extent of the whole scene
before us, seem to be perceived as immediately, and as instantaneously, by the mind, as the colored surface which is painted
on the retina.  The truth, however, unquestionably is, that this
variety of distance, and this immensity of extent, are not objects
of sense, but of conception; and the notions we form  of them
when our eyes are open, differ from those we should form of
is certain that, by the original power of sight, I could not perceive it to be
a sphere and to have three dimensions [length, breadth, and thickness].
The eye originally could perceive only two dimensions, [length and
breadth,] and a gradual variation of color on the different sides of the object. It is experience that teaches me that the variation of color is an effect
of spherical convexity, and of the distribution of light and shade. A
sphere may be painted upon a plane so exactly as to be taken for a real
sphere, when the eye is at a proper distance and in the proper point of
view. The variation of color exhibited to the eye by the painter's art is
the same which nature exhibits by the different degrees of light falling upon the convex surface of a sphere."]




CONCEPTION.                      89
them with our eyes shut only in this, that they are kept steadily in the view of the mind, by being strongly associated with
the sensations of color, and with the original perceptions of
sight. This observation will be the more readily admitted, if it
be considered, that, by a skilful imitation of a natural landscape,
in a common show-box, the mind may be led to form the same
notions of variety of distance, and even of immense extent, as
if the original scene were presented to our senses: and that,
although, in this case, we have a speculative conviction that the
sphere of our vision only extends to a few inches; yet so
strong is the association between the original perceptions of
sight, and the conceptions which they habitually produce, that
it is not possible for us, by an effort of our will, to prevent
these conceptions from taking place.
From these observations it appears, that, when the conceptions of the mind are rendered steady and permanent, by being
strongly associated with any sensible impression, they command
our belief no less than our actual perceptions; and, therefore,
if it were possible for us, with our eyes shut, to keep up, for a
length of time, the conception of any sensible object, we should,
as long as this effort continued, believe that the object was
present to our senses.
Various phenomena explained upon the-se principles. - It appears to me to be no slight confirmation of these remarks, that
although, in the dark, the illusions of imagination are much
more liable to be mistaken for realities, than when their momentary effects on the belief are continually checked and corrected
by the objects which the light of day presents to our perceptions; yet, even total darkness is not so alarming to a person impressed with the vulgar stories of apparitions, as a faint and
doubtful twilight, which affords to the conceptions an opportunity
of fixing and prolonging their existence, by attaching themselves
to something which is obscurely exhibited to the eye. In like
manner, when we look through a fog, we are frequently apt to
mistake a crow for a man; and the conception we have, upon
such an occasion, of the human figure, is much more distinct
and much more steady, than it would be possible for us to form,
8 *




90                        CONCEPTION.
if we had no sensible object before us; insomuch that when, on
a more attentive observation, the Crow shrinks to its own dimensions, we find it impossible, by any effort, to conjure up the
phantom which a moment before we seemed to perceive.
If these observations are admitted, thze effects which exhibitions of fictitious distress produce on the mind, will appear less
wonderful, than they are supposed to be.  During the representation of a tragedy, I acknowledge, that we have a general conviction that the whole is a fiction; but, I believe, it will be
found, that the violent emotions which are sometimes produced
by the distresses of the stage, take their rise, in most cases,
from a momentary belief, that the distresses are real.  I say, in
most cases; because, I acknowledge, that, independently of any
such belief, there is something contagious in a faithful expression of any of the passions.
The emotions produced by tragedy are, upon this supposition,
somewhat analogous to the dread we feel when we look down
from the battlement of a tower.*  In both cases, we have a gen-: With respect to the dread which we feel in looking down from the
battlement of a tower, it is curious to remark the effects of habit in gradtally destroying it. The manner in which habit operates in this case,
seems to be by giving us a command over our thoughts, so as to enable us
to withdraw our attention from the precipice before us, and direct it to any
other object at pleasure. It is thus that the mason and the sailor not only
can take precautions for their own safety, but remain completely masters
of themselves, in situations where other men, engrossed with their imaginary danger, would experience a total suspension of their faculties. Any
strong passion which occupies the mind, produces, for the moment, the
same effect with habit. A person alarmed with the apprehension of fire,
has been known to escape from the top of a house by a path, which, at
another time, he would have considered as impracticable; and soldiers, in
mounting a breach, are said to have sometimes found their way to the
enemy, by a route which appeared inaccessible after their violent passions
had subsided.
From the principles which I have endeavored to establish in this chapter, may be derived a simple, and I think, a satisfactory, explanation of the
manner in which superstition, considered in contradistinction to genuine
religion, operates on the mind. The gloomy phantoms which she presents
to her vio ims in their early infancy; and which consist chiefly of images




CONCEPTION.                            91
eral conviction, that there is no ground for the feelings we experience; but the momentary influences of imagination are so
powerful as to produce these feelings, before reflection has time
to come to our relief.
or representations of spectres and demons, and of invisible scenes of horror, produce their effect, not through the medium of reasoning and judgment, but of the powers of conception and imagination. No argument is
alleged to prove their existence; but strong and lively notions of them are
conveyed; and, in proportion as this is done, the belief of them becomes
steady and habitual. It is even sufficient in many cases, to resist all the
force of argument to the contrary, or, if it yields to it during the bustle of
business and the light of day, its influence returns in the hours of solitude
and darkness. When the mind, too, is weakened by disease, or the infirmities of age, and when the attention ceases to be occupied with external objects, the thoughts are apt to revert to their first channel, and to dwell on
the conceptions to which they were accustomed in the nursery. "Let
custom," says Locke, "from  the very childhood, have joined figure and
shape to the idea of God, and what absurdities will that mind be liable to
about Deity 1 " A person of a lively but somewhat gloomy imagination
once aclnowledged to me, that he could trace some of his superstitious
impressions with respect to the Deity, to the stern aspect of a judge whom
he had seen, when a school-boy, pronounce sentence of death upon a criminal. Hence it would appear, that he who has the power of modelling the
habitual conceptions of an infant mind, is, in a great measure the arbiter
of its future happiness or misery. By guarding against the spectres conjured up by superstitious weakness, and presenting to it only images of
what is good, lovely, and happy, he may secure through life a perpetual
sunshine to the. soul, and may perhaps make some provision against the
physical evils to which humanity is exposed. Even in those awful diseases which disturb the exercise of reason, I am apt to think, that the
complexion of madness, in point of gayety or of despondency, depends
much on the nature of our first conceptions: and it would surely be no
inconsiderable addition to the comfort of any individual to know, that some
provision had been made by the tender care of his first instructors, to
lighten the pressure of this greatest of all earthly calamities, if it ever
should be his lot to bear it. In truth, the only effectual antidote against
superstitious weakness is to inspire the mind with just and elevated notions of the administration of the universe; for we may rest assured, that
religion, in one form or another, is the natural and spontaneous growth of
man's intellectual and moral constitution; and the only question in the
case of individuals is, whether, under the regulation of an enlightened
understanding, it is to prove the best solace of life and the surest support




92                    ABSTRACTION,
CHAPTE i IV.
OF ABSTRACTION.
I. General Observations on this Faculty of the Mind.
The origin of general terms. - The origin of appellatives, or,
in other words, the origin of those classes of objects which, in
the schools, are called genera and species, has been considered
by some philosophers as one of the most difficult problems in
metaphysics.  The account of it which is given by Mr. Smith,
in his dissertation on the Origin of Languages, appears to me
to be equally simple and satisfactory.
" The assignation," says he, " of particular names, to denote
particular objects; that is, the institution of nouns substantive;
would probably be one of the first steps towards the formation
of language. The particular cave, whose covering sheltered the
savage from the weather; the particular tree, whose fruit relieved his hunger; the particular fountain, whose water allayed
his thirst; would first be denominated by the words, cave, tree,
fountain; or by whatever other appellations he might think
proper, in that primitive jargon, to mark them. Afterwards,
when the more enlarged experience of this savage had led him
to observe, and his necessary occasions obliged him  to make
mention of, other caves, and other trees, and other fountains;
he would naturally bestow, upon each of those new objects, the
same name by which he had been accustomed to express the
similar object he was first acquainted with. And thus, those
of virtue, or to be converted, by the influence of prejudices and a diseased
imagination, into a source of imbecility, inconsistency, and suffering.




ABlSTIACTION.                     93
-words, which were originally the proper names of individuals,
would each of them  insensibly become the common name of a
multitude."
" It is this application," he continues, " of the name of an individual to a great number of objects, whose resemblance naturally recalls the idea of that individual, and of the name which
expresses it, that seems originally to have given occasion to the
formation of those classes, and assortments, which, in the schools,
are called genera and species; and of which the ingenious and
eloquent Rousseau finds himself so much at a loss to account
for the origin. What constitutes a species, is merely a number
of objects, bearing a certain degree of resemblance to one another; and, on that account, denominated by a single appellation, which may be applied to express any one of them."
This view of the natural progress of the mind, in forming
classifications of external objects, receives some illustration
from a fact mentioned by Captain Cook, in his account of a
small island called Wateeoo, which he visited in sailing from
New Zealand to the Friendly Islands. 6' The inhabitants," says
he, " were afraid to come near our cows and horses, nor did they
form the least conception of their nature. But the sheep and
goats did not surpass the limits of their ideas; for they gave us
to understand that they knew them to be birds. It will appear,"
he adds, "rather incredible, that human ignorance could ever
make so strong a mistake, there not being the most distant similitude between a sheep or goat, and any winged animal. But
these people seemed to know nothing of the existence of any
other land animals, besides hogs, dogs, and birds. Our sheep
and goats, they could see, were very different creatures from
the two first, and therefore they inferred that they must belong
to the latter class, in which they knew that there is a considerable variety of species." I would add to Cook's very judicious
remarks, that the mistake of these islanders probably did not
arise from their considering a sheep or a goat as bearing a
more striking resemblance to a bird, than to the two classes of
quadrupeds with which they were acquainted; but to the want
of a generic word, such as quadruped, comprehending these two




94                    ABSTRACTIONo
species; which men in their situation would no more be led to
form, than a person who had only seen one individual of each
species, would think of an appellative to express both, instead
of applying a proper name to each. In consequence of the
variety of birds, it appears, that they had a generic name comprehending all of them, to which it was not unnatural for them
to refer any new animal they met with.
The process of abstraction explained. -The classification of
different objects supposes a power of attending to some of their
qualities or attributes, without attending to the rest; for no two
objects are to be found without some specific difference; and no
assortment or arrangement can be formed among things not
perfectly alike, but by losing sight of their distinguishing peculiarities, and limiting the attention to those attributes which belong to them in common. Indeed, without this power of attending separately to things which our senses present to us in a state
of union, we never could have had any idea of nzumber; for, before we can consider different objects as forming a multitude, it
is necessary that we should be able to apply to all of them one
common name; or, in other words, that we should reduce them
all to the same genus. The various objects, for example, animate and inanimate, which are, at this moment before me, I may
class and number in a variety of different ways, according to the
view of them that I choose to take. I may reckon successively
the number of sheep, of cows, of horses, of elms, of oaks, of
beeches; or I may first reckon the number of animals, and then
the number of trees; or I may first reckon the number of all
the organized substances which my senses present to me. But
whatever be the principle on which my classification proceeds,
it is evident that the objects numbered together must be considered in those respects only in which they agree with each other;
and that, if I had no power of separating the combinations of
sense, I never could have conceived them as forming a plurality.
This power of considering certain qualities or attributes of an
object apart from the rest; or, as I would rather choose to define
it, the power which the understanding has of separating the combinations which are presented to it, is distinguished by logicians




ABSTRACTION.                      95
by the name of abstraction. It has been supposed, by some philosophers, (with what probability I shall not now inquire,) to
form the characteristical attribute of a rational nature. That it
is one of the most important of all our faculties, and very intimnately connected with the exercise of our reasoning powers, is
beyond dispute.
Usefulness of the power of abstraction. - The subserviency of
abstraction to the power of reasoning, and also its subserviency
to the exertions of a poetical or creative imagination, shall be
afterwards fully illustrated.  At present, it is sufficient for my
purpose to remark, that as abstraction is the groundwork of
classification, without this faculty of the mind we should have
been perfectly incapable of general speculation, and all our
knowledge must necessarily have been limited to individuals;
and that some of the most useful branches of science, particularly the different branches of mathematics, in which the very
subjects of our reasoning are abstractions of the understanding,
could never have possibly had an existence.  With respect to
the subserviency of this faculty to poetical imagination, it is no
less obvious, that, as the poet is supplied with all his materials
by experience, and as his province is limited to combine and
modify things which really exist, so as to produce new wholes
of his own; so, every exertion which he thus makes of his powers, presupposes the exercise of abstraction in decomposing and
separating actual combinations. And it was on this account
that, in the chapter on conception, I was led to make a distinction between that faculty, which is evidently simple and uncompounded, and the power of imagination, which (at least in the
sense in which I employ the word in these inquiries) is the result of a combination of various other powers.
I have introduced these remarks, in order to point out a difference between the abstractions which are subservient to reasoning, and those which are subservient to imagination.  And,
if I am not mistaken, it is a distinction which has not been sufficiently attended to by some writers of eminence.  In every
instance in which imagination is employed in forming new
wholes, by decompounding and combining the conceptions of




96                     ABSTRACTIO.o
sense, it is evidently necessary that the poet or the painter
should be able to state to himself the circumstances abstracted,
as separate objects of conception.  But this is by no means requisite in every case in which abstraction is subservient to the
power of reasoning; for it frequently happens, that we can reason concerning one quality or property of an object abstracted
from the rest, while, at the same time, we find it impossible to conceive it separately. Thus, I can reason concerning extension
and figure, without any reference to color; although it may be
doubted, if a person possessed of sight can make extension and
figure steady objects of conception, without connecting with
them one color or another.  Nor is this always owing (as it is
in the instance now mentioned) merely to the association of
ideas; for there are cases, in which we can reason concerning
things separately, which it is impossible for us to suppose any
being so constituted as to conceive apart. Thus, we can reason
concerning length, abstracted from  any other dimension; although, surely, no understanding can make length, without
breadth, an object of conception.  And, by the way, this leads
me to take notice of an error, which mathematical teachers are
apt to commit, in explaining the first principles of geometry.
By dwelling long on Euclid's first definitions, they lead the student to suppose that they relate to notions which are extremely
mysterious; and to strain his powers in fruitless attempts to
conceive, what cannot possibly be made an object of conception.
If these definitions were omitted, or very slightly touched upon,
and the attention at once directed to geometrical reasonings, the
student would immediately perceive, that although the lines in
the diagrams are really extended in two dimensions, yet that
the demonstrations relate only to one of them; and that the human understanding has the faculty of reasoning concerning
things separately, which are always presented to us, both by
our powers of perception and conception, in a state of union.
Such abstractions, in truth, are familiar to the most illiterate of
mankind; and it is in this very way that they are insensibly
formed.  When a tradesman speaks of the length of a room, in
contradistinction to its breadth; or when he speaks of the 4is



&BSTRACTIONe                          97
tance between any two objects, he forms exactly the same abstraction which is referred to by Euclid in his second definition.
and which most of his commentators have thought it necessary
to illustrate by prolix metaphysical disquisitions.
Abstraction is possible wit/hout generalization. —I shall only
observe further with respect to the nature and province of' this
faculty of the mind, that notwithstanding its essential subserviency to every act of classification, yet it might have been exercised, although we had only been acquainted with one individual object. Although, for example, we had never seen but one
rose, we might still have been able to attend to its color, without thinking of its other properties. This has led some philosophers to suppose, that another faculty besides abstraction, to
which they have given the name of generalization, is necessary
to account for the formation of genera and species; and they
have endeavored to show, that although generalization without
abstraction is impossible, yet that we might have been so formed
as to be able to abstract without being capable of generalizing.
The grounds of this opinion it is not necessary for me to examine, for any of the purposes which I have at present in view.'
II. Of the Objects of our Thoughts, when we employ general
terms..Further consideration of the ideal theory. -  From  the
* The words abstraction and generalization are commonly, but improperly, used as synonymous: and the same inaccuracy is frequently committed in speaking of abstract or general ideas, as if the two expressions were
convertible. A person who had never seen but one rose (it has been already remarked) might yet have been able to consider its color apart from
its other qualities; and therefore, (to express myself in conformity to common language,) there may be such a thing as an idea which is at once abstract and particular. After having perceived this quality as belonging to
a variety of individuals, we can consider it without reference to any of them,
and thus form the notion of redness or whiteness in general, which may be
called a general abstract idea. These words abstract and general, therefore,
when applied to ideas, are as completely distinct from each other as any
two words to be found in the language.
It is indeed true, that the formation of every general notion presupposes
abstraction; but it is surely improper on this account, to call a general
term an abstract term, or a general idea an abstract idea.
9




98                     ABSTRACTION.
account which was given in a former chapter of th,omm, n
theories of perception, it appears to have been a prevailing
opinion among philosophers, that the qualities of external objects are perceived by means of images or species transmitted
to the mind by the organs of sense; an opinion of which I already endeavored to trace the origin, from certain natural prejudices suggested by the phenomena of the material world.  The
samle train of thinking has led them to suppose, that, in the case
of all our other intellectual operations, there exist in the mind
certain ideas distinct from the mind itself; and that these ideas
are the objects about which our thoughts are employed.  When
I recollect, for example, the appearance of an absent friend, it
is supposed that the immediate object of my thoughts is an idea
of my friend, which I at first received by my senses, and which
I have been enabled to retain in the mind by the faculty of
memory.  When I form to myself any imaginary combination
by an effort of poetical invention, it is supposed, in like manner,
that the parts which I combine, existed previously in the mind,
and furnish the materials on which it is the province of imagination to operate.  It is to Dr. Reid we owe the important remark, that all these notions are wholly hypothetical; that it is
impossible to produce a shadow of evidence in support of them;
and that, even although we were to admit their truth, they would
noot render the phenomena in question more intelligible.  According to his principles, therefore, we have no ground for supposing, that, in any one operation of the mind, there exists in it
an object distinct from the mind itself; and all the common expressions which involve such a supposition, are to be considered
as unmeaning circumlocutions, which serve only to disguise
from us the real history of the intellectual phenomena.*
s In order to prevent misapprehensions of Dr. Reid's meaning in his rea.
sonings against the ideal theory, it may be necessary to explain, a little
more full) than I have done in the text, in what sense he calls in question
the existence of ideas; for the meaning which the word is employed to convey in popular discourse, differs widely from that which is annexed to it
by the philosophers whose opinion lie controverts. This explanation I
shall. give in his owin words: -




ABSTRACTION.                        99
"We are at a loss to know," says this excellent philosopher,
"6how we perceive distant objects; how  we remember things
past; how we imagine things that have no existence.  Ideas in
the mind seem to account for all these operations; they are all
by the means of ideas reduced to one operation; to a kind of
feeling, or immediate perception of things, present, and in contact with the percipient; and feeling is an operation so familiar,
that we think it needs no explanation, but may serve to explain
other operations.
"But this feeling, or immediate perception, is as difficult to
be comprehended, as the things which we pretend to explain by
it.  Two things may be in contact, without any feeling of perception; there must, therefore, be in the percipient, a power to
feel, or to perceive.  How this power is produced, and how it
operates, is quite beyond the reach of our knowledge. As little
can we know, whether this power must be limited to things
present, and in contact with us.  Neither can any man pretend
to prove, that the Being who gave us the power to perceive
"In popular language, idea signifies the same thing as conception, apprehension, notion. To have an idea of any thing, is to conceive it. To
have a distinct idea, is to conceive it distinctly. To have no idea of it, is
not to conceive it at all. When the word idea is taken in this popular
sense, no man can possibly doubt whether he has ideas.
"According to the philosophical meaning of the word idea, it does not
signify that act of the mind which we call thought, or conception, but some
object of thought. Of these objects of thought called ideas, different sects
of philosophers have given very different accounts.
" Some have held them to be self-existent; others, to be in the divine
mind; others, in our own minds; and others, in the brain, or sensorium."
-p. 213.
I don't know of any author who, prior to Dr. Reid, has expressed himself on this subject with so much justness and precision as Father Buffier,
in the following passage of his Treatise on First Truths.
"If we confine ourselves to what is intelligible in our observations on
Ideas, we will say, they are nothing but mere modifications of the mind as
a thinking being. They are called ideas with regard to the object represented; and perception, with regard to the faculty representing. It is manifest that our ideas, considered in this sense, are not more distinguished
from our understanding than motion is from a body moved."




100                   ABSTRACTION.
things present, may not give us the power to perceive things
distant, to remember things past, and to conceive things that
never existed."
What ideas correspond to general termns. - As in all the ancient metaphysical systems it was taken for granted, (probably
from the analogy of our external perceptions,) that every exertion of thought implies the existence of an object distinct from
the thinking being; it naturally occurred, as a very curious
question, What is the immediate object of our attention, when
we are engaged in any general speculation; or, in other words,
what is the nature of the idea corresponding to a general term?
When I think of any particular object which I have formerly
perceived, such as a particular friend, a particular tree, or a
particular mountain, I can comprehend what is meant by a picture or representation of such objects: and therefore the explanation given by the ideal theory of that act of the mind which
we formerly called conception, if not perfectly satisfactory, is at
least not wholly unintelligible. But what account shall we give
upon the principles of this theory, of the objects of' my thoughts,
when I employ the words friend, tree, mountain, as generic
terms? For, that all the things I have ever perceived are individuals; and consequently, that the ideas denoted by general
words, (if such- ideas exist,) are not copied from any originals
that have fallen under my observation, is not only self-evident,
but almost an identical proposition.
Opinions of the ancients on t]his subject. - In answer to this
question, the Platonists, and, at a still earlier period, the Pythagoreans taught, that although these universal ideas are not
copied from any objects perceivable by sense, yet that they
have an existence independent of the human mind, and are no
more to be confounded with the understanding, of which they
are the proper objects, than material things are to be confounded
with our powers of external perception; that as all the individuals which compose a genus must possess something in common;
and as it is in consequence of this that they belong -to that genus, and are distinguishable by the same name. this common
thing forms the essence of each, and is the object of the under



ABSTRACTION.                        101
standing, wnen we reason concerning the genus. -'They maintained also, that this common essence,* notwithstanding its inseparable union with a multitude of different individuals, is, in itself,
one and indivisible.
On most of these points, the philosophy of Aristotle seems to
have coincided very nearly with that of Plato. The language,
however, which these philosophers employed on this subject was
different, and gave to their doctrines the appearance of a wider
diversity than probably existed between their opinions.  While
Plato was led, by his passion for the marvellous and the mysterious, to insist on the incomprehensible union of the same idea
or essence with a number of individuals, without multiplication
or division; t Aristotle, more cautious, and aiming at greater
perspicuity, contented himself with saying, that all individuals
are composed of matter and form; and that it is in consequence
of possessing a common form, that different individuals belong
to the same genus.  But they both agreed, that as the matter,
or the individual natures, of objects were perceived by sense;
so the general idea, or essence, or form, was perceived by the
intellect; and that, as the attention of the vulgar was chiefly
engrossed with the former, so the latter furnished to the philosopher the materials of his speculations.
The chief difference between the opinions of Plato and Aristotle on the subject of ideas, related to the mode of their existence. That the matter of which all things are made, existed
from  eternity, was a principle which both admitted; but Plato
* In this very imperfect sketch of the opinions of the ancients concerning universals, I have substituted, instead of the word idea, the word
essence, as better fitted to convey to a modern reader the true import of
Plato's expressions. The word essentia is said to have been first employed
by Cicero; and it was afterwards adopted by the schoolmen, in the same
sense in which the Platonists used the word idea.
t " The idea of a thing," says Plato, " is that which makes one of the
many; which, preserving the unity and integrity of its own nature, runs
through and mixes with things infinite in number; and yet, however multiform it may appear, is always the same: so that by it we find out and
discriminate the thing, whatever shapes it may assume, and under whatever disguise it may conceal itself."
9*




102                    ABSTRACTION.
further taught, that of every species of things, there is an idea
of form which also existed from eternity; and that this idea is
the exemplar, or model, according to which the individtuals of the
species were made; whereas Aristotle held, that, although matter may exist without form, yet that forms could not exist without matter.
Opinions of the philosophers of the Middle Ages. - As it is
not my object, in this work, to enter into historical details, any
further than is necessary for illustrating the subjects of which I
treat, I shall pass over the various attempts which were made
by the Eclectic philosophers, (a sect which arose at Alexandria,
about the beginning of the third century,) to reconcile the doctrines of Plato and Aristotle, concerning ideas. The endless
difficulties, it would appear, to which their speculations led, induced, at last, the more cautious and modest inquirers to banish
them entirely fromn Dialectics, and to content themselves with
studying the arrangements or classifications of universals, which
the ancient philosophers had made, without engaging in any
metaphysical disquisitions concerning their nature. Porphyry,
in particular, although he tells us that he has speculated much
on this subject, yet, in his Introduction to Aristotle's Categories, waives the consideration of it as obscure and intricate. On
such questions as these: "Whether genera and species exist in
nature, or are only conceptions of the human mind; and (on
the supposition that they exist in nature) whether they are inherent in the objects of sense, or disjoined from them?" he de.dines giving any determination.
This passage in Porphyry's Introduction is an object of curiosity; as by a singular concurrence of circumstances, it served
to perpetuate the memory of a controversy from which it was
the author's intention to divert the inquiries of his readers.
Amidst the disorders produced by the irruptions of the barbarians, the knowledge of the Greek tongue was almost entirely
lost; and the studies of philosophers were confined to Latin
versions of Aristotle's Dialectics, and Porphyry's Introduction
concerning the Categories.  With men who had a relish for such
disquisitions, it is probable that the passage already quoted fiom




ABSTRACTION.                     103
Porphyry, would have a tendency rather to excite than to damp
curiosity; and accordingly we have reason to believe, that the
controversy to which it relates continued, during the dark ages,
to form a favorite subject of discussion. The opinion which
was prevalent was, (to use the scholastic language of the times,)
that universals do not exist before things, nor after things, but in
things; that is, (if I may be allowed to attempt a commentary
upon expressions to which I do not pretend to be able to annex
very precise notions,) universal ideas have not (as Plato thought)
an existence separable from individual objects; and therefore
they could not have existed prior to them in the order of time;
nor yet, (according to the doctrine of the Stoics,) are they mere
conceptions of the mind, formed in consequence of an examination and comparison of particulars; but these ideas or forms
are from eternity united inseparably with that matter of which
things consist; or, as the Aristotelians sometimes express themselves, the forms of things are from eternity immersed in matter. The reader will, I hope, forgive me for entering into these
details, not only on account of their connection with the observations which are to follow; but as they relate to a controversy
which, for many ages, employed all the ingenuity and learning
in Europe; and which, therefore, however frivolous in itself,
deserves the attention of philosophers, as one of the most curious events which occur in the history of the human mind.
Such appears to have been the prevailing opinion concerning
the nature of universals, till the eleventh century; when a new
doctrine, or (as some authors think) a doctrine borrowed from
the school of Zeno, was proposed by Roscelinus; and soon after
very widely propagated over Europe by the abilities and eloquence of one of his scholars, the celebrated Peter Abelard.
According to these philosophers, there are no existences in nature corresponding to general terms; and the objects of our attention in all of our general speculations are not ideas, but
words.
In consequence of this new doctrine, the schoolmen gradually
formed themselves into two sects; one of which attached itself
to the opinions of Roscelinus and abelard, while the other ad



104             NOiMINALISM AND REALISM.
hered to the principles of Aristotle,  Of these sects, the former
are known in literary history by the name of the Nlominalists,
the latter, by that of the Realists.
As it is with the doctrine of the Nominalists that my own
opinion on this subject coincides, and as I propose to deduce
from it some consequences, which appear to me important, I
shall endeavor to state it as clearly and precisely as I am able,
pursuing, however, rather the train of my own thoughts, than
guided by the reasons of any particular author.
iThe doctrine of the Nominalists stated and defended. - I formerly explained in what manner the words, which, in the infancy
of language, were proper names, became gradually appellatives;
in consequence of which extension of their signification, they
would express, when applied to individuals, those qualities only
which are common to the whole genus.  Now, it is evident,
that, with respect to individuals of the same genus, there are
two classes of truths; the one, particular truths relating to each
individual apart, and deduced from a consideration of its peculiar and distinguishing properties; the other, general truths, deduced from  a consideration of their common qualities, and
equally applicable to all of them.  Such truths may be conveniently expressed by means of general terms; so as to form
propositions, comprehending under them  as many particular
truths, as there are individuals comprehended under the general
terms. It is further evident, that there are two wa.ys in which
such general truths may be obtained; either by fixing the attention
on one individual, in such ac manner that our reasoning may involve no circumstances beut those which are common to the whole
genus; or, (laying aside entirely the consideration of things,) by
means of the general terms with which language supplies us. In
either of these cases, our investigations must necessarily lead us
to general conclusions. In the first case, our attention being
limited to those circumstances, in which the subject of our reasoning resembles all other individuals of the same genus, whatever we demonstrate with respect to this subject must be true
of every other to which the same attributes belong. In the second ease, the subject of our reasoning being expressed by a




NOMINALISM  AND REALISM.                   105
generic word, which applies in common to a number of individuals, the conclusion we form must be as extensive in its application, as the name of the subject is in its meaning.  The former process is analogous to the practice of geometers, whi-, in
their most general reasonings, direct the attention to a particular diagram; the latter, to that of alyebraists, who carry on their
investigations by means of symbols.* In cases of this last sort,
it may frequently happen, from the association of ideas, that a
general word may recall some one individual to which it is applicable: but this is so far from being necessary to the accuracy of
our reasoning, that, excepting in some cases, in which it may
be useful to check us in the abuse of general terms, it always
has a tendency, more or less, to mislead us from the truth. As
the decision of a -judge must necessarily be impartial, when he
is only acquainted with the relations in which the parties stand
to each other, and when their names are supplied by letters of
the alphabet, or by the fictitious names of Titus, Caius, and
Sempronius; so, in every process of reasoning, the conclusion
we form is most likely to be logically just, when the attention is
confined solely to signs; and when the imagination does not
present to it those individual objects, which may warp the judgment by casual associations.
To these remarks, it may not be improper to add, that, although in our speculations concerning individuals, it is possible
to carry on processes of reasoning by fixing our attention on
the objects themselves, without the use of language; yet it is
also in our power to accomplish the same end, by substituting
* These two methods of obtaining general truths proceed on the same
principles, antl are, in fact, much less different fiom each other, than they
appear to be at first view. When we carry on a process of general reasoning by fixing our attention on a particular individual of a genus, this in- 
dividual is to be considered merely as a sign or representative, and differs
fiom any other sign only in this, that it bears a certain resemblance to the
things it denotes. The straight lines, which are employed in the fifth book
of Euclid to represent magnitudes in general, differ from the algebraical
expressions of these magnitudes in the same respects in which picturewriting differs from arbitrary characters.




106             NOMINALISMI AND REALISM.o
for these objects, words, or other arbitrary signs. The difference between the employment of language in such cases, aiid in
our speculations concerning classes or genera, is, that in the former case, the use of words is, in a great measure, optional;
whereas, in the latter, it is essentially necessary. This observation deserves our attention the more, that, if I am not mlistaken, it has contributed to mislead some of the Realists, by giving
rise to an idea, that the use of language, in thinking about universals, however convenient, is not more necessary than in
thinking about individuals.
According to this view of the process of the mind, in carrying
on general speculations, that IDEA, which the ancient philosophers considered as the essence of an individual, is nothing
more than the particular quality or qualities in which it resembles other individuals of the same class; and in consequence of
which, a generic name is applied to it.  It is the possession of
this quality, that entitles the individual to the generic appellation, and which, therefore, may be said to be essential to its
classification with that particular genus; but as all classifications are to a certain degree arbitrary, it does not necessarily
follow, that it is more essential to its existence as an individual,
than various other qualities which we are accustomed to regard
as accidental.  In other words, (if I may borrow thle language
of modern philosophy,) this quality forms its nominal, but not
its real essence.
These observations will, I trust, be sufficient for the satisfaction of such of my readers as are at all conversant with philosophical inquiries.  For the sake of others, to whom this disquisition may be new, I have added the following illustrations.
All reasoning may take place by symbols, or arbitrary signs,
alone. -I shall have occasion to examine, in another part of
my work, how far it is true, (as is commonly believed,) that
every process of reasoning may be resolved into a series of syllogisms; and to point out some limitations, with which, I apprehend, it is necessary that this opinion should be received. As
it would lead me, however, too far from my present subject, to
anticipate any part of the doctrine which I am then to propose,




NOMINALISM AND REALISM.                 107
1 shall, in the following remarks, proceed on the suppposition,
that the syllogistic theory is well founded; a supposition which,
although not strictly agreeable to truth, is yet sufficiently accurate for the use which I am now to miake of it. Take, then, any
step of one of Euclid's demonstrations; for example, the first
step of his first proposition, and state it in the form of a syllogism.  "All straight lines, drawn from the centre of a circle to
the circumference, are equal to one another."  " But A B, and
C D, are straight lines drawn from the centre of a circle to the
circumference.  Therefore, A B is equal to C D."  It is perfectly manifest, that, in order to feel the force of this conclusion,
it is by no means necessary, that I should annex any particular
notions to the letters A B, or C D, or that I should comprehend
what is meant by equality, or by a circle, its centre, and its circumference.  Every person must be satisfied, that the truth of
the conclusion is necessarily implied in that of the two premises,
whatever the particular things may be to which these premises
may relate. In the following syllogism, too: "All men must
die; Peter is a man; therefore Peter must die;" the evidence of the conclusion does not in the least depend on the particular notions I annex to the words man and Peter; but would
be equally complete, if we were to substitute, instead of them,
two letters of the alphabet, or any other insignificant characters.
1"All X's must die; Z is an X; therefore Z must die; " — is
a syllogism which forces the assent no less than the former.
It is further obvious, that this syllogism would be equally conclusive, if, instead of the word die, I were to substitute any
other verb that the language contains; and, that, in order to
perceive the justness of the inference, it is not even necessary
that I should understand its meaning.
In general, it might be easily shown, that all the rules of
logic with respect to syllogisms, might be demonstrated, without
having recourse to any thing but letters of the alphabet; in the
same manner, (and I may add, on the very same principles,) on
which the algebraist demonstrates, by means of these letters,
the various rules for transposing the terms of an equation.
From what has been said, it follows, that the assent we give




108             NOMINALISM3 AND REALISM.
to the conclusion of a syllogism does not result from any examination of the notions expressed by the different propositions of
which it is composed, but is an imunediate consequence of the
relations in which the words stand to each other.  The truth is,
that in every syllogism, the inference is only a particular instance of the general axiom, that whatever is true universally
of any sign, must also be true of every individual which that
sign can be employed to express. Admitting, therefore, that
every process of reasoning may be resolved into a series of syllogisms, it follows, that this operation of the mind furnishes no
proof of the existence of any thing corresponding to general
terms, distinct from the individuals to which these terms are
applicable.
These remarks, I am very sensible, do, by no means, exhaust
the subject; for there are various modes of reasoning, to which
the syllogistic theory does not apply. But, in all of them, without exception, it will be found on examination, that the evidence
of our conclusions appears immediately from the consideration
of the words in which the premises are expressed; without any
reference to the things which they denote. The imperfect account which is given of deductive evidence, in the received systems of logic, makes it impossible for me, in this place, to prosecute the subject any fulrther.
After all I have said on the use of language as an instrument
of reasoning, I can easily foresee a variety of objections, which
may occur to the doctrine I have been endeavoring to establish.
But without entering into a particular examination of these objections, I believe I may venture to affirm, that most, if not all,
of them take their rise from confounding reasoning, or deduction, properly so called, with certain other intellectual processes,
which it is necessary for us to employ in the investigation of
truth. That it is frequently of essential importance to us, in our
speculations, to withdraw our attention from words, and to direct
it to the things they denote, I am very ready to acknowledge.
All that I assert is, that, in so far as our speculations consist of
that process of the mind which is properly called reasoning, they
may be carried on by words alone; or, which comes to the same




NSOMINALISM AN'D REALIS3M.              109
thing, that every process of reasoning is perfectly analogouls to
an algebraical operation.  TYhat I mean by "the other intellectual processes distinct from reasoning, which it is necessary
for us sometimes to employ in the investigation of truth," will, I
hope, appear clearly from the following remarks.
iental operations subsidiary to reasoning. - In algebraical
investigations, it is well known, that the practical application of
a general expression is frequently limited by the conditions
which the hypothesis involves; and that, in consequence of a
want of attention to this circumstance, some mathematicians of
the first eminence have been led to adopt the most paradoxical
and absurd conclusions.  Without this cautious exercise of the
judgment in the interpretation of the algebraical language, no
dexterity in the use of the calculus will be sufficient to preserve
us firom error.  Even in algebra, therefore, there is an application of the intellectual powers perfectly distinct from any process of reasoning, and which is absolutely necessary for conducting us to the truth.
In Geometry, we are not liable to adopt the same paradoxical
conclusions, as in algebra; because the diagrams, to which our
attention is directed, serve as a continual check on our reasoning powers.  These diagrams exhibit, to our very senses, a variety of relations among the quantities under consideration,
which the language of algebra is too general to express; in consequence of which, we are not conscious of any effort of the
judgment distinct from a process of reasoning.  As every geometrical investigation, however, may be expressed algebraically,
it is manifest, that in geometry, as well as in algebra, there is an
exercise of the intellectual powers, distinct from the logical process; although, in the former science, it is rendered so easy, by
the use of diagrams, as to escape our attention.
The same source of error and of absurdity, which exists in
algebra, is to be found, in a much greater degree, in the other
branches of knowledge.  Abstracting entirely from the ambiguity of language, and supposing also our reasonings to be logically accurate, it would still be necessary for us, from time to
time, in all our speculations, to lay aside the use of words, and to
10




110              NOMINALISM AND REALISMI.
have recourse to particulcar examples or illustrations, in order to
correct and to linmit our general conclusions.  To a want of attention to this circumstance, a number of the speculative absurclities which are current in the world mightt,I am persuaded,
be easily traced.
Besides, however, this source of error, which is in some degree common to all the sciences, there is a great variety of
others, from  which mathematics are entirely exempted; and
which perpetually tend to lead us astray in our philosophical
inquiries.  Of these, the most important is, that ambiguity in the
signification of words, which renders it so difficult to avoid employing the same expressions in different senses, in the course
of the samne process of reasoning. This source of mistake, indeed, is apt, in a much greater degree, to affect our conclusions
in metaphysics, morals, and politics, than in the different branches
of natural philosophy; but if we except mathematics, there is
no science whatever, in which it has not a very sensible influence.  In algebra, we may proceed with perfect safety through
the longest investigations, without carrying our attention beyond
the signs, till we arrive at the last result.  But in the other sciences, excepting in those cases in which we have fixed the
meaning of all our terms by accurate definitions, and have rendered the use of these terms perfectly familiar to us by very
long habit, it is but seldom that we can proceed in this manner,
without danger of error. In many cases, it is necessary for us
to keep up, during the whole of our investigations, a scrupulous
and constant attention to the signification of our expressions;
and in most cases, this caution in the use of words is a much
more difficult effort of the mind, than the logical process.  But
still this furnishes no exception to the general doctrine already
delivered; for the attention we find it necessary to give to the
import of our words arises only from the accidental circum
stance of their ambiguity, and has no essential connection with
that process of the mind which is properly called reasoning; and
which consists in the inference of a conclusion from  premises.
In all the sciences, this process of the mind is perfectly analogous to an algebraical operation; or, in other words, (when the




ABST'ILtACION.                   111
meaning of our expressions is once fixed by definitions,) it may
be carried on entirely by the use of signs, without attending,
during the time of the process, to the things signified.
The conclusion to which the foregoing observations lead, appears to me to be decisive of the question, with respect to the objects of our thoughts when we employ general terms; for if it be
granted, that words, even when employed without any reference
to their particular signification, form an instrument of thought
sufficient for all the purposes of reasoning; the only shadow
of an argument in proof of the common doctrine on the subject,
(I mean that which is founded on the impossibility of explaining this process of the mind on any other hypothesis,) falls to
the ground.  Nothing less, surely, than a conviction of this impossibility, could have so long reconciled philosophers to an
hypothesis unsupported by any direct evidence; and acknowledged, even by its warmest defenders, to involve much difficulty
and mystery.
Uses of illustrated and abstract reasoning. - It does not fall
within my plan to enter, in this part of my work, into a par.
ticular consideration of the practical consequences which follow
from the foregoing doctrine. I cannot, however, help remarking the importance of cultivating, on the one hand, a talent for
ready and various illustration; and, on the other, a habit of reasoning by means of general terms. The former talent is necessary, not only for correcting and limiting our general conclusions, but for enabling us to apply our knowledge, when occasion
requires, to its real practical use. The latter serves the double
purpose, of preventing our attention from being distracted during the course of our reasonings, by ideas which are foreign to
the point in question, and of diverting the attention from those
conceptions of particular objects and particular events which
might disturb the judgment, by the ideas and feelings which are
apt to be associated with them, in consequence of our own casual experience.
This last observation points out to us, also, one principal
foundation of the art of the orator. As his object is not so much
to inform and satisfy the understandings of his hearers, as to




1 12                     ABSTRACT1ON.
force their immediate assent; it is frequently of use to him to
clothe his reasonings in that specific and figurative language,
which may either awaken in their minds associations favorable
to his purpose, or may divert their attention from a logical examination of his argument.  A  process of reasoning so expressed, affords at once an exercise to the judgment, to the
imagination, and to the passions; and is apt, even when loose
and inconsequential, to impose on the best understandings.
It appea'rs further, from the remarks which have been made,
that the perfection of philosophical language, considered either
as an instrument of thought, or as a medium  of communication
with others, consists in the use of expressions, which, from their
generality, have no tendency to awaken the powers of conception and imagination; or, in other words, it consists in its approaching, as nearly as possible, in its nature, to the language
of algebra.  And hence the effects-which long habits of philosophical speculation have in weakening, by disuse, those faculties of the mind, which are necessary for the exertions of the
poet and the orator; and of gradually forming a style of composition, which they who read merely for amusement, are apt to
censure for a want of vivacity and of ornamen'lt.*
III. Remzares on the opinions of some modern philosophers on
the subject of the foregoing section. - After the death of Abelard, through whose abilities and eloquence the. sect of Nominalists had enjoyed, for a few years, a very splendid triumph, the
system of the Realists began to revive; and it was soon so completely reestablished in the schools, as to prevail, with little or
no opposition, till the fourteenth century.  What the circumL "Language, like light, is a medium: and the true philosophical style,
like light from a north window, exhibits objects clearly and distinctly
without soliciting attention to itself. In painting subjects of amusement
indeed, language may gild somewhat more, and color with the dyes of
fancy; but where information is of more importance than entertainment,
though you cannot throw too strong a light, you should carefully avoid a
colored one. The style of some writers resembles a bright light placed be,
tween the eye, and the thing to be looked at. The light shows itself, and
hides the object." - Gilpin.




ABSTRACTION.                    113
stances xwere, which led philosophers to abandon a doctrine,
which seems so strongly to recommend itself by its simplicity,
it is not very easy to conceive. Probably the heretical opinions, which had subjected both Abelard and Roscelinus to the
censure of the Church, might create a prejudice also against
their philosophical principles; and probably, too, the manner in
which these principles were stated and defended was not the
clearest, nor the most satisfactory. The principal cause, however, I am disposed to think, of the decline of the sect of Nominalists, was their want of some palpable example, by means of
which they might illustrate their doctrine. It is by the use
which algebraists make of the letters of the alphabet in carrying on their operations, that Leibnitz and Berkeley have been
most successful in explaining the use of language as an instrument of thought: and, as in the twelfth century, the algebraical
art was entirely unknown, Roscelinus and Abelard must have
been reduced to the necessity of conveying their leading idea
by general circumlocutions; and must have found considerable
difficulty in stating it in a manner satisfactory to themselves; a
consideration, which, if it accounts for the slow progress which
this doctrine made in the world, places in the more striking light
the genius of those men whose sagacity led them, under so
great disadvantages, to approach to a conclusion so just and
philosophical in itself, and so opposite to the prevailing opinions
of their age.
In the fourteenth century, this sect seems to have been
almost completely extinct; their doctrine being equally reprobated by the two great parties which then divided the schools,
the followers of Duns Scotus and of Thomas Aquinas. These,
although they differed in their manner of explaining the nature
of universals, and opposed each other's opinions with much asperity, yet united in rejecting the doctrine of the Nominalists,
not only as absurd, but as leading to the most dangerous consequences. At last, William Occam, a native of England, and a
scholar of Duns Scotus, revived the ancient controversy, and,
with equal ability and success, vindicated the long-abandoned
philosopliy of Roscelinus. From this time the dispute was car.
10*




11.4                    ABSTR.ACTION.
iedl on with great warmth in the universities of France, of Germany, and of England, more particularly in the two former countries, where the sovereigns were led, by some political views, to
interest themselves deeply in the contest, and even to employ
the civil power in supporting their favorite opinions.  The Emperor Lewis of Bavaria, in return for the assistance which, ill
his disputes with the Pope, Occam  had given to him  by his
writings, sided with the Nominalists.  Lewis the Eleventh of
France, on the other hand, attached himself to the Realists, and
made their antagonists the objects of a cruel persecution.
The dispute to which the foregoing observations relate, although, for some time after the Reformation, interrupted by theological disquisitions, has been since occasionally revived by
different writers, and, singular as it may appear, it has not yet
been brought to a conclusion in which all parties are agreed.
The names, indeed, of Nominalists and Realists exist no longer:
but the point in dispute between these two celebrated sects,
coincides precisely with a question which has been agitated in
our own times, and which has led to one of the most beautiful
speculations of modern philosophy
Doctrines and conclusions of the later Nnominalists. -  Of the
advocates who have appeared for the doctrine of the Nominalists, since the revival of letters, the most distinguished are
Hobbes, Berkeley, and iHume.  The first has, in various parts
of his works, reprobated the hypothesis of the Realists, and
has stated the opinions of their antagonists with that acuteness,
simplicity, and precision, which distinguish all his writings.*
* " The universality of one name to many things, hath been the cause
that men think the things themselves are universal; and so seriously co.ntend, that, besides Peter and John, and all the rest of the men that are,
have been, or shall be, in the world, there is yet something else that we
call man, namely, Man in general; deceiving themselves, by taking the
universal or general appellation for the thing it signifieth. For if one
should desire the painter to make him the picture of a nman, which is as
much as to say, of a man in general, he meaneeth no more but that the
painter should choose what man he pleaseth to draw, which must needs
be some of them that are, or have been, or may be: none of which are universal. But when we would 1 ave him to draw the picture of the king, or




ABSTRACTION.                         115
The second, considering (and, in my opinion, justly) the doctrines of the ancients concerning universals, in support of which
so much ingenuity had been employed by the Realists, as the
great source of mystery and error in the abstract sciences, was
at pains to overthrow it completely, by some very ingenious and
original speculations of his own.  Mr. fHume's * view  on the
subject, as he himself acknowledges, does not differ materially
from that of Berkeley; whom, by the way, he seems to have
regarded as the author of an opinion, of which he was only an
expositor and defender, and which, since the days of Roscelinus
and Abelard, has been familiarly known in all the universities
of Europe.
Notwithstanding, however, the great merit of these writers in
defending and illustrating the system of the Nominalists, none
of them seem to me to have been fully aware of the important
consequences to which it leads.  The Abbe de Condillac was, I
believe, the first (if we except, perhaps, Leibnitz), who perceived that, if this system be true, a talent for reasoning must
consist, in a great measure, in a skilful use of language as an
instrument of thought.  The most valuable of his remarks on
this subject are contained in a treatise, On the Art of Thinking,
which forms the fourth volume of his " Course of Study."
any particular person, he limiteth the painter to that one person he chooseth. It is plain, therefore, that there is nothing universal but names, which are
therefore called indefinite, because we limit them not ourselves, but leave
them to be applied by the hearer; whereas a singular name is limited and
restrained to one of the many things it signifieth; as when we say, this
man, pointing to him, or giving him his proper name, or by some such
other way." - Hobbes's Tripos, chap. v. sect. 6.
$ "A very material question has been started concerning abstract or
general ideas, Whether they be general or particular in the mind's con-.ception of them? A great philosopher has disputed the received opinion
in this particular; and has asserted, that all general ideas are nothing but
particular ones annexed to a certain term, which gives them a more extensive signification, and makes them recall, upon occasion, other individuals,
which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be one of the greatest
and most valuable discoveries that have been made of late years in the republic of letters, I shall here endeavor to confirm it by some arguments,
which I hope will put it beyond all doubt and controversy." - Treatise of
Human Nature, Book i. part i. sect. 7.




116                    ABSTRACTION.
Refutation of -Dr. Price's arguments. —The explanation
which the doctrines of these writers afford, of the process of the
mind in general reasoning, is so simple, and at the same time,
in my apprehension, so satisfactory, that I own it is with some
degree of surprise I have read the attempts which have lately
been made to revive the systems of the Realists.  One of the
ablest of these attempts is by Dr. Price, who, in his very valuable "Treatise on Morals," has not only employed his ingenuity
in support of some of the old tenets of the Platonic school, but
has even gone so far as to follow Plato's example, in connecting
this speculation about universals with the sublime questions of
natural theology. The observations which he has offered in
support of these opinions, I have repeatedly perused with all
the attention in my power, but without being able to enter into
his views, or even to comprehend fully his meaning.  Indeed, I
must acknowledge that it appears to me to afford no slight presumption against the principles on which he proceeds, when I
observe, that an author, remarkable, on most occasions, for precision of ideas and for perspicuity of style, never fails to lose
himself in obscurity and mystery when he enters on these disquisitions.
Dr. Price's reasonings in proof of the existence of universals, are the more curious, as he acquiesces in some of Dr.
Reid's conclusions with respect to the ideal theory of perception. That there are, in the mind, images or resemblances of
things external, he grants to be impossible; but still he seems
to suppose, that in every exertion of thought, there is something
immediately present to the mind, which is the object of its attention.  "When abstract truth is contemplated, is not," says he,
"the very object itself present to the mind? When millions of
intellects contemplate the equality of every angle in a semicircle
to a right angle, have they not all the same object in view? is
this object nothing? or is it only an image, or kind of shadow?
These inquiries," he adds, "carry our thoughts high." 
* The whole passage is as follows: " The word idea is sometimes used
to signify the inmmediate object of the mind in thinking, considered as




ABS'TRACTION.                      117
The difficulty which has appeared so puzzling to this ingenious writer, is, in truth, more apparent than real.  In the case,
of perception, imagination, and memory, it has been already
fully shown, that we have no reason to believe the existence of
any thing in the mind distinct from the mind itself; and that,
even upon the supposition that the fact were otherwise, our intellectual operations would be just as inexplicable as they are
at present.  Why then should we suppose, that in our general
speculations, there must exist in the mind some object of its
thoughts, when it appears that there is no evidence of the existence of any such object, even when the mind is employed
about individuals?
Hlow we reason abTout classes of objects. - Still, however, it
may be urged, that although, in such cases, there should be no
object of thought in the mind, there must exist something or
other to which its attention is directed. To this difficulty I
have no answer to make, but by repeating the fact which I
have already endeavored to establish; that there are only two
-ways in which we can possibly speculate about classes of objects; the one, by means of a word or generic term; the other,
by means of one particular individual of the class which we consider as the representative of the rest; and that these two methods
of carrying on our general speculations, are at bottom so much the
something in the mind which represents the real object, but is different
fiom it. This sense of an idea is derived from the notion, that when we
think of any external existence, there is something immediately present to
the mind, which it contemplates distinct from the object itself, that being
at a distance. But what is this? It is bad language to call it an image
in the mind of the object. Shall we say then, that there is indeed no such
thing? But would not this be the same as to say that, when the mind is
employed in viewing and examining any object, which is either not present to it, or does not exist, it is employed in viewing and examining
nothing, and therefore does not then think at all? When abstract truth is
contemplated, is not the very object itself present to the mind? When
millions of intellects contenmplate the equality of every angle in a semicircle to a right angle, have they not all the same olbject in view? Is this
object nothing? or is it only an image, or kind of shadow I These inquiries carry our thoughts high,"




118                     ABSTRACTION.
same, as to authorize us to lay down as a principle, that, with,
out the use of signs, all our thoughts must have related to individuals. When we reason, therefore, concerning classes or genera, the objects of our attention are merely signs; or if, in any
instance, the generic word should recall some individual, this
circumstance is to be regarded only as the consequence of an
accidental association, which has rather a tendency to disturb,
than to assist us in our reasoning.
Whether it might not have been possible for the Deity to
have so formed us, that we might have been capable of reasoning concerning classes of objects, without the use of signs, I
shall not take upon me to determine. But this we may ventureto affirm with confidence, that man is not such a being. And,
indeed, even if he were, it would not therefore necessarily follow, that there exists any thing in a genus, distinct from the
individuals of which it is composed; for we know that the
power which we have of thinking of particular objects without
the medium of signs, does not in the least depend on their ex
istence or non-existence at the moment we think of them.
It would be vain, however, for us, in inquiries of this nature,
to indulge ourselves in speculating about possibilities. It is of
more consequence to remark the advantages which we derive
from our actual constitution, and which, in the present instance,
appear to me to be important and admirable; inasmuch as it
fits mankind for an easy interchange of their intellectual acquisitions, by imposing on them the necessity of employing, in their
solitary speculations, the same instrument of thought, which
forms the established medium of their communications with each
other.*
[See note to page 77.
It must be admitted, that, in other passages of his philosophical writings, Stewart does not seem to be always mindful of tile doctrine which he
has here labored to establish. Take the following, for instance, from "Note
Q" to the First Part of his Dissertation on the Progress of Metaphysical
Philosophy. In answer to a remark by Bonnet, that privation of one of the
senses entails a loss of all the ideas usually obtained through that sense, he
says, " The question is not about our ideas of the material world, but about




ABSTRACTION.                            119
The doctrine of the C(onceptualaists. -  In the very slight sketch
which I have given of the controversy between the Nominalists
those ideas on metaphysical and moral subjects, which may be equally imparted to the blind and the deaf; enabling them to arrive at a knowledge
of the same truths, and exciting in their minds the same moral emotions.
The signs employed in the reasonings of these two classes of persons will
of course excite by association, in their respective fancies, very different
material images; but whence the origin of the metaphysical and moral notions of which these signs are the vehicle, and for suggesting which, all sets
of signs seem to be equally fitted  "
What are these "notions," expressly referred, not to material, but to
metaphysical or moral, objects, which are here clearly distinguished from
the "signs," or mere words, that are used to indicate them? As a strict
Nominalist, and yet as a vigorous opponent of philosophical skepticism,
Stewart would have found it difficult to answer this question.  In truth,
when we speak of cause, time, space, substance, etc., no one but a skeptic can
maintain that either mere words, or specific material things, are the objects of our thoughts.
On the other side, we present an extract from the argument of Bishop
Berkeley, who is among the ablest and most consistent of the modern
Nominalists.
" It is thoug'ht that every name hath, or ought to have, one only precise
and settled signification, which inclines men to think that there are certain
abstract determinate ideas, which constitute the true and only immediate
signification of each general name; and that it is by the mediation of these
abstract ideas, that a general name comes to signify any particular thing.
Whereas, in truth, there is no such thing as one precise and cdefinite signication annexed to any general name, they all signifying indifferently a great
nzulber of PARTIcuLAR ideas..... To this it will be objected, that every
name that has a definition, is thereby restrained to one certain signification. For example, a triangle is defined to be'a plain surface comprehended by three right lines.' To which I answer, that in the definition it
is not said whether the surface be great or small, black or white, nor
whether the sides are long or short; equal or unequal, nor with what angles they are inclined to each other:- in all which there may be great variety, and consequently there is no one settled idea which limits the signification of the word triangle.  It is one thing to keep a name constantly to
the same definition, and another to make it stand everywhere for the same
idea; the one is necessary, the other useless and impracticable.
"But to give a further account how words came to produce the doctrine
of abstract ideas, it must be observed that it is a received opinion, that language has no other end but the communicating our ideas, and that every




120                       ABSTRACTION.
and the Realists about the existence of universals, I have taken
no notice of the intermediate sect called Conceptualists;  whose
significant name stands for an idea. This being so, and it being withal
certain that names, which yet are not thought altogether insignificant, do
not always mark out particular conceivable ideas, it is straightway concluded that they stand for abstract notions. That there are many names
in use amongst speculative men, which do not always suggest to others
determinate particular ideas, is what nobody will deny. And a little attention will discover, that it is not necessary (even in the strictest reasonings)
significant names which stand for ideas should, every time they are used,
excite in the understanding the ideas they are made to stand for; in reading and discoursing, names being, for the most part, used as letters are in
algebra, in which, though a particular quantity be marked by each letter,
yet, to proceed right, it is not requisite that in every step each letter suggest
to your thoughts that particular quantity it was appointed to stand for.
" Besides, the communicating of ideas marked by words is not the chief
and only end of language, as is commonly supposed. There are other
ends, as the raising of some passion, the exciting to or deterring from an
action, the putting the mind in some particular disposition, to which the
fbrmer is in many cases barely subservient, and sometimes entirely omitted, when these can be obtained without it, as I think doth not unfrequently happen in the familiar use of language. I entreat the reader to
reflect with himself, and see if it doth not often happen, either in hearing
or reading a discourse, that the passions of fear, love, hatred, admiration,
disdain, and the like, arise immediately in his mind upon the perception of
certain words, without any ideas coming between. At first, indeed, the
words might have occasioned ideas that were fit to produce those emotions; but if I mistake not, it will be found that when language has once
grown familiar, the hearing of the sounds or sight of the characters is oft
immediately attended with those passions, which at first were wont to be
produced by the intervention of ideas that are now quite omitted. May
we not, for example, be affected with the promise of a good thing, though
we have not an idea of what it is? Or is not the being threatened with
danger sufficient to excite a dread, though we think not of any particular
evil likely to befall us, nor yet frame to ourselves an abstract? If any one
shall join ever so little reflection of his own to what has been said, I believe it will evidently appear to him, that general names are often used in
the propriety of language without the speaker's designing them for marks
of ideas of his own, which he would have them raise in the mind of the
hearer. Even proper names themselves do not seem always spoken with
a design to bring into our view the ideas of those individuals that are supposed to be marked by them. For example, when a schoolman tells me




ABSTRACTION.                          121
distinguishing tenet is said to have been, that the mind has a
power of forming general conceptions.  From the indistinctness
and inaccuracy of their language on the subject, it is not a very
easy matter to ascertain precisely what was their opinion on the
point in question; but on the whole, I am inclined to think that
it amounted to the two following propositions: first, that we
have no reason to believe the existence of any essences, or universal ideas, corresponding to general terms; and secondly, that
the mind has the power of reasoning concerning genera or
classes of individuals, without the mediation of langcuage.  Indeed, I cannot think of any other hypothesis which it is possible
to form on the subject, distinct from those of the two celebrated
sects already mentioned.  In denying the existence of univer
sals, we know that the Conceptualists agreed with the Nominalists.  In what, then, can we suppose that they differed from
them, but about the necessity of language as an instrument of
thought, in carrying on our general speculations? *
Aristotle hath said it, all I conceive he means by it, is, to dispose me to embrace his opinion with the deference and submission which custom has
annexed to that name." -Introduction to the Principles of Human Knowledge, ~~ XVIII-XX., [It is hardly fair to charge the doctrine of the Conceptualists with
obscurityj or indcefiniteness, whatever may be thought of its foundation in
truth. Its meaning is obvious enough. Whenever we use a general term,
as animal, house, triangle, the Conceptualists maintain that our object of
thought is something more definite than a mere word, but less definite than
such a precise idea as we have of a particular house or triangle; - it must be
thus less definite, inasmuch as it is equally applicable to any house or
triangle whatsoever, be it large or small —black, white, or green.  They
affirm, that this object of thought is a conception of such properties only as are
conmnon to all triangles, or to all houses.  Such a conception, they say, is
possible; it is merely a partial consideration of an object. Thus, I may
think of a three-sided figure simplyh, without considering what it is made of,
or whether it be large or small. On the other hand, the Nominalists maintain that I cannot thissk an object, without thereby imaging it to the fancy,
and thus individualizing it, or rendering it particular instead of general.
Perhaps both parties are right. Sone general ideas, (tllose, namely, of
a lose order of generalization,) may be thought of, without the aid of words.
Thus, I may have a very clear conception of a yellow7 globe, six inches in
11




122                      ABSTRACTION.
Withl this sect of Conceptualists, Dr. Reid is disposed to rank
Mr. Locke; and I agree with him  so far as to think, that, if
Locke had any decided opinion on the point in dispute, it did
not differ materially from what I have endeavored to express
in the two general propositions which I have just now stated.
The apparent inconsistencies which occur in that part of his
Essay in which the question is discussed, have led subsequent
authors to represent his sentiments in different lights; but as
these inconsistencies plainly show, that he was neither satisfied
with the system of the Realists, nor with that of the Nominalists, they appear to me to demonstrate, that he leaned to the
intermediate  hypothesis  already  mentioned, notwithstanding
the inaccurate and paradoxical manner in which he has expressed it.
-)r. Reid's opinion on this subject. -  May I take the liberty
of adding, that Dr. Reid's own opinion seems to me also to coincide nearly with that of the Conceptualists; or, at least, to coincide with the two propositions which I have already supposed
diameter, without thinking of it as hard or soft, hot or cold, heavy or light,
or as made of plaster, iron, wood, pasteboard, india-rubber, or any other
material. So, also, I may think of a star, without thinking of any particular star, as Sirius or Arcturus. On the other hand, it seems very obvious
that general terms of a ver/ high order of generalization, such as thinrq, ob/ject,
principle, etc., cannot have any object of thought corresponding to them except mere words; and the only way to apprehend the meaning of such
words is to call up in the mind one or more individuals of the class denoted
by them, and, in the consideration of these individuals, to limit our attention as far-as possible to those qualities only which they possess in common with their class. The Nominalists and Conceptualists would differ
from each other only in determining the point on the scale of generalization at which the power of forming general conceptions ends, and the necessity of using words begins; or, what is the same thing, in determining
what, and how many, qualities may be abstracted, before the general idea
evanesces into a mere word. If all men were of the same size and complexion, I could certainly form the general conception of a man. But it
is still disputed whether color or size can be abstracted from any class of
material objects without destroying the general conception of that class
It appears certain that we can form a distinct conception of breadthless lines
as in geometry.l




ABSTRACT'ION.                   123
to contain a summary of their doctrine?  The absurdity of the
ancient opinion concerning universals, as maintained both by
Plato and Aristotle, he has exposed by the clearest and most
decisive arguments; not to mention, that, by his own very original and important speculations concerning the ideal theory, he
has completely destroyed that natural prejudice from which the
whole system of universal ideas gradually took rise. If, even
in the case of individuals, we have no reason to believe the existence of any object of thought in the mind, distinct from the
mind itself, we are at once relieved from all the difficulties in
which philosophers have involved themselves, by attempting to
explain, in consistency with that ancient hypothesis, the process
of the mind in its general speculations.
On the other hand, it is no less clear, from Dr. Reid's criticisms on Berkeley and Hume, that his opinion does not coincide
with that of the Nominalists; and that the power which the
mind possesses of reasoning concerning classes of objects, appears to him to imply some faculty, of which no notice is talen
in the systems of these philosophers.
In order to justify his own expressions concerning universals,
and in opposition to the language of Berkeley and Hume, Dr.
Reid is at pains to illustrate a distinction between conception
and imagination, which, he thinks, has not been sufficiently
attended to by philosophers. "A universal," says he, "is not
an object of any external sense, and therefore cannot be imag
imed; but it may be distinctly conceived. When Mr. Pope says,'The proper study of mankind is man,' I conceive his meaning
distinctly; although I neither imagine a black or a white, a
crooked or a straight man. I can conceive a thing that is impossible; but I cannot distinctly imagine a thing that is impossible;
I can conceive a proposition or a demonstration, but I cannot
imagine either. I can conceive understanding and will, virtue
and vice, and other attributes of the mind; but I cannot imagine
them. In like manner, I can distinctly conceive universals; but
I cannot imagine them."
It appears from this passage, that, by conceiving univerals,
Dr. Reid means nothing more than utnderstanding the meaning




124                   ABSTRACTION,
of propositions involving general terms.  But the observations
he has made, (admitting them in their full extent,) do not in the
least affect the question about the necessity of signs, to enable
us to speculate about such propositions. The vague use which
metaphysical writers have made of the word conception, (of
which I had occasion to take notice in a former chapter,) has
contributed in part to embarrass this subject. That we cannot
conceive universals in a way at all analogous to that in which
we conceive an absent object of sense, is granted on both sides.
Why then should we employ the same word, conception, to ex
press two operations of the mind which are essentially different?
When we speak of conceiving or understanding a general proposition, we mean nothing more than that we have a conviction,
(founded on our previous use of the words in which it is expressed,) that we have it in our power, at pleasure, to substitute,
instead of the general terms, some one of the individuals comprehended under them.  When we hear a proposition announced,
of which the terms are not familiar to us, we naturally desire to
have it exemplified, or illustrated, by means of some particular
instance; and when we are once satisfied by such an application, that we have the interpretation of the proposition at all
times in our power, we make no scruple to say, that we conceive or understand its meaning, although we should not extend
our views beyond the words in which it is announced, or even
although no particular exemplification of it should occur to us at
the moment. It is in this sense only, that the terms of any general proposition can possibly be understood; and therefore Dr.
Reid's argument does not, in the least, invalidate the doctrine
of the Nominalists, that, without the use of language, (muder
which term I comprehend every species of signs,) we should
never have been able to extend our speculations beyond individuals.
That in many cases, we may safely employ in our reasonings
general terms, the meaning of which we are not eve:X able to
interpret in this way, and consequently, which are to As wholly
insignificant, I had occasion already to demonstrate, ii. a former
part of this section.




ABSTRACTION.                    125
IV. Inferences with respect to the use of language as an instrvment of thought, and the errors in reasoning to wzhich it occasionally gives rise. - In the-last section, I mentioned Dr. Campbell as an ingenious defender of the system of the Nominalists;
and I alluded to a particular application which he has made of
their doctrine. The reasonings which I had then in view, are
to be found in the seventh chapter of the second book of his
Philosophy of Rhetoric; in which chapter, he proposes to explain how it happens, " that nonsense so often escapes being detected, both by the writer and the reader." The title is somewhat ludicrous in a grave and philosophical work; but the disquisition to which it is prefixed contains many acute and proiound remarks on the nature and power of signs, both as a medium of communication, and as an instrument of thought.
Dr. Campbell's speculations with respect to language as an
instrument of thought, seem to have been suggested by the following passage in Mr. Hume's Treatise of Human Nature. " I
believe, every one who examines the situation of his mind in
reasoning will agree with me, that we do not annex distinct and
complete ideas to every term we make use of; and that in talking of government, church, negotiation, conquest, we seldom
spread out in our minds all the simple ideas of which these
complex ones are composed. It is,. however, observable, that
notwithstanding this imperfection, we may avoid talking nonsense on these subjects; and may perceive any repugnance
among the ideas, as well as if we had a full comprehension of
them. Thus if, instead of saying, that, in war, the weaker have
always recourse to negotiation, we should say, that they have
always recourse to conquest; the custom which we have acquired, of attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows the
words, and makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of that
proposition."
How we can use words with propriety, though without attaching any particular idea or signification to them. -In the remarks which Dr. Campbell has made on this passage, he has
endeavored to explain in what manner our habits of thinking
11I 




126                    ABSTRACTION.
and speaking gradually establish in the mind such relations
among the words we employ, as enable us to carry on processes
of reasoning by means of them, without attending in every instance to their particular signification.  With most of his remarks on this subject I perfectly agree; but the illustrations he
gives of them, are of too great extent to be introduced here;
and I would not wish to run the risk of impairing their perspicuity, by attempting to abridge them. I must, therefore, refer
such of my readers as wish to prosecute the speculation, to his
very ingenious and philosophical treatise.
" In consequence of these circumstances," says Dr. Campbell,
"it happens that, in matters which are perfectly familiar to us,
we are able to reason by means of words, without examining,
in every instance, their signification. Almost all the possible
applications of the terms (in other words, all the acquired relations of the signs,) have become customary to us. The consequence is, that an unusual application of any term is instantly
detected; this detection breeds doubt, and this doubt occasions
an immediate recourse to ideas. The recourse of the mind,
when in any degree puzzled with the signs, to the knowledge it
has of the things signified, is natural, and of such subjects perfectly easy. And on this recourse, the discovery of the meaning, or of the unmeaningness, of what is said, is the immediate
effect.  But in matters that are by no means familiar, or are
treated in an uncommon manner, and in such as are of an abstruse and intricate nature, the case is widely different." The
instances in which we are chiefly liable to be imposed on by
words without meaning are, (according to Dr. Campbell,) the
three following:First, Where there is an exuberance of metaphor.
Secondly, When the terms most frequently occurring denote
things which are of a complicated nature, and to which the
mind is not sufficiently familiarized. Such are the words, government, church, state, constitution, polity, power, commerce,
legislature, jurisdiction, proportion, symmetry, elegance.
Thirdly, When the terms employed are very abstract, and




ABSTRACTION.                       127
consequently of very extensive signification.*  For an illustration of these remarks, I must refer the reader to the ingenious
work which I just now quoted.
To the observations of these eminent writers, I shall take
the liberty of adding, that we are doubly liable to the mistakes
they mention, when we make use of a language which is not
perfectly familiar to us.  Nothing, indeed, I apprehend, can
show more clearly the use we make of words in reasoning than
this, that an observation which, when expressed in our own
language, seems trite or frivolous, often acquires the appearance of depth and originality, by being translated into another.
For my own part, at least, I am  conscious of having been
frequently led, in this way, to form an exaggerated idea of the
merits of ancient and of foreign authors; and it has happened
to me more than once, that a sentence, which seemed at first to
contain something highly ingenious and profound, when translated into words familiar to me, appeared obviously to be a trite
or a nugatory proposition.
The effect produced by an artificial and inverted style in our
own language, is similar to what we experience when we read
a composition in a foreign one. The eye is too much dazzled
to see distinctly.
The deranged collocation of the words in Latin composition,
aids powerfully the imposition we have now been considering,
and renders that language an inconvenient medium of philosophical communication, as well as an inconvenient instrument
of accurate thought. Indeed, in all languages in which this
"The more general any word is in its signification, it is the more liable to be abused by an improper and unmeaning application. A very general term is applicable alike to a multitude of different individuals, a particular term is applicable but to a few. When the rightful applications of
a word are extremely numerous, they cannot all be so strongly fixed by
habit, but, that, for greater security, we must perpetually recur in our
minds from the sign to the notion we have of the thing signified; and, for
the reason aforementioned, it is in such instances difficult precisely to ascertain this notion. Thus, the latitude of a word, though different from
its ambiguity, hath often a similar effect." -Philosophy of hiletoric, vol,
ii. p. 122.




128                   ABSTRACTION.
latitude in the arrangement of words is admitted, the associations among words must be looser than where one invariable
order is followed; and of consequence, on the principles of
Hume and Campbell, the mistakes which are committed in
reasonings expressed in such languages will not be so readily
detected.
Languages, being controlled by popular use, are not adapted for
scientific purposes. - The errors in reasoning to which we are
exposed, in consequence of the use of words as an instrument
of thought, will appear the less surprising, when we consider
that all the languages which have hitherto existed in the world,
have derived their origin from popular use; and that their application to philosophical purposes was altogether out of the
view of those men who first employed them. Whether it might
not be possible to invent a language which would at once facilitate philosophical communication, and form a more convenient
instrument of reasoning and of invention than those we possess
at present, is a question of very difficult discussion, and upon
which I shall not presume to offer an opinion. The failure of
Wilkins's very ingenious attempt towards a real character and a
philosophical language, is not perhaps decisive against such a
project; for not to mention some radical defects in his plan, the
views of that very eminent philosopher do not seem to have extended much further than to promote and extend the literary
intercourse among different nations. Leibnitz, so far as I know,
is the only author who has hitherto conceived the possibility of
aiding the powers of invention and of reasoning, by the use of a
more convenient instrument of thought: but he has nowhere
explained his ideas on this very interesting subject. It is only
from a conversation of his with Mr. Boyle and Mr. Oldenburgh,
when he was in England, in 1673, and from some imperfect
hints in different parts of his works, that we find it had engaged
his attention. In the course of this conversation, he observed,
that Wilkins had mistaken the true end of a real character,
which was not merely to enable different nations to correspond
easily together, but to assist the reason, the invention, and the
memory. In his writings, too, he somewhere speaks of an alpha



ABSTRACTION.                    129
bet of human thoughts, which he had been employed in form.
ing, and which, probably, (as Fontenelle has remarked,) had
some relation to his universal language.
The new nomenclature which has been introduced into chemistry, seems to me to furnish a striking illustration of the effect
of appropriate and well defined expressions, in aiding the intellectual powers; and the period is probably not far distant,
when similar innovations will be attempted in some of the other
sciences.
V. Of the purposes to which the powers of Abstraction and
Generalization are subservient. — It has been already shown,
that, without the use of signs, all our knowledge must necessarily have been limited to individuals, and that we should have
been perfectly incapable both of classification and general reasoning. Some authors have maintained, that without the power
of generalization, (which, I have endeavored to show, means
nothing more than the capacity of employing general terms,) it
would have been impossible for us to have carried on any species of reasoning whatever. But I cannot help thinking that
this opinion is erroneous; or, at least, that it is very imperfectly
stated. The truth is, it appears to me to be just in one sense
of the word reasoning, but false in another; and I even suspect
it is false in that sense of the word in which it is most commonly
employed. Before, therefore, it is laid down as a general proposition, the meaning we are to annex to this very vague and ambiguous term, should be ascertained with precision.
One hind of reasoning can be carried on without generalization, and without language. - It has been remarked by several
writers, that the expectation which we feel of the continuance of
the laws of nature, is not founded upon reasoning; and different
theories have of late been proposed to account for its origin.
Mr. Hume resolves it into the association of ideas. Dr. Reid,
on the other hand, maintains, that it is an original principle of
our constitution, which does not admit of any explanation; and
which, therefore, is to be ranked among those general and ultimate facts, beyond which philosophy is unable to proceed.
Without this principle of expectation, it would be impossible




13)0                   ABSTRA CTION.
for us to a.commodate our conduct to the established course of
nature; and, accordingly, we find that it is a principle coeval
with our very existence, and, in some measure, common to man
with the lower animals.
It is an obvious consequence of this doctrine, that, although
philosophers be accustomed to state what are commonly called
the laws of nature in the form of general propositions, it is by
no means necessary for the practical purposes of life, that we
should express them in this manner, or even that we should express them in words at all. The philosopher, for example, may
state it as a law of nature, that " fire scorches;" or that " heavy
bodies, when unsupported, fall downwards;" but long before
the use of artificial signs, and even before the dawn of reason,
a child learns to act upon both of these suppositions. In doing
so, it is influenced merely by the instinctive principle which has
now been mentioned, directed in its operation (as is the case
with many other instincts) by the experience of the individual.
If man, therefore, had been destined for no other purposes than
to acquire such an acquaintance with the course of nature as is
necessary for the preservation of his animal existence, he
might have fulfilled all the ends of his being without the use of
language.
As we are enabled, by our instinctive anticipation of physical
events, to accommodate our conduct to what we foresee is to
happen, so we are enabled, in many cases, to increase our power, by employing physical causes as instruments for the accomplishment.of our purposes; nay, we can employ a series of such
causes, so as to accomplish very remote effects.  We can employ the agency of air, to increase the heat of a furnace; the
furnace, to render iron malleable; and the iron, to all the various
purposes of the mechanical arts. Now it appears to me, that
all this may be conceived and done without the aid of language;
and yet, assuredly, to discover a series of means subservient to
a particular end, or, in other words, an effort of mechanical invention, implies, according to the common doctrines of philosophers, the exercise of our reasoning powers. In this sense,
therefore, of the word reasoning, I am inclined to think, that it




ABSTRACTION.  -                    131
is not essentially connected with the faculty of generalization, or
with the use of signs.
It is some confirmation of this conclusion, that savages, whose
minds are almost wholly occupied with particulars, and who
have neither inclination nor capacity for general speculations,
are yet occasionally observed to employ a long train of means
for accomplishing a particular purpose. Even something of
this kind, but in a very inferior degree, may, I think, be remarked in the other animals; and that they do not carry it further, is probably not the effect of their want of generalization,
but of the imperfection of some of those faculties which are comnmon to them with our species; particularly of their powers of
attention and recollection.  The instances which are commonly
produced, to prove that they are not destitute of the power of
reasoning, are all examples of that species of contrivance which
has been mentioned; and are perfectly distinct from those intellectual processes to which the use of signs is essentially subservient.*
As a further confirmation of the same doctrine, it may be remarked, that there is no class of speculative men who are in
* One of the best attested instances which I have met with, of sagacity
in the lower animals, is mentioned by M. Bailly, in his "Lettre sur les
Animaux," addressed to M. Le Roy:[" One of my fiiends, an intelligent and trustworthy man, related to me
two facts of which he was an eye-witness. He had a very sagacious monkey, and was wont to amuse himself by giving it nuts, which it was very
fond of; but lie placed them so far off, that the monkey, being held back
by its chain, could not reach them. After many unsuccessful efforts,
which served only to sharpen its invention, the monkey, seeing a servant
pass by with a napkin under his arm, caught the napkin from him, and
made use of it to brush the nut within reach. The mode of cracking the
nut required a new invention; the monkey succeeded by placing the nut
on the ground, and letting a stone fall on it from above, so as to break it.
You see, Sir, that without knowing as well as Galileo the laws of falling
bodies, the monkey had observed the force which these bodies acquire by
falling. But it once happened that this expedient failed. One rainy day,
the ground was soft, and the nut sunk into it without breaking. What did
the monkey do? He found a piece of tile, on which he placed the nut,
and then the fall of the stone broke it, without driving it into the ground.';




132                     ABSTRACTION.
general so much at a loss to convey their ideas as men of mechanical invention.  This, I think, can only arise from  their
being accustomed to direct their attention immediately to the
subjects of their consideration, without the use of signs. Philosophers who speculate on questions which require the employ.
ment of words as an instrument of thought, are seldom deficient
in a facility of expression.
Whether that particular species of mechanical contrivance
which has now been mentioned, and which consists merely in
employing a series of physical causes to accomplish an effect
which we cannot produce immediately, should or should not be
dignified with the name of reasoning, I shall not now inquire. It
is sufficient for my present purpose to remark, that it is essentially different from those intellectual processes to which the use
of signs is indispensably necessary.  At the same time, I am
ready to acknowledge, that what I have now said, is not strictly
applicable to those more complicated mechanical inventions, in
which a variety of powers are made to conspire at once to produce a particular effect.  Such contrivances, perhaps, may be
found to involve processes of the mind which cannot be carried
on without signs.  But these questions will fall more properly
under our consideration when we enter on the subject of reasoning.
When words are necessary to thoughlt. -  In general, it may be
remarked, that in so far as our thoughts relate merely to individual objects, or to individual events, which we have actually
(We need not question the good faith of the reporter of this anecdote.
The only doubt is, whether the animal had not previously, without his
knowledge, been taught how to use these expedients.)]
But admitting the facts to be accurately stated, they will still leave an
essential distinction between man and brutes; for in none of the contrivances here mentioned, is there any thing analogous to those intellectual
processes which lead the mind to general conclusions, and which (according to the foregoing doctrine) imply the use of general terms. Those
powers, therefore, which enable us to classify objects, and to employ signs
as an instrument of thought, are, as far as we can judge, peculiar to the human species.




ABSTRACTION.                        133
perceived, and of which we retain a distinct remembrance,*
we are not under the necessity of employing words.  It frequently, however, happens, that when the subjects of our consideration are particular, our reasoning with respect to them
may involve very general notions; and, in such cases, although
we may conceive, -without the use of words, the things about
which we reason, yet we must necessarily have recourse to language in carrying on our speculations concerning them. If the
subjects of our reasonings be general, (under which description
I include all our reasonings, whether more or less comprehensive, which do not relate merely to individuals,) words are the
sole objects about which our thoughts are employed. According
as these words are comprehensive or limited in their signification,
the conclusions we form will be more or less general; but this
accidental circumstance does not in the least affect the nature of
the intellectual process; so that it may be laid down as a proposition which holds without any exception, that in every case in
which we extend our speculations beyond individuals, language
is not only a useful auxiliary, but is the sole instrument by
which they are carried on.
Dfficerence between the speculations of the philosopher and of the
* I have thought it proper to add this limitation of the general proposition, because individual objects, and individual events, which have not
fallen under the examination of our senses, cannot possibly be made the
subject of our consideration but by means of language. The manner in
which we think of such objects and events, is accurately described in the
following passage of Wollaston; however unphilosophical the conclusion
may be which he deduces from his reasoning.
"A man is not known ever the more to posterity, because his name is
transmitted to them; he doth not live, because his name does. When it
is said, Julius Caesar subdued Gaul, beat Pompey, changed the commonwealth into a monarchy, etc., it is the same thing as to say the conqueror
of Pompey was Casar; that is, Casar, and the conqueror of Pompey, are
the same thing; and Cmsar is as much known by the one distinction as
the other. The amount is only this: that the conqueror of Pompey conquered Pompey; or somebody conquered Pompey; or rather, since Pompey is as little known now as Cxsar, somebody conquered somebody.
Such a poor business is this boasted immortality; and such, as has been
here described, is the thing called glory among us!"
12




134!                     ABSTRACTION.
vul7ar. -  These remarks naturally lead me to take notice of what
forms the characteristical distinction between the speculations
of the philosopher and of the vulgar. It is not, that the former
is accustomed to carry on his processes of reasoning to a greater
extent than the latter; but that the conclusions he is accustomed
to form, are far more comprehensive, in consequence of the
habitual employment of more comprehensive terms.  Among
the most unenlightened of mankind, we often meet with individuals who possess the reasoning faculty in a very eminent
degree; but as this faculty is employed merely about particulars,
it never can conduct them  to general truths; and, of consequence, whether their pursuits in life lead them to speculation
or to action, it can only fit them. for distinguishing themselves
in some very limited and subordinate sphere. The philosopher,
whose mind has been familiarized by education, and by his own
reflections, to the correct use of more comprehensive terms, is
enabled, without perhaps a greater degree of intellectual exertion than is necessary for managing the details of ordinary
business, to arrive at general theorems; which, when illustrated
to the lower classes of men, in their particular applications,
seem to indicate a fertility of invention little short of supernat ural.*
The analogy of the algebraical art may be of use in illus
trating these observations.  The difference, in fact, between
the investigations we carry on by its assistance, and other processes of reasoning, is more inconsiderable than is commonly
imagined; and, if I am not mistaken, amounts only to this, that
" General reasonings seem intricate merely because they are general;
nor is it easy for the bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of
particulars, that coimmon circumstance in which they all agree, or to extract it pure and unmixt, from the other superfluous circumstances. Every
judgment or conclusion with them is particular. They cannot enlarge
their view to those universal propositions, which comprehend under them
an infinite number of individuals, and include a whole science in a single
theorem. Their eye is confounded with such an extensive prospect; and
the conclusions derived from it, even though clearly expressed, seem intricate and obscure." -Hume's Political Discourses.




ABSTRA&CTIONo                    135
the former are expressed in an appropriated language, with
which we are not accustomed to associate particular notions.
Hence they exhibit the efficacy of signs as an instrument of
thought in a more distinct and palpable manner, than the
speculations we carry. on by words, which are  continually
awakening the power of conception.
When the celebrated Vieta showed algebraists, that, by substituting in their investigations letters of the alphabet, instead
of known quantities, they might render the solution of every
problem subservient to the discovery of a general truth, he did
not increase the difficulty of algebraical reasonings: he only
enlarged the signification of the terms of which they were expressed.  And if, in teaching that science, it is found expedient
to accustom  students to solve problems by means of the particular numbers which are given, before they are made acquainted with literal or specious arithmetic, it is not because
the former processes are less intricate than the latter, but because their scope and utility are more obvious, and because it
is more easy to illustrate, by example than by words, the diff-erence between a particular conclusion and a general theorem.
The difference between the intellectual processes of the
vulgar and of the philosopher, is perfectly analogous to that between the two states of the algebraical art before and after the
time of Vieta; the general terms which are used in the various
sciences, giving to those who can employ them with correctness
and dexterity, the same sort of advantage over the uncultivated
sagacity of the bulk of mankind, which the expert algebraist
possesses over the arithmetical accountant.
The utility of langutae. - If the foregoing doctrine be admitted as just, it exhibits a view of the utility of language,
which appears to me to be peculiarly striking and beautiful; as
it shows that the same faculties which, without the use of signs,
must necessarily have been limited to the consideration of individual objects and particular events, are, by means of signs,
fitted to embrace, without effort, those comprehensive theorems,
to the discovery of which, in detail, the united efforts of the
whole human race would have been unequal. The advantage




136                    ABSTRACTION.
our animal strength acquires by the use of mechanical engines,
exhibits but a faint image of that increase of our intellectual
capacity which we owe to language.  It is this increase of our
natural powers of comprehension, which seems to be the principal foundation of the pleasure we receive from the discovery
of general theorems. Such a discovery gives us at once the
command of an infinite variety of particular truths, and conlmunicates to the mind a sentiment of its own power, not unlike
to what we feel when we contemplate the magnitude of those
physical effects, of which we have acquired the command by
our mechanical contrivances.
It may perhaps appear, at first, to be a further consequence
of the principles I have been endeavoring to establish, that the
difficulty of philosophical discoveries is much less than is commonly imagined; but the truth is, it only follows from  them,
that this difficulty is of a different nature from what we are apt
to suppose, on a superficial view of the subject. To employ,
with skill, the very delicate instrument which nature has made
essentially subservient to general reasoning, and to guard
against the errors which result from an injudicious use of it,
require an uncommon capacity of patient attention, and a
cautious circumspection in conducting our various intellectual
processes, which can only be acquired by early habits of philosophical reflection. To assist and direct us in mlaking this acquisition ought to form the most important branch of a rational
logic; a science of far more extensive utility, and of which the
principles lie much deeper in the philosophy of the human
mind, than the trifling art which is commonly dignified with
that name. The branch in particular to which the foregoing
observations more immediately relate, must for ever remain in
its infancy, till a most difficult and important desideratum in
the history of the mind is supplied, by an explanation of the
gradual steps by which it acquires the use of the various classes
of words which compose the language of a cultivated and enlightened people.  Of some of the errors of reasoning to which
we are exposed by an incautious use of words, I took notice in
the preceding section; and I shall have occasion afterwards to




ABSTRACTION.                      137
treat the same subject more in detail in a subsequent part of
my work.
VI. Of the errors to which we are liable in speculation, and
in  the conduct of affairs, in consequence of a rash application of general principles. — It appears sufficiently from  the
reasonings which I offered in the preceding section, how important are the advantages which the philosopher acquires, by
quitting the study of particulars, and directing his attention to
general principles. I flatter myself it appears further, from
the same reasonings, that it is in consequence of the use of
language alone that the human mind is rendered capable of
these comprehensive speculations.
In order, however, to proceed with safety in the use of general principles, much caution and address are necessary, both in
establishing  their truth, and in applying them  to practice.
WVithout a proper attention to the circumstances by which their
application to particular cases must be modified, they will be a
perpetual source of mistake and of disappointment, in the conduct of affairs, however rigidly just they may be in themselves,
and however accurately we may reason from them. If our
general principles happen to be false, they will involve us in
errors, not only of conduct but of speculation; and our errors
will be the more numerous, the more comprehensive the principles are on which we proceed.
To illustrate these observations fully, would lead to a minuteness of disquisition inconsistent with my general plan: and I
shall therefore, at present, confine myself to such remarks as
appear to be of most essential importance.
Miistakes of the ancients respecting the study of universals.And, in the first place, it is evidently impossible to establish
solid general principles, without the previous study of particulars: in other words, it is necessary to begin with the examination of individual objects, and individual events, in order to
lay a grouncdwork for accurate classification, and for a just investigation of the laws of nature. It is in this way only that
we can expect to arrive at general principles, which may be
safely relied on, as guides to the knowledge of particular truths:
12*




138                   ABSTRACTION.
and unless our principles admit of such a practical application,
however beautiful they may appear to be in theory, they are of
far less value than the limited acquisitions of the vulgar.  The
truth of these remarks is now so universally admitted, and is
Indeed so obvious in itself, that it would be superfluous to multiply words in supporting them; and I should scarcely have
thought of stating them  in this chapter, if some of the most
celebrated philosophers of antiquity had not been led to dispute
them, in consequence of the mistaken opinions which they
entertained concerning the nature of universals. Forgetting
that genera and species are mere arbitrary creations, which the
human mind forms by withdrawing the attention from the distinguishing qualities of objects, and giving a common name to
their resembling qualities, they conceive universals to be real
existences, or (as they expressed it) to be the essences of individuals; and flattered themselves with the belief, that by directing their attention to these essences in the first instance, they
might be enabled to penetrate the secrets of the universe, without submitting to the study, of nature in detail. These errors,
which were common to the Platonists and the Peripatetics, and
which both of them seem to have adopted from the Pythagorean
school, contributed, perhaps more than any thing else, to retard
the progress of the ancients in physical knowledge.  The late
learned ~Mr. Harris is almost the only author of the present
age who has ventured to defend this plan of philosophizing, in
opposition to that which has been so successfully followed by
the disciples of Lord Bacon.
"The Platonists," says he, " considering science as something
ascertained, definite, and steady, would admit nothing to be its
object which was vague, indefinite, and passing.  For this reason, they excluded all individuals or objects of sense, and (as
Amonius expresses it) raised themselves in their contemplations
from beings particular to beings universal, and which, from their
own nature, were eternal and definite."  "Consonant to this
was the advice of Plato, with respect to the progress of our
speculations and inquiries, to descend from those higher genera,
which include many subordinate species, down to the lowest




ABSTRACTION.                     139
rank of species, those which include 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."
" Such,l" continues this author, "'was the method of ancient
philosophy. The fashion, at present, appears to be somewhat
altered, and the business of philosophers to be little else than
the collecting from every quarter, into voluminous records, an
infinite number of sensible, particular, and unconnected facts,
the chief effect of which is to excite our admiration."  In
another part of his works, the same author observes, that " the
mind, truly wise, quitting the study of particulars, as knowing
their multitude to be infinite and incomprehensible, turns its
intellectual eye to what is general and comprehensive, and,
through generals, learns to see and recognize whatever exists."
If we abstract from these obvious errors of the ancient philosophers, with respect to the proper order to be observed in
our inquiries, and only suppose them to end where the Platonists said that they should begin, the magnificent encomiums
they bestowed on the utility of those comprehensive truths
which form the object of science, (making allowance for the
obscure and mysterious terms in which they expressed them,)
can scarcely be regarded as extravagant. It is probable that,
from a few accidental instances of successful investigation, they
had been struck with the wonderful effect of general principles
in increasing the intellectual power of the human mind; and,
misled by that impatience in the study of particulars, which is
so often connected with the consciousness of superior ability,
they labored to persuade themselves, that, by a life devoted to
abstract meditation, such principles might be rendered as immediate objects of intellectual perception, as the individuals which
compose the material world are of our external senses.  By
connecting this opinion with their other doctrines concerning
universals, they were unfortunately enabled to exhibit it in so
mysterious a form, as not only to impose on themselves, but to
perplex the understanding of all the learned in Europe for a
long succession of ages.




140                    ABSTRACTION.
The progress of human knowledge from particulars to universals. - The conclusion to which we are led by the foregoing
observations is, that the foundation of all human knowledge
must be laid in the examination of particular objects and particular facts; and that it is only as far as our general principles
are resolvable into these primary elements, that they possess
either truth or utility.  It must not, however, be understood to
be implied in this conclusion, that all our knowledge must ultimately rest on our own proper experience.  If this were the
case, the progress of science, and the progress of human improvement, must have been wonderfully retarded; for, if it had
been necessary for each individual to form  a classification of
objects, in consequence of observations and abstractions of his
own, and to infer from  the actual examination of particular
facts, the general truths on which his conduct proceeds; human
affairs would at this day remain nearly in the same state to
which they were brought by the experience of the first generation. In fact, this is very nearly the situation of the species in
all those parts of the world, in which the existence of the race
depends on the separate efforts which each individual makes, in
procuring for himself the necessaries of life; and in which, of
consequence, the habits and acquirements of each individual
must be the result of his own personal experience. (In a cultivated society, one of the first acquisitions which children make,
is the use of language; by which means they are familiarized,
from their earliest years, to the consideration of classes of objects, and of general truths; and before that time of life at
which the savage is possessed of the knowledge necessary for
his own preservation, are enabled to appropriate to themselves
the accumulated discoveries of ages.
Notwithstanding, however, the stationary condition in which
the race must, of necessity, continue, prior to the separation of
arts and professions, the natural disposition of the mind to
ascend from particular truths to general conclusions, could not
fail to lead individuals, even in the rucIest state of society, to
collect the results of their experience, for their own instruction
and that of others. But, without the use of general terms, the




ABSTRACTION.                    141
only possible way of communicating such conclusions, would be
by means of some particular example, of which the general application was striking and obvious. In other words, the wisdom
of such ages will necessarily be expressed in the form of fables
or parables, or in the still simpler form of proverbial instances;
and not in the scientific fbrm of general maxims. In this way,
undoubtedly, much useful instruction, both of a prudential and
moral kind, might be conveyed: at the same time, it is obvious,
that while general truths continue to be expressed merely by
particular exemplifications, they would afford little or no opportunity to one generation to improve on the speculations of
another; as no effort of the understanding could combine them
together, or employ them as premises, in order to obtain other
conclusions more remote and comprehensive. For this purpose,
it is absolutely necessary, that the scope or moral of the fable
should be separated entirely from its accessory circumstances,
and stated in the form of a general proposition.
Probable intellectzcal improvement of future ages. - From
what has now been said, it appears how much the progress of
human reason, which necessarily accompanies the progress of
society, is owing to the introduction of general terms, and to the
use of general propositions. In consequence of the gradual improvements which take place in language as an instrument of
thought, the classifications both of things and facts, with which
the infant faculties of each successive race are conversant, are
more just and mlre comprehensive than those of their predecessors: the discoveries which, in one age, were confined to the
studious and enlightened few, becoming in the next the established creed of the learned; and in the tthird, forming part of
the elementary principles of education. Indeed, among those
who enjoy the advantages of early instruction, some of the most
remote and wonderful conclusions of the human intellect are,
even in infancy, as completely familiarized to the mind, as the
most obvious phenomena which the material world exhibits to
their senses.
If these remarks be just, they open an unbounded prospect
of intellectual improvement to future ages; as they point out a




14 a2                  ABSTRACTION.
provision made by nature to facilitate and abridge, more and
more, the process of study, in proportion as the truths to be
acquired increase in numbers Nor is this prospect derived
from theory alone. It is encouraged by the past history of all
the sciences; in a more particular manner, by that of mathematics and physics, in which the state of discovery, and the
prevailing methods of instruction, may, at all times, be easily
compared together.  In this last observation I have been anticipated by a late eminent mathematician, whose eloquent and
philosophical statement of the argument cannot fail to carry
conviction to those who are qualified to judge of the facts on
which his conclusion is founded.'To such of my readers as may be slow in admitting the
possibility of this progressive improvement in the human race,
allow me to state, as an example, the history of that science in
which the advances of discovery are the most certain, and in
which they may be measured with the greatest precision. Those
elementary truths of geometry and of astronomy, which, in
India and Egypt, formed an occult science, upon which an amb{tious priesthood founded its influence, were become, in times
of Archimedes and Hipparchus, the subjects of common education in the public schools of Greece.  In the last century, a
few years of study were sufficient for comprehending all that
Archimedes and Hipparchus knew; and, at present, two years
employed under an able teacher, carry the student beyond
those conclusions which limited the inquiries of Leibnitz and
of Newton.  Let any person reflect on these facts, let him
follow the immense chain which connects the inquiries of Euler
with those of a priest of Memphis; let him  observe at each
epoch, how genius outstrips the present age, and how it is overtaken by mediocrity in the next; he will perceive, that nature
has furnished us with the means of abridging and facilitating
our intellectual labor, and that there is no reason for apprehending that such simplifications can ever have an end.  Hle will
perceive, that at the moment when a multitude of particular
solutions, and of insulated facts, begin to distract the attention,
and to overcharge the memory, the former gradually lose them*




ABSTRACTION.                      143
selves in one general method, and the latter unite in one general
law: and that these generallizcations continually succeeding one
to another, like the successive multiplications of a number by
itself; have no other limit, than that infinity which the human
faculties are unable to comprehend."
VII. Differences in the intellectual characters of individuals
arising frosm  their different habits of abstraction and generalization. - In mentioning as one of the principal effects of civilization, its tendency to familiarize the mind to general terms
and to general propositions, I did not mean to say, that this
influence extends equally to all the classes of men in society.
On the contrary, it is evidently confined, in a great measure, to
those who receive a liberal education; while the minds of thle
lower orders, like those of savages, are so habitually occupied
about particular objects and particular events, that, although
they are sometimes led from imitation, to employ general expressions, the use which they make of them  is much more the
result of memory than judgment; and it is but seldom that they
are able to comprehend fully any process of reasoning in which
they are involved.
It is hardly necessary for me to remark, that this observation
with respect to the incapacity of the vulgar for general speculations, (like all observations of a similar nature,) must be received with some restrictions.  In such a state of society as
that in which we live, there is hardly any individual to be found
to whom some general terms, and some general truths, are not
perfectly familiar; and, therefore, the foregoing conclusions are
to be considered as descriptive of those habits of thought alone,
which are most prevalent in their mind.  To abridge the labor
of reasoning and of memory, by directing the attention to
general principles, instead of particular truths, is the professed
aim of all philosophy; and according as individuals have more
or less of the philosophic spirit, their habitual speculations
(whatever the nature of their pursuits may be) will relate to
the former, or to the latter, of these objects.
The differences between practical men and philosophers.There are, therefore, among the men who are accustomed to the




144                    ABSTRACTION.
exercise of their intellectual powers, two classes, whose habits
of thought are remarkably distinguished from  each other; the
one class comprehending what we commlonly call men of business, or, more properly, men of detail; the other, men of abstraction; or, in other words, philosophers.
The advantages which, in certain respects, the latter of these
possess over the former, have been already pointed out; but it
must not be supposed, that these advantages are always purchased without some inconvenience.  As the solidity of our
general principles depends on the accuracy of the particular
observations into which they are ultimately resolvable, so their
utility is to be estimated by the practical applications of which
they admit; and it unfortunately happens, that the same turn of
mind which is favorable to philosophical pursuits, unless it be
kept under proper regulation, is extremely apt to disqualify us
for applying our knowledge to use, in the exercise of the arts and
in the conduct of affairs.
"the danger of applying abstract principles incautiously. - In
order to perceive the truth of these remarks, it is almost sufficient to recollect, that as classifications, and, of consequence,
general reasoning, presupposes the exercise of abstraction; a
natural disposition to indulge in them, cannot fail to lead the
mind to overlook the speci'fic differences of things, in attending
to their common qualities.  To succeed, however, in practice, a
familiar and circumstantial acquaintance with the particular
objects which fall under our observation, is indispensably necessary.
But further: As all general principles are founded on classifications which imply the exercise of abstraction, it is necessary to regard them, in their practical applications, merely as
approximations to the truth; the defects of which must be supplied by habits acquired by personal experience. In considering, for example, the theory of the mechanical powers; it is
usual to simplify the objects of our conception, by abstracting
from friction, and from  the weight of the different parts of
which they are composed. Levers are considered as mathemnatical lines, perfectly inflexible; and ropes, as mathematical




AnESTRACTION.                    145t
lines, perfectly flexible ic;- and by means of these, and similar
abstractions, a subject, which is in itself extremely complicated,
is brought within the reach of elementary geometry.  In the
theory of politics, we find it necessary to abstract from many
of the peculiarities which distinguish different forms of government from each other, and to reduce them to certain general
classes, according to their prevailing tendency.  Although all
the governments we have ever seen, have had more or less of
mixture in their composition, we reason concerning pure monarchies, pure aristocracies, and pure democracies, as if there
really existed political establishments corresponding to our definitions.  WTihout such a classification, it would be impossible
for us to fix our attention, amidst the multiplicity of particulars
which the subject presents to us, or to arrive at any general
principles, which might serve to guide our inquiries in comnparing different institutions together.
It is for a similar reason, that the speculative farmer reduces
the infinite variety of soils to a few general descriptions; the
physician, the infinite variety of bodily constitutions to a few
temperaments; and the moralist, the infinite variety of human
characters to a few of the ruling principles of action.
Notwithstanding, however, the obvious advantages we derive
from these classifications, and the general conclusions to which
they lead, it is evidently impossible that principles, which derived their origin from efforts of abstraction, should apply literally to practice; or, indeed, that they should afford us any
considerable assistance in conduct, without a certain degree of
practical and experimental skill.  Hence it is, that the mere
theorist so frequently exposes himself, in real life, to the ridicule
of men whom he despises, and, in the general estimation of the
world, falls below the level of the common drudges in business
and the arts.  The walk, indeed, of these unenlightened practitioners, must necessarily be limited by their accidental opportunities of experience; but, so far as they go, they operate
with facility and success, while the merely speculative philosopher, although possessed of principles which enable him to
approximate to the truth in an infinite Variety of untried cases,
13




1 46                   ABSTRACTION.
and although he sees with pity the narrow views of the multtude, and the ludicrous pretensions with which they frequently
oppose their trifling successes to his theoretical speculations,
finds himself perfectly at a loss when he is called upon, by the
simplest occurrences of ordinary life, to carry his principles
into execution.  Hence the origin of that maxim  "which," as
Hume remarks, "has been so industriously propagated by the
dunces of every age, that a man of genius is unfit for business."
What practical skill consists in. - In what consists practical
or experimental skill, it is not easy to explain completely;
but among other things, it obviously implies a talent for minute
and comprehensive and rapid observation; a merhory at once
retentive and ready, in order to present to us accurately, and
without reflection, our theoretical knowledge; a presence of
mind not to be disconcerted by unexpected occurrences, and, in
some cases, an uncommon degree of perfection in the external
senses, and in the mechanical capacities of the body. All these
elements of practical skill, it is obvious, are to be acquired only
by habits of active exertion, and by a familiar acquaintance
with real occurrences; for as all the practical principles of our
nature, both intellectual and animal, have a reference to particulars, and not to generals, so it is in the active scenes of life
alone, and amidst the details of business, that they can be cultivated and improved.
-Experience and practical skill not sqfficient for all occasions. -
The remarks which have been already made are sufficient to
illustrate the. impossibility of acquiring talent for business, or
for any of the practical arts of life, without actual experience.
They show, also, that mere experience, without theory, may
qualify a man, in certain cases, for distinguishing himself in
in both. It is not, however, to be imagined that, in this way,
individuals are to be formed for the uncommon, or for the important situations of society, or even for enriching the arts by
new inventions, for as their address and dexterity are founded
entirely on imitation, or derived from the lessons which experience has suggested to them, they cannot possibly extend to new
combinations of circumstances.  Mere experience, therefore,




ABSTRACTION.                    147
can, at best, prepare the mind for the subordinate departments
of life, for conductiing the established routine of business, or for
a servile repetition in the arts of common operations.
In the character of Mr. George Grenville, which Mr. Burke
introduced in his celebrated speech on American Taxation, a
lively picture is drawn of the insufficiency of- mere experience
to qualify a man for new and untried situations in the administration of government.  The observations he makes on this
subject are expressed with his usual beauty and felicity of language, and are of so general a nature, that, with some trifling
alterations, they may be extended to all the practical pursuits
of life.
" Mr. Grenville was bred to the law, which is, in my opinion,
one of the finest and noblest of human sciences; a science
which does mnore to quicken and invigorate the understanding,
than all the other kinds of learning put together; but it is not
apt, except in persons very happily born, to open and to liberalize the mind exactly in the same proportion. Passing from
that study, he did not go very largely into the world, but
plunged into business, I mean into the business of office., and
the limited and fixed methods and forms established there.
Miuch knowledge is to be had, undoubtedly, in that line, and
there is no knowledge which is not valuable. But it may be
truly said, that men too much conversant in office are rarely
minds of remarkable enlargement.  Their habits of office are
apt to give them a turn to think the substance of business not
to be much more important than the forms in which it is conducted. These forms are adapted to ordinary occasions; and,
therefore, persons who are nurtured in office do admirably well,
as long as things go on in their common order; but when the
high roads are broken up, and the waters out, when a new and
troubled scene is opened, and the file affords no precedent, then
it is, that a greater knowledge of mankind, and a far more extensive comprehension of things is requisite, than ever office
gave, or than office can ever give."
Nor is it in new combinations of circumstances alone, that
general principles assist us in the conduct of affairs; they




148                   ABSTRACT'ION.
render the application of our practical skill more unerring and
more perfect.  For as general principles limit the utility of
practical skill to supply the imperfections of theory, they
dirminish the number of cases in which this skill is to be employed, and thus at once facilitate its improvement wherever it
is requisite, and lessen the errors to which it is liable, by contracting the field within which it is possible to commit them.
It would appear, then, that there are two opposite extremes
into which men are apt to fall, in preparing themselves for the
duties of active life. The one rises from habits of abstraction and
generalization carried to an excess; the other, from  a minute,
an exclusive, and an unenlightened attention to the objects and
events which happen to fall under their actual experience.
A good education would guard against both extremes. - In a
perfect system of education, care should be taken to guard
against both extremes, and to unite habits of abstraction with
habits of business, in such a manner as to enable men to consider things either in general, or in detail, as the occasion may
require.  Whichever of these habits may happen to gain an
undue ascendant over the mind, it will necessarily produce a
character limited in its powers, and fitted only for particular
exertions.  Hence some of the apparent inconsistencies which
we may frequently remark in the intellectual capacities of the
same person. One man, from an early indulgence in abstract
speculation, possesses a knowledge of general principles, and a
talent for general reasoning, united with a fluency and eloquence
in the use of general terms, which seem, to the vulgar, to announce abilities fitted for any given situation in life; while, in
the conduct of the simplest affairs, he exhibits every mark of
irresolution and incapacity. Another not only acts with pro
priety and skill in circumstances which require a minute attention to details, but possesses an acuteness of reasoning, and
a facility of expression on all subjects, in which nothing but
what is particular is involved; while on general topics, he is
perfectly unable either to reason or to judge. It is this last
turn of mind, which I think we have, in most instances, in
view, when we speak of good sense, or common sense, in oppo



ABSTRACTION.                     149
sition to science and philosoplhy.  Both philosophy and good
sense imply the exercise of our reasoning powers; and they
differ from each other only according as these powers are applied to particulars or to generals. It is on good sense (in the
acceptation in which I have now explained the term), that the
success of men in the inferior walks of life chiefly depends;
tut, that it does not always indicate capacity for abstract science
or for general speculation, or for able conduct in situations
which require comprehensive views, is matter even of vulgar
remark.
Natural stuperiority of the men of general views. - Although,
however, each of these defects has a tendency to limit the
utility of the individuals in whom it is to be found, to certain
stations in society; no comparison can be made, in point of
original value, between the intellectual capacities of the two
classes of men to which they characteristically belong. The
one is the defect of a vigorous, an ambitious, and a comprehensive genius, improperly directed; the other, of an understanding minute and circumscribed in its views, timid in its exertions, and formed for servile imitation. Nor is the former
defect, (however difficult it may be to remove it when confirmed
by long habit,) by any means so incurable as the latter; for it
arises, not from original constitution, but from some fault in
early education; while every tendency to the opposite extreme
is more or less characteristical of a mind, useful, indeed, in a
high degree, when confined to its proper sphere, but destined,
by the hand that formed it, to borrow its lights from another.
As an additional proof of the natural superiority which men
of general views possess over.the common drudges in business,
it may be further observed, that the habits of inattention incident to the former arise in part from the little interest which
they take in particular objects and particular occurrences, and
are not wholly to be ascribed to an incapacity of attention.
When the mind has been long accustomed to the consideration
of classes of objects and of comprehensive theorems, it cannot,
without some degree of effort, descend to that humble walk of
experience, or of action, in which the meanest of mankindl arc
13*




150             THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
on a level with the greatest. In important situations, accordingly, men of the most general views are found not to be inferior to the vulgar in their attention to details; because the
objects and occurrences which such situations present, rouse
their passions, and interest their curiosity, from the* magnitude
of the consequences to which they lead.
When theoretical knowledge and practical skill are happily
combined in the same person, the intellectual power of man
appears in its full perfection; and fits him equally to conduct,
with a masterly hand, the details of ordinary business, and to
contend successfully with the untried difficulties of new and
hazardous situations. In conducting the former, mere experience may fiequently be a sufficient guide; but experience and
speculation must be combined together to prepare us for the
latter. "Expert men," says Lord Bacon, "can execute and
judge of particulars one by one; but the general counsels, and
the plots, and the marshalling of affairs, come best from those
that are learned."
CHAPTER V 
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
THE subject on which I am now to enter, naturally divides
itself' into Two Parts.  The First relates to the influence of
Association in regulating the succession of our thoughts; the
Second, to its influence on the intellectual powers, and on the
moral character, by the more intimate and indissoluble combinations which it leads us to form in infancy and in early youth.
The two inquiries, indeed, run into each other; but it will contribute much to the order of our speculations, to keep the foregoing arrangement in view.




THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.              151
PART I.
OF THE INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION IN REGULATING THE
SUCCESSION OF OUR THOUGHTS.
~ I. General Observations on this Part of our Constitution,
and' on the Language of Philosophers with respect to it. - That
one thought is often suggested to the mind by another; and
that the sight of an external object often recalls former occurrences, and revives former feelings, are facts which are perfectly familiar, even to those who are the least disposed to
speculate concerning the principles of their nature. In passing
along a road which we have formerly travelled in the company
of a friend, the particulars of the conversation in which we were
then engaged, are frequently suggested to us by the objects we
meet with. In such a scene, we recollect that a particular
subject was started; and in passing the different houses, and
plantations, and rivers, the arguments we were discussing when
we last saw them, recur spontaneously to the memory. The
connection which is formed in the mind between the words of a
language and the ideas they denote; the connection which is
formed between the different words of a discourse we have
committed to memory; the connection between the different
notes of a piece of music in the mind of the musician, are all
obvious instances of the same general law of our nature.
The influence of perceptible objects in reviving former
thoughts and former feelings, is more particularly remarkable.
After time has, in some degree, reconciled us to the death of a
friend, how wonderfully are we affected the first time we enter
the house where he lived. Every thing we see; the apartment
where he studied; the chair upon which he sat, recall to us the
happiness we have enjoyed together; and we should feel it a
sort of violation of that respect we owe to his memory, to engage
in any light or indifferent discourse when such objects aro
before us. In the case, too, of those remarkable scenes which
interest the curiosity, from the memorable persons or transac



152             THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
tions which we have been accustomed to connect with them in
the course of our studies, the fancy is more awakened by the
actual perception of the scene itself; than by the mere conception or imagination of it.  Hence the pleasure we enjoy in
visiting classical ground; in beholding the retreats which inspired the genius of our favorite authors, or the fields which
have been dignifiedd by exertions of heroic virtue. How feeble
are the emotions produced by the liveliest conception of modern
Italy, to what the poet felt, when, amidst the ruins of Rome,
"He drew th' inspiring breath of ancient arts,
And trod the sacred walks
Where, at each step, imagination burns!"
The well-known effect of a particular tune on Swiss regi
ments, when at a distance from home, furnishes a very striking
illustration of the peculiar power of a perception, or of an
impression on the senses, to awaken associated thoughts and
feelings; and numberless facts of a similar nature must have
occurred to every person of moderate sensibility, in the course
of his own experience.
"'Whilst we were at dinner," says Captain King, "in this
miserable hut, on the banks of the river Awatska, the guests
of a people with whose existence we had before been scarce acquainted, and at the extremity of the habitable globe; a solitary,
half-worn pewter spoon, whose shape wras famniliar to us, attracted
our attention; and, on examination, we found it stamped on
the back with the word London. I cannot pass over this circumstance in silence, out of gratitude for the many pleasant
thoughllts,  he anxious hopes, and tender remembrances,  it
excited in us.  Those who have experienced the effects that
long absence, and extreme distance from their native country,
produce on the mind, will readily conceive the pleasure such
a trifling incident can give."
The difference between the effect of a perception and an
idea, in awakening associated thoughts and feelings, is finely
described in the introduction to the fifth book De Finibus.
"We agreed," says Cicero, "that we should take our after



THE ASSOCIATION OF1 IDEAS.              153
noon's walk in the academy, as at that time of the day it was a
place where there was no resort of company.  Accordingly, at
the hour appointed, we went to Piso's.  We passed the time in
conversing on different matters during our short walk from the
double gate, till we came to the academy, that justly celebrated
spot, which, as we wished, we found a perfect solitude. I
know not," said Piso, " whether it be a natural feeling, or an
illusion of the imagination founded on habit, that we are more
powerfully affected by the sight of those places which have
been much frequented by illustrious men, than when we either
listen to the recital, or read the detail, of their great actions.
At this moment, I feel strongly that emotion which I speak of.
I see before me the perfect form of Plato, who was wont to
dispute in this very place; these gardens not only recall him to
my memory, but present his very person to my senses. I
fancy to myself; that here stood Speusippus, there Xenocrates,
and here, on this bench, sat his disciple Polemo. To me, our
ancient senate-house seems peopled with the like visionary
forms; for, often, when I enter it, the shades of Scipio, of Cato,
and of Lalius, and, in particular, of my venerable grandfather,
rise to my imagination. In short, such is the effect of local situation in recalling associated ideas to the mind, that it is not
without reason, some philosophers have founded on this principle a species of artificial memory."
This influence of perceptible objects, in awakening associated
thoughts and associated feelings, seems to arise, in a great measure, from their permanent operation as exciting or suggesting
causes. When a train of thought takes its rise from an idea or
conception, the first idea soon disappears, and a series of others
succeeds, which are gradually less and less related to that with
which the train commenced: but in the case of perception, the
exciting cause remains steadily before us; and all the thoughts
and feelings which have any relation to it, crowd into the mind
in rapid succession; strengthening each other's effects, and all
conspiring in the same general impression.
Common maxims of conduct founded on the association of
ideas. — I have already observed, that the connections which




154             THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
exist among our thoughts, have been long familiarly known to
the vulgar as well as to philosophers.  It is, indeed, only of
late that we have been possessed of' an appropriated phrase to
express them; but that the general fact is not a recent discovery, may be inferred from many of the common maxims of
prudence and of propriety, which have plainly been suggested
by an attention to this part of our constitution.  When~we lay
it down, for example, as a general rule, to avoid in conversation
all expressions, and all topics of discourse, which have any relation, however remote, to ideas of an unpleasant nature, we
plainly proceed on the supposition that there are certain connections among our thoughts, which have an influence over the
order of their succession.  It is unnecessary to remark, how
much of the comfort and good-humor of social life depends on
an attention to this consideration. Such attentions are more
particularly essential in our intercourse with men of the world;
for the commerce of society has a wonderful effect in increasing
the quickness and the facility with which we associate all ideas
which have any reference to life and manners;* and, of consequence, it must render the sensibility alive to many circumstances which, from the remoteness of' their relation to the situation and history of the parties, would otherwise have passed
unnoticed.
When an idea, however, is thus suggested by association, it
produces a slighter impression, or, at least, it produces its impression more gradually, than if it were presented more directly
and immediately to the mind.  And hence, when we are under
a necessity of communicating any disagreeable information to
another, delicacy leads us, instead of mentioning the thing itself,
* The superiority which the man of the world possesses over the recluse
student, in his knowledge of mankind, is partly the result of this quickness and facility of association. Those trifling circumstances in conversation and behavior, which, to the latter, convey only their most obvious
and avowed meaning, lay open to the former many of the trains of
thought which are connected with them, and frequently give him a distinct
view of a character, on that very side where it is supposed to be most conoealed from his observation.




THE ASSOCIATION  OF IDEAS.               155
to mention something else from which our meaning may be
understood.  In this manner, we prepare our hearers for the
unwelcome intelligence.
The distinction between gross and delicate flattery is founded
upon the same principle.  As nothing is more offensive than
flattery which is direct and pointed, praise is considered as
happy and elegant in proportion to the slightness of the associations by which it is conveyed.
Objections to the phrase, association of ideas.- To this tendency which one thought has to introduce another, philosophers have given the name of the Association of Ideas; and
as I would not wish, excepting in case of necessity, to depart
from common language, or to expose myself to the charge of
delivering old doctrines in a new form, I shall continue to make
use of the same expression. I am sensible, indeed, that the
expression is by -no means unexceptionable; and that, if it be
used, as it frequently has been, to comprehend those laws by
which the succession of all our thoughts and of all our mental
operations is regulated, the word idea must be understood in a
sense much more extensive than it is commonly employed in.
It is very justly remarked by Dr. Reid, that "memory, judgment, reasoning, passions, affections, and purposes; in a word,
every operation of the mind, excepting those of sense, is excited occasionally in the train of our thoughts; so that, if we
make the train of our thoughts to be only a train of ideas, the
word idea must be understood to denote all these operations."
In continuing, therefore, to employ, upon this subject, that language which has been consecrated by the practice of our best
philosophical writers in England, I would not be understood
to dispute the advantages which might be derived from  the
introduction of a new phrase, more precise and more applicable
to the fact.*
[Instead of the common phrase, association of ideas, Dr. Thomas
Brown prefers, for reasons which he has stated with great acuteness, the
simple term, suggestion. After remarking, as Reid and Stewart had done
before him, that not only ideas, but emotions, purposes, judgments, and all




T16               THE ASSOCIATION  OF IDEASo
The  relations of habit to  the association  of ideas. -The
ingenious author whom I last quoted, seems to think that the
associations of ideas has no claim to be considered as an original
principle, or as an ultimate fact in our nature.  " I believe," says
he, "that the original principles of the mind, of which we can
give no account, but that such is our constitution, are more in
number than is commonly thought. But we ought not to multiother operations of mind, succeed each other in trains of thought and feeling
by virtue of this faculty, he observes, that the term association seems to
imply that the two ideas or affections, the one of which serves to call up,
or remind us of, the other, were formerly present to the mind together, and
were then associated, or so connected with each other, that, ever afterwards,
one could not occur without bringing up the other also. In other words,
he thinks the term association implies previous association; and to this hypothesis he opposes the. well-known fact, " that an object seen for the first
time does suggest many relative conceptions."  "In this case, at least,
there cannot have been any previous connection of that which suggests
with that which is suggested." " That the perception of a giant, which
hard never before coexisted with the idea of a dwarf, should yet be sufficient, without some prior association, to induce that idea, may seem very
wonderful; but wonderful as it is, it is really not more mysterious than
if the two ideas had coexisted, or succeeded each other, innumerable
times. The great mystery is in the simple fact of the recurrence or spontaneous rise of any idea, without the recurrence of the external cause which
produced it; and when that external cause has ceased, perhaps, to have
any existence."  Take Byron's vivid description of the Dying Gladiator,
as an instance to show how present perceptions, however strong and startling
in character, may yet fail to call away the mind's attention from the
thoughts and scenes of other days, now long distant, though the latter are
not suggested by any object of sense, but only by a train of ideas and
passions that were brought together by the principle of opposition or
contrast.
"And now
The arena swims around him, - he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
" ie heard it, but he heeded not, - his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far asway.
He reeked not of the life he lost, nor prize;
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother" -1




THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.              157
ply them  without necessity.  That trains of thinking, which
by frequent repetition have become famniliar, should spontaneously offer themselves to our fancy, seems to require no other
original quality but the power of habit."
With this observation I cannot agree; because I think it
more philosophical to resolve the power of habit into the association of ideas, than to resolve the association of ideas into habit.
The word habit, in the sense in which it is commonly employed, expresses that facility which the mind acquires, in all
its exertions, both animal and intellectual, in consequence of
practice. We apply it to the dexterity of the workman; to
the extemporary fluency of the orator; to the rapidity of the
arithmetical accountant. That this facility is the effect of practice, we know from experience to be a fact; but it does not
seem to be an ultimate fact, nor incapable of analysis.
In the Essay on Attention, I showed that the effects of practice are produced partly on the body, and partly on the mind.
The muscles which we employ in mechanical operations, become stronger, and become more obedient to the will. This
is a fact, of which it is probable that philosophy will never be
able to give any explanation.
But even in mechanical operations, the effects of practice
are produced partly on the mind; and, as far as this is the case,
they are resolvable into what philosophers call the association
of ideas, or into that general fact which Dr. Reid himself has
stated, " that trains of thinking, which, by frequent repetition,
have become familiar, spontaneously offer themselves to the
mind."  In the case of habits which are purely intellectual, the
effects of practice resolve themselves completely into this principle: and it appears to me more precise and satisfactory, to
state the principle itself as a law of our constitution, than to
slur it over under the concise appellation of habit, which we
apply in common to mind and body.
Association of ideas distinguished from imagination. - The
tendency in the human mind to associate or connect its thoughts
together, is sometimes called, but very improperly, the imayination. Between these two parts of our constitution, there is,
14




158            THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
indeed, a very intimate relation; and it is probably owrine to
this relation, that they have been so generally confounded under
the same name. When the mind is occupied about absent objects of sense, (which, I believe, it is habitually in the great
majority of mankind,) its train of thought is merely a series of
conceptions; or, in common language, of imaginations. In the
case, too, of poetical imagination, it is the association of ideas
that supplies the materials out of which its combinations are
formed; and when such an imaginary combination is become
familiar to the mind, it is the association of ideas that connects
its different parts together, and unites them into one whole.
The association of ideas, therefore, although perfectly distinct
from the power of imagination, is immediately and essentially
subservient to all its exertions.
Fancy distinguished from  imagination. -  The last observation seems to me to point out, also, the circumstance which has
led the greater part of English writers to use the words imaclination and fancy as synonymous.  It is obvious, that a creative
imagination, when a person possesses it so habitually that it
may be regarded as forming one of the characteristics of his
genius, implies a power of summoning up, at pleasure, a particular class of ideas, and of ideas related to each other in a
particular manner; which power can be the result only of certain habits of association, which the individual has acquired.
It is to this power of the mind, which is evidently a particular turn of thought, and not one of the common principles
of our nature, that our best writers (so far as I am able to
judge) refer, in general, when they make use of the wordfancy;
I say, in general; for in disquisitions of this sort, in which the
best writers are seldom precise and steady in the employment of
words, it is only to their prevailing practice that we can appeal
as an authority.  What the particular relations are, by which
those ideas are connected that are subservient to poetical
imagination, I shall not inquire at present. I think they are
chiefly those of resemblance and analogy.  But whatever they
may be, the power of summoning up at pleasure the ideas so
related, as it is the groundwork of poetical genius, is of suffi



THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.                  109
cient importance in the human constitution to deserve an appropriated name; and, for this purpose, the word fancy would appear to be the most convenient that our language affords.
Dr. Reid has somewhere observed, that " the part of our constitution on which the association of ideas depends, was called,
by the older English writers, the fantasy or fancy;" a use of
the word, we may remark, which coincides, in many instances,
with that which I propose to make of it.  It differs from  it
only in this, that these writers applied it to the association of
ideas in general, whereas I restrict its application to that habit
of association, which is subservient to poetical imagination.
According to the explanation which has now been given' of
the word fancy, the office of this power is to collect materials for
the imagination; and, therefore, the latter power presupposes
the former, while the former does not necessarily suppose the
latter. A man whose habits of association present to him, for
illustrating or embellishing a subject, a number of resembling,
or of analogous ideas, we call a man of fancy: but for an effort
of imagination, various other powers are necessary, particularly
the powers of taste and of judgment; without which, we can hope
to produce nothing that will be a source of pleasure to others.
It is the power of fancy which supplies the poet with metaphorical language, and with all the analogies which are the
foundation of his illusions; but it is the power of imagination
that creates the complex scenes he describes, and the fictitious
characters he delineates.  To fancy, we apply the epithets of
rich or luxuriant; to imagination, those of beautiful or sublime.*
[* Though the best writers, as Stewart remarks, are seldom steady and
precise in the use of two terms so nearly related to each other asfiancy and
imayination, we think these two faculties may yet be distinguished from
each other by a broader line of separation than the one marked out in the
text. In fact, the assertion that it is the office of fancy only to furnish the
materials for the imagination to work upon, if it be understood to mean,
that fancy merely reproduces the sights and sounds, the thougllts and feelings, that were known before, without altering or refashioning them, or




160              THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
II. Of the principles of association among our ideas. -  The
facts which I stated in the former Section, to illustrate the tendency of a perception, or of an idea, to suggest ideas related to
it, are so obvious as to be matter of' common remark.  But the
relations which connect all our thoughts together, and the laws
which regulate their succession, were but little  attended to
before the publication of Mr. Hume's writings.
combining them anew, is contradicted by the usage both of poets and
critics.
"So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical;" -
and it throws its materials together into combinations so new and fanciful,
that the likeness of them cannot be found on the earth or under the earth.
A " fancy picture," or a "fancy sketch," is commonly understood to mean
an ideal combination of things often found separate in nature, but never
before found together. The leading characteristic of such fancy work is,
that it is recognized at the nzomnent to be unreal, or fantastic.
But imagination, as Stewart has here pointed out, is accompanied by
belief; it is, for the moment, a delusion, or a phrenzy. It assumes, or
takes for granted, the reality of its own creations. Where fancy sees only
a resemblance, imagination beholds identity.  Hence, the appropriate
figure of speech for the one, is a simile; for the other, a metaphor or
trope. Donne's witty comparison of husband and wife to a pair of compasses, -
"' The one doth in the centre sit,
And when the other far does roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect as it comes home "is, in itself, purely fanciful; for it is an avowed comparison. But one portion of it, - that which we have italicized, — is of imagination all-compact; for one half of the compasses is here not merelyfancied to be a
human being, but, on the supposition that it is a human being, corresponding affections, purposes, and actions are attributed to it. So, in Shakspeare's magnificent description of daybreak, -
" See, love! what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East;
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund Day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops "the poet's mind is all aglow with imagination, and the most daring prosopopceia becomes the instinctive language of truth itself.]




THE ASSOCIATION  OF IDEAS.                  161
It is well known to those who are in the least conversant
with the present state of metaphysical science, that this eminent
writer has attempted to reduce all the principles of association
among our ideas to three: Resemblance, Contiguity in time and
place, and  cause and Effect. The attempt was great, and worthy
of his genius; but it has been shown by several writers since
his time,* that his enumeration is not only incomplete, but that
it is even indistinct, so far as it goes.
It is not necessary for my present purpose, that I should
enter into a critical examination of this part of Mr. Hume's
system; or that I should attempt to specify those principles of
association which he has omitted. Indeed, it does not seem to
me, that the problem admits of a satisfactory solution; for there
is no possible relation among the objects of our knowledge,
which may not serve to connect them together in the mind;
and, therefore, although one enumeration may be more comprehensive  than another, a perfectly  complete  enumeration  is
scarcely to be expected.
Nor is it merely  in consequence of the relations among
things, that our notions of them are associated: they are frequently coupled together by  means of relations among the
worids which denote them; such as a similarity of sound, or
other circumstances still more trifling.  The alliteration which
is so common in poetry, and in proverbial sayings, seems to
arise, partly at least, from associations of ideas founded on the
accidental circumstance, of the two words which express them
beginning with the same letter.
"But thousands die, without or this or that;
Die, and endow a college, or a cat." - Pope's Ep. to Lord Bathurst.
" Ward tried, on puppies and the poor, his drop." - Id. Imitat. of Horace.
"Puffs, powders, patches; bibles, billet-doux." -- Rape of the Lock.
x It is observed by Dr. Beattie, that something like an attempt to enumerate the laws of association is to be found in Aristotle, who, in speaking
of recollection, insinuates, with his usual brevity, that " the relations, by
which we are led from one thoulllt to another, in tracing out, or huostinq
after," as he calls it, " anlly plarticular thought which does not immediately
occur, are chiefly three, resernblalce, coltrarietl, and contiguity."
14~ e




162             TlHE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
This indeed pleases only on slight occasions, when it may be
supposed that the mind is in some degree playful, and under
the influence of those principles of association which commonly
take place when we are careless and disengaged. Every person must be offended with the second line of the following
couplet, which forms part of a very sublime description of the
Divine power:"' Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart." - Essay on Man, Ep. i.
To these observations, it may be added, that things which
have no known relation to each other are often associated in
consequence of their producing similar effects on the mind.
Some of the finest poetical allusions are founded on this principle; and accordingly, if the reader is not possessed of sensibility congenial to that of the poet, he will be apt to overlook
their meaning, or to censure them as absurd. To such a critic,
it would not be easy to vindicate the beauty of the following
stanza, in an ode addressed to a lady by the author of the
" Seasons: "-                                       -
" 0 thou, whose tender, serious eye,
Expressive speaks the soul I love;
The gentle azure of the sky,
The pensive shadows of the grove."
The principles of association divided into two classes. -I have
already said, that the view of the subject which I propose to
take, does not require a complete enumeration of our principles
of association. There is, however, an important distinction
among them, to which I shall have occasion frequently to refer;
and which, as far as I know, has not hitherto attracted the
notice of philosophers. The relations upon which some of them
are founded, are perfectly obvious to the mind; those which are
the foundation of others, are discovered only in consequence of
particular efforts of attention.  Of the former kind, are the relations of resemblance and analogy, of contrariety, of vicinity in
time and place, and those which arise from  accidental coincidences in the sound of different words.  These, in general, con



THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.                163
nect our thoughts together, when they are suffered to take their
natural course, and when we are conscious of little or no active
exertion.  Of the latter kind, are the relations of cause and
effect, of means and end, of prenmises and conclusion; and those
others, which regulate the train of thought in the mind of the
philosopher when he is engaged in a particular investigation.
It is owing to this distinction, that transitions, which would be
highly offensive in philosophical writing, are the most pleasing
of' any in poetry. In the former species of composition, we
expect to see an author lay down a distinct plan or method,
and observe it rigorously; without allowing himself to ramble
into digressions, suggested by the accidental ideas or expressions, which may occur to him in his progress.  In that state
of mind in which poetry is read, such digressions are not only
agreeable, but necessary to the effect; and an arrangement
founded on the spontaneous and seemingly casual order of our
thoughts, pleases more than one suggested by an accurate
analysis of the subject.
How absurd would the long digression in praise of industry, in Thomson's "Autumn," appear, if it occurred in  a
prose essay! a digression, however, which, in that beautiful
poem, arises naturally and insensibly from the view of a luxuriant harvest;. and which as naturally leads the poet back to
the point where his excursion began:"All is the gift of industry; whate'er
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life
Delightful. Pensive Winter, cheered by him,
Sits at the social fire, and happy hears
Th' excluded tempest idly rave along;
His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring;
Without him Summer were an arid waste;
Nor to th' Autumnal months could thus transmit
Those full, mature, immeasurable stores,
That, waving round, recall my wand'ring song."
In Goldsmith's " Traveller," the transitions are managed with
consummate skill; and yet how  different from  that logical
method which would be suited to a plilosophical discourse on
the state of society in the different parts of Europe! Some of




164             THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
the finest are suggested by the associating principle of contrast.
Thus, after describing the effeminate and debased Roman, the
poet proceeds to the Swiss: —' "My soul turn from them -turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display."
And, after painting some defects in the manners of this gallant
but unrefined people, his thoughts are led to those of the
French: -
"To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,
I turn - and France displays her bright domain."
The transition which occurs in the following lines, seems to
be suggested by the accidental mention of a word: and is certainly one of the happiest in our language: —
"I-IHeavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old!
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold;
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow,
How much unlike the sons of Britain now!
- Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing,
And flies, where Britain courts the western spring.'
Numberless illustrations of the same remark might be collected  from  the ancient poets, more particularly from  the
Georgics of Virgil, where the singular felicity of the transitions
has attracted the notice even of those who have been the least
disposed to indulge themselves in philosophical refinement concerning the principles of criticism. A celebrated instance of
this kind occurs in the end of the first book; the consideration
of the weather and of its common prognostics leading the fancy,
in the first place, to those more extraordinary phenomena which,
according to the superstitious belief of the vulgar, are the forerunners of political revolutions; and afterwards to the death of
Caesar, and the battles of Pharsalia and Philippi. The manner
in which the poet returns to his original subject, displays that
exquisite art which is to be derived only from the diligent and
enlightened study of nature.
"Scilicet et tempus veniet chm finibus illis
Agricola, incurvo terram molitus aratro,




THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.                165
Exesa invenient scabrt rubigine pila;
Aut gravihus rastris galeas pulsabit inanes,
Grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossa sepulchris."
Ideas are associated more readily in the minds of some persons
than of others. - The facility with which ideas are associated
in the mind, is very different in-different individuals; a circumstance which, as I shall afterwards show, lays the foundation of
remarckable varieties among men, both in respect of genius and
of character.  I am inclined, too, to think that, in the other sex,
(probably in consequence of early education,) ideas are more
easily associated together than in the minds of men. Hence
the liveliness of their fancy, and the superiority they possess in
epistolary writing, and in those kinds of poetry in which the
principal recommendations are, ease of thought and expression.
Hence, too, the facility with which they contract or loose habits
and accommodate their minds to new situations; and I may add,
the disposition they have to that species of superstition which is
founded on accidental combinations of circumstances.  Ths
influence which this facility of association has on the power of
taste, shall be afterwards considered.
[II. Of the power which the mind has over the train of its
thoughts. —By means of the association of ideas, a constant
current of thoughts, if I may use the expression, is made to
pass through the mind while we are awake. Sometimes the
current is interrupted, and the thoughts diverted into a new
channel, in consequence of the ideas suggested by other men, or
of the objects of perception with which we are surrounded. So
completely, however, is the mind, in this particular, subjected to
physical laws, that it has been justly observed by Lord Kaimes
and otheris, we cannot, by an effort of our will, call up any one
thought; and that the train of our ideas depends on causes
which operate in a manner inexplicable by us.
This observation, although it has been censured as paradoxical, is almost self-evident; for, to call uip a particular thought
supposes it to be already in the mind. As I shall have frequent
occasion, however, to refer to the observation afterwards, I shall
endeavor to obviate the only objection which, I think, can reas.




166            THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
onably be urged against it; and which is founded on that operation of the mind which is commonly called recollection or
intentional memory.
Intentional memory explained. - It is evident, that before we
attempt to recollect the particular circumstances of any event,
that event in general must have been an object of our attention.
WTe remember the outlines of the story, but cannot at first give
a complete account of it. If we wish to recall these circumstances, there are only two ways in which we can proceed. We
must either form different suppositions, and then consider which
of these tallies best with the other circumstances of the event;
or, by revolving in our mind the circumstances we remember,
we must endeavor to excite the recollection of the other circumstances associated with them. The first of these processes is,
properly speaking, an inference of reason, and plainly furnishes
no exception to the doctrine already delivered.  We have an
instance of the other mode of recollection, when we are at a
loss for the beginning of a sentence, in reciting a composition
that we do not perfectly remember; in which case, we naturally
repeat over, two or three times, the concluding words of the
preceding sentence, in order to call up the other words which
used to be connected with them  in the memory. In this instance, it is evident, that the circumstances we desire to remember are not recalled to the mind in immediate consequence
of an exertion of volition, but are suggested by some other circumstances with which they are connected, independently of
our will, by the laws of our constitution.
Notwithstanding, however, the immediate' dependence of the
train of our thoughts on the laws of association, it must not be
imagined that the will possesses no influence over it. This
influence, indeed, is not exercised directly and immediately, as
we are apt to suppose on a superficial view of the subject: but
it is nevertheless, very extensive in its effects; and the different
degrees in which it is possessed by different individuals, constitute some of the most striking inequalities among men, in point
of intellectual capacity.
Power of the will over the thoughts. - Of the powers which




THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.               167
the mind possesses over the train of its thoughts, the most
obvious is its power of singling out any one of them at pleasure;
of detaining it; and of making it a particular object of attention.  By doing so, we not only stop the succession that would
otherwise take place; but, in consequence of our bringing to
view the less obvious relations among our ideas, we frequently
divert the current of our thoughts into a new channel. If, for
example, when I am indolent and inactive, the name of Sir
Isaac Newton accidentally occur to me, it will perhaps suggest,
one after another, the names of some other eminent mathematicians and astronomers, or some of his illustrious contemporaries
and friends: and a number of them may pass in review before
me, without engaging my curiosity in any considerable degree.
In a different state of mind, the name of Newton will lead my
thoughts to the principal incidents of his life, and the more
striking features of his character: or, if my mind be ardent and
vigorous, will lead my attention to the sublime discoveries he
made; and gradually engage me in some philosophical investigation. To every object, there are others which bear obvious
and striking relations; and others, also, whose relation to it
does not readily occur to us, unless we dwell upon it for some
time, and place it before us in different points of view.
But the principal power we possess over the train of our ideas,
is founded on the i7nfluence which our habits of thinking have on
the laws of association; an influence which is so great, that we
may often form a pretty shrewd judgment concerning a man's
prevailing turn of thought, from the transitions he makes in
conversation or in writing. It is well known, too, that by means
of habit, a particular associating principle may be strengthened
to such a degree, as to give us a command of all the different
ideas in our mind, which have a certain relation to each other;
so that, when any one of the class occurs to us, we have almost
a certainty that it will suggest the rest.  What confidence in his
own powers must a speaker possess, when he rises without premeditation, in a popular assembly, to amuse his audience with a
lively or a humorous speech! Such a confidence, it is evident,




168             TIE ASSOCIATION OF IDEASo
can only arise from a long experience of the strength of particular associating principles.
aCbits of associcttion faciltitate the exercise of various powers
of mind. - To how great a degree this part of our constitution
may be influenced by habit, appears from facts which are familiar
to every one.  A man who has an ambition to become a punster,
seldom or never fails in the attainment of his object; that is, he
seldom or never fails in acquiring a power which other men
have not, of summoning up, on a particular occasion, a number
of words different from each other in meaning, and resembling
each other, more or less, in sound.  I am inclined to think that
even genuine wit is a habit acquired in a similar way; and that,
although some individuals may, from natural constitution, be
more fitted than others to acquire this habit; it is founded in
every case on a peculiarly strong association among certain
classes of our ideas, which gives the person who possesses it, a
command over those ideas, which is denied to ordinary men.
But there is no instance in which the effects of habits of association is more remarkable than in those men who possess a
facility of rhyming.  That a man should be able to express his
thoughts perspicuously and elegantly, under the restraints which
rhyme imposes, would appear to be incredible, if we did not
know it to be fact.  Such a power implies a wonderful command both of ideas and of expressions; and yet daily experience
shows that it may be gained with very little practice. Pope
tells us with respect to himself, that he could express himself,
not only more concisely, but more easily, in rhyme than in
prose.*
Nor is it only in these trifling accomplishments that we may
trace the influence of habits of association.  In every instance
* "When habit is once gained, nothing so easy as practice. Cicero
writes, that Antipater, the Sidonian, could pour forth hexameters extempore; and that, whenever he chose to versify, words followed him of course.
We may add to Antipater, the ancient rhapsodists of the Greeks, and the
modern improvisatori of the Italians." - Harris's Phil. Inq. 108, 110.




wIT.                       169
of invention, either in the fine arts, in the mechanical arts, or in
the sciences, there is some new idea, or some new combination
of ideas, brought to light by the inventor. This, undoubtedly,
may often happen in a way which he is unable to explain: that
is, his invention may be suggested to him by some lucky thought,
the origin of which he is unable to trace. But when a man
possesses an habitual fertility of invention in any particular art
or science, and can rely, with confidence, on his inventive powers,
whenever he is called upon to exert them, he must have acquired,
by previous habits of study, a command over certain classes of
his ideas, which enables him, at pleasure, to bring them under
his review. The illustration of these subjects may throw light
on some processes of the mind, which are not in general well
understood: and I shall accordingly, in the following section,
offer a few hints with respect to those habits of association which
are the foundation of wit; of the power of rhyming; of poetical
fancy; and of invention in matters of science.
IV. Illustrations of this doctrine.  1. Of wit. — According to
Locke, ~Wit consists " in the assemblage of ideas; and putting
those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found
any resemblance or congruity."  I would add to this definition,
(rather by way of comment than of amendment,) that wit
implies a power of calling up at pleasure the ideas which it combines; and I am inclined to believe, that the entertainment
which it gives to the hearer is founded, in a considerable degree,
on his surprise at the command which the man of wit has
acquired over a part of the constitution, which is so little subject
to the will.
That the effect of wit depends partly, at least, on the circumstance now mentioned, appears evidently from this, that we are
more pleased with a bon mot which occurs in conversation, than
with one in print; and that we never fail to receive disgust
from wit, when we suspect it to be premeditated. The pleasure,
too, we receive from wit, is heightened, when the original idea
is started by one person, and the related idea by another. Dr.
Campbell has remarked, that " a witty repartee is infinitely more
pleasing than a witty attack; and that an allusion will appear
15




170                        WIT.
excellent when thrown out extempore in conversation, which
would be deemed execrable in print."  In all these cases, the
wit consiclered absolutely is the same. The relations which are
discovered between the compared ideas are equally new; and
yet, as soon as we suspect that the wit was premeditated, the
pleasure we receive from it is infinitely diminished. Instances
indeed may be mentioned, in which we are pleased with contemplating an unexpected relation between ideas, without any reference to the habits of association in the mind of the person who
discovered it. A bon mot produced at the game of cross-purposes, would not fail to create amusement; but in such cases,
our pleasure seems chiefly to arise from the surprise we feel at
so extraordinary a coincidence between a question and an
answer coming from persons who had no direct communication
with each other.
Of the effect added to' vit by the promptitude with which its
combinations are formed, Fuller appears to have had a very
just idea, from what he has recorded of the social hours of our
two great English Dramatists.  "Jonson's parts were not so
ready to run of themselves, as able to answer the spur; so that
it may be truly said of him, that he had an elaborate wit, wrought
out by his own industry. Many were the wit combats between
him and Shakspeare, which two I behold like a Spanish great
galleon, and an English man-of-war. Jonson, like the former,
was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow in his performances.  Shakspeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in
bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about
and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit
and invention."
I before observed, that the pleasure we receive from wit is
increased, when the two ideas between which the relation is discovered, are suggested by different persons. In the case of a
bon mot occurring in conversation, the reason of this is abundantly obvious; because, when the related ideas are suggested
by different persons, we have a proof that the wit was not premeditated. But even in a written composition, we are much
more delighted when the subject was furnished to the author by




WIT.                        171
another person, than when he chooses the topic on which he is
to display his wit. How much would the pleasure we receive
from the Key to the Lock be diminished, if we suspected that the
author had the key in view when he wrote that poem; and that
he introduced some expressions, in order to furnish a subject for
the wit of the commentator. How totally would it destroy the
pleasure we receive friom a parody on a poem, if we suspected
that both were productions of the same author?  The truth
seems to be, that when both the related ideas are suggested by
the same person, we have not a very satisfactory proof' of any
thing uncommon in the intellectual habits of the author.  We
may suspect that both ideas occurred to him at the same time;
and we know that, in the dullest and most phlegmatic minds,
such extraordinary associations will sometimes take place. But
when the subject of the wit is furnished by one person, and the
wit suggested by another, we have a proof, not only that the
author's mind abounds with such singular associations, but that
he has his wit perfectly at command.
The effect of wit increased by the limitations and diiczulties of
the subject. - As an additional confirmation of these observations,
we may remark, that the more an author is limited by his subject, the more we are pleased with his wit. And, therefore, the
effect of wit does not arise solely from the unexpected relations
which it presents to the mind, but arises, in part, from  the surprise it excites at those intellectual habits which give it birth.
It is evident, that the more the author is circumscribed in the
choice of his materials, the greater must be the command which
be has acquired over those associating principles on which wit
depends, and of consequence, according to the foregoing doctrine,
the greater must be the surprise and the pleasure which his wit
produces. In Addison's celebrated verses to Sir Godfrey Kneller on his picture of George the First, in which he compares
the painter to Phidias, and the subjects of his pencil to the
Grecian Deities, the range of the poet's wit was necessarily
confined within very narrow  bounds; and what principally
delights us in that performance is, the surprising ease and felicity
with which he runs the parallel between the English history and




172                            WIT.
the Greek mythology.  Of all the allusions which the following
passage contains, there is not one, taken singly, of very extraordinary merit; and yet the effect of the whole is uncommonly
great, from the singular power of combination, which so long
and so difficult an exertion discovers.
"Wise Phidias thus, his skill to prove,
Thro' many a god advanced to Jove,
And taught the polish'd rocks to shine
With airs and lineaments divine,
Till Greece amaz'd and half afraid,
Th' assembled Deities survey'd.
Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair,
And lov'd the spreading oak, was there;
Old Saturn, too, with up-cast eyes,
Beheld his abdicated skies;
And mighty Mars, for war renown'd,
In adam antine armor frown'd;
By him the childless Goddess rose,
Minerva, studious to compose
Her twisted threads; the web she strung,
And o'er a loom of marhble hung;
Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen,
Match'd with a mortal next was seen,
Reclining on a funeral urn,
Her short-liv'd darling son to mourn;
The last was he, whose thunder slew
The Titan race, a rebel crew,
That from a hundred hills ally'd,
In impious league their King defy'd.*
According to the view which I have given of the nature of
wit, the pleasure we derive from that assemblage of ideas which
* [As this parallel between English history and Grecian mythology may
not be as clear and intelligible to American as to English pupils, and as
some of the comparisons, in spite of Stewart's commendation of them,
may even appear dull and far-fetched, a few words of commentary may
not seem useless. " Great Pan" stands for Charles II., who once escaped
his pursuers by ensconcing himself in an oak tree, and whose loves were
more numerous than select. James II., who feebly lost a throne which,
in the gentle but lying phrase of the day, he was said to have " abdicated,"
is here likened to Saturn. "M fighty Mars" is William of Orange, "re



RHYME.                         173
it presents, is greatly heightened and enlivened by our surprise
at the command displayed over a part of the constitution, which,
in our own case, we find to be so little subject to the will.  We
consider wit as a sort of feat or trick of intellectual dexterity,
analogous, in some respects, to the extraordinary performances
of jugglers and rope-dancers; and, in both cases, the pleasure
we receive from the exhibition, is explicable in part, (I, by no
means, say entirely,) on the same principles.
If these remarks be just, it seems to follow as a consequence,
that those men who are most deficient in the power of prompt
combination, will be most poignantly affected by it, when exerted
at the will of another: and therefore, the charge of jealousy
and envy brought against rival wits, when disposed to look grave
at each other's jests, may perhaps be obviated in a way less
injurious to their character.
The same remarks suggest a limitation, or rather an explanation, of an assertion of Lord Chesterfield's, that " genuine wit
never made any man laugh since the creation of the world."
The observation, I believe to be just, if by genuine wit, we
mean wit wholly divested of every mixture of humor: and if
by laughter, we mean that convulsive and noisy agitation which
is excited by the ludicrous.  But there is unquestionably a smile
appropriated to the flashes of wit; a smile of surprise and
wonder; — not altogether unlike the effect produced on the mind
and the countenance by a feat of legerdemain, when executed
with uncommon success.
2. Of rhyme. — The pleasure we receive from rhyme, seems
also to arise, partly, from our surprise at the command which
nowned" for his long wars against Louis XIV; while his consort and
the sharer of his throne, the childless Mary, stands for Minerva. Thetis
stands for Queen Anne, who was "matched with a Inortal"- one wh
was not a king, though married to a queen - Prince George of Denmark;
her "short-lived darling son " was the Duke of Gloucester, who died at
the age of twelve years. " The last" was George I., about as poor a
representative of "Jove" as could be imagined; the Highlanders - i. e.
the rebel "Titans," from "a hundred hills " —attempted in vain to
dethrone him in 1715.1




174                      RHYME.
the poet must have acquired over the train of his ideas, in order
to be able to express himself with elegance, and the appearance
of ease, under the restraint which rhyme imposes. In witty or
in humorous performances, this surprise serves to enliven that
which the wit or the humor produces, and renders its effects
more sensible. How flat do the liveliest and most ludicrous
thoughts appear in blank verse? And how wonderfully is the
wit of Pope heightened, by the easy and happy rhymes in which
it is expressed?
Other sources of pleasure in wit and in rhyme. - It must not,
however, be imagined, either in the case of wit or of rhyme,
that the pleasure arises solely from our surprise at the uncommon habits of association which the author discovers. In' the
former case, there must be presented to the mind, an unexpected
analogy or relation between different ideas; and perhaps other
circumstances must concur to render the wit perfect. If the
combination has no other merit than that of bringing together
two ideas which never met before, we may be surprised at its
oddity, but we do not consider it as a proof of wit. On the
contrary, the want of any analogy or relation between the combined ideas, leads us to suspect, that the one did not suggest the
other in consequence of any habits of association; but that the
two were brought together by study, or by mere accident. All
that I affirm is, that when the analogy or relation is pleasing in
itself, our pleasure is heightened by our surprise at the author's
habits of association when compared with our own. In the case
of rhyme, too, there is undoubtedly a certain degree of pleasure
arising from the recurrence of the same sound. We frequently
observe children amuse themselves with repeating over single
words which rhyme together; and the lower people, who derive
little pleasure from poetry excepting in so far as it affects the
ear, are so pleased with the echo of the rhymes, that when they
read verses where it is not perfect, they are apt to supply the
poet's defects by violating the common rules of pronunciation.
This pleasure, however, is heightened by our admiration at the
miraculous powers which the poet must have acquired over
the train of his ideas, and over all the modes of expression




RHIIYME.                        175
which the language affords, in order to convey instruction and
entertainment, without transgressing the established laws of
regular versification. In some of the lower kinds of poetry;
for example, in acrostics, and in the lines which are adapted to
bouts-rimes, the merit lies entirely in this command of thought
and expression; or, in other words. in a command of ideas
founded on extraordinary habits of association.  Even some
authors of a superior class occasionally show an inclination to
display their knack at rhyming, by introducing, at the end of the
first line of a couplet, some word to which the language hardly
affords a corresponding sound.  Swift, in his more trifling
pieces, abounds with instances of this; and in Hudibras, when
the author uses his double and triple rhymes, many couplets
have no merit whatever but what arises from difficulty of execution.
Chiefpleasure derived from rhymes. - The pleasure we receive
from rhyme in serious compositions, arises from a combination
of different circumstances which my present subject does not
lead me to investigate particularly.*  I am persuaded, however,
that it arises, in part, from our surprise at the poet's habits of
association, which enable him to convey his thoughts with ease
and beauty, notwithstanding the narrow limits within which his
choice of expression is confined.  One proof of this is, that if
x In elegiac poetry, the occurrence of the same sound, and the uniformity in the structure of the versification which this necessarily occasions,
are peculiarly suited to the inactivity of the mind, and to the slow: and
equable succession of its ideas, when under the influence of tender or
melancholy passions; and accordingly, in such cases, even the Latin poets,
though the genius of their language be very ill fitted for compositions in
rhyme, occasionally indulge themselves in something very nearly approaching to it: -
"Memnona si mater, mater ploravit Achillem,
Et tangant magnas tristia fata Deas;
Flebilis indignos Elegeia solve capillos,
Ah nimis cx vero nuac tibi nomen erit."
Many other instances of the same kind might be produced from the
elegiac verses of O~vid and Tibullus.




1. 76                     RIHYME.
there appear any m2ark of constraint, either in the ideas or in the
expression, our pleasure is proportionally diminished.  The
thoughts must seem to suggest each other, and the rhymes to be
only an accidental circumstance.  The same remark may be
made on the measure of the verse.  When in its greatest perfection, it does not appear to be the result of labor, but to be
dictated by nature, or prompted by inspiration.  In Pope's best
verses, the idea is expressed with as little inversion of style, and
with as much conciseness, precision, and propriety, as the author
could have attained, had he been writing prose: without any
apparent exertion on his part, the words seem spontaneously to
arrange themselves in the most musical numbers.
" While still a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came."
This facility of versification, it is true, may be, and probably
is, in most cases, only apparent; and it is reasonable to think,
that in the most perfect poetical productions, not only the choice
of words, but the choice of ideas, is influenced by the rhymes.
In a prose composition, the author holds on in a direct course,
according to the plan he has previously formed; but in a poem,
the rhymes which occur to him are perpetually diverting him
to the right hand or to the left, by suggesting ideas which do
not naturally rise out of his subject. This, I presume, is Butler's meaning in the following: —
"' Rhymes the rudcier are of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses."
But although this may be the case in fact, the poet must employ
all his art to conceal it: insomuch that if he finds himself under
a necessity to introduce, on account of the rhymes, a superfluous
idea, or an awkward expression, lie must place it in the first
line of the couplet, and not in the second; for the reader, naturally presuming that the lines were composed in the order in
which the author arranges them, is more apt to suspect the
second line to be accommodated to the first, than the first to the
second.  And this slight artifice is, in general, sufficient to
impose on that degree of atterntion with which poetry is read.




PO'ETICAL FANCY.                   177
Who can doubt that, in the following lines, Pope wrote the first
for the sake of the second?
"A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod;
An honest man's the noblest work of God."
Were the first of these lines, or a line equally unmeaning, placed
last, the couplet would have appeared execrable to a person of
the most moderate taste.
Why alliteration is introduced. - It affords a strong confirmation of the fbregoing  observations, that the poets of
some nations have delighted in the practice of alliteration,
as well as of rhyme; and have ever considered it as an essential circumstance in versification.  Dr. Beattie observes, that
4 some  ancient English  poems are more distinguished by
alliteration, than by any other poetical contrivance.  In the
works of Langland, even when no regard is had to rhyme,
and but- little to a rude sort of anapestie measure, it seems
to have been a rule, that three words, at least, of each line
should begin with the same letter." A late author informs
us, that, in the Icelandic poetry, alliteration is considered as a
circumstance no less essential than rhyme. He mentions also
several other restraints, which must add wonderfully to the
difficulty of versification; and which appear to us to be perfectly arbitrary and capricious. If that really be the case, the
whole pleasure of the reader or hearer arises from his surprise
at the facility of the poet's composition under these complicated
restraints; that is, from his surprise at the command which the
poet has acquired over his thoughts and expressions.  In our
rhyme, I acknowledge that the coincidence of sound is agreeable in itself; and only affirm, that the pleasure which the ear
receives from it, is heightened by the other consideration.
3. Of poeticalfancy. - There is another habit of association
which, in some men, is very remarkable; that which is the foundation of poetical fancy: a talent which agrees with wit in some
circumstances, but which differs from it essentially in others.
The pleasure we receive from wit, agrees in one particular
with the pleasure which arises from poetical allusions; that in




178                   POETICAL FANC~M
both cases, we are pleased with contemplating an analogy
between two different subjects.  But they differ in this, that the
man of wit has no other aim than to combine analogous ideas;*
whereas no allusion can, with propriety, have a place in serious
poetry, unless it eithler illustrate or adorn the principal subject.
If it has both these recommendations, the allusion is perfect.
If it has neither, as is often the case with the allusions of Cowley and of Young, the fancy of the poet degenerates into wit.
If these observations be well founded, they suggest a rule
with respect to poetical allusions, which has not always been
sufficiently attended to.  It frequently happens, that two subjects
bear an analogy to each other in more respects than one; and
where such can be found, they undoubtedly furnish the most
favorable of all occasions for the display of wit.  But, in serious
poetry, I am  inclined to think, that however striking these
analogies may be, and although each of them  might with propriety, be made the foundation of a separate allusion, it is
improper, in the course of the same allusion, to include more
than one of them; as, by doing so, an author discovers an
affectation of wit, or a desire of tracing analogies, instead of
illustrating or adorning the subject of his composition.t
FaWhy poetical fancy pleases. - I formerly defined fancy to be
- I speak here of pure and unmixed wit; and not of wit blended, as it
is most commonly, with some degree of humor.
i In the following stanza of Shenstone, for example,
How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's sentence reached her ear.
For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale, or yet so chill appear;"
the double allusion unquestionably borders on conceit. The same double
allusion occurs in the translation of Mallet's "William and Margaret," by
Vincent Bourne,
"Candidior nive, frigidiorque manus."
How inferior in pathetic simplicity to the original,
And clay cold was the lily hand, etc,




POETICAL FANCY.                    179
a power of associating ideas according to relations of resemblance and analogy.  This definition will probably be thought
too general; and to approach too near to that given of wit. In
order to discover the necessary limitations, we shall consider
~vhat the circumstances are, which please us in poetical allu
sions.  As these allusions are suggested by fancy, and are the
most striking instances in which it displays itself, the received
rules of critics with respect to them may throw some light or
the mental power which gives them birth.
1. An allusion pleases, by illustrating a subject comparatively
obscure.  Hence, I apprehend, it will be found that allusions
from the intellectual world to the material, are more pleasing,
than from the material world to the intellectual.  Mason, in his
Ode to Memory, compares the influence of that faculty over
our ideas, to the authority of a general over his troops;
-— "  thou, whose sway
The throng'd ideal hosts obey;
Who bidst their ranks now vanish, now appear'
Flame in the van, or darken in the rear."
Would the allusion have been equally pleasing, from a general
marshalling his soldiers, to memory and the succession of ideas?
The effect of a literal and spiritless translation of a work of
genius, has been compared to that of the figures which we see,
when we look at the wrong side of a beautiful piece of tapestry.
The allusion is ingenious and happy; but the pleasure which
we receive from it arises, not merely from the analogy which it
presents to us, but from the illustration which it affords of the
author's idea. No one, surely, in speaking of a piece of tapestry, would think of comparing the difference between its sides,
to that between an original composition and a literal translation.
Cicero, and after him Mr. Locke, in illustrating the difficulty
of attending to the subjects of our consciousness, have coLLpared the mind to the eye, which sees every object around it,
but is invisible to itself. To have compared the eye, in this
respect, to the mind, would have been absurd.
Mr. Pope's comparison of the progress of youthful curiosity,
in the pursuits of science; to that of a traveller among the Alps,




18(0                 POETICAL FAINCI.
has been much, and justly, admired.  How would the beauty of
the allusion have been diminished, if the Alps had furnished
the original subject and not the illustration ]
But although this rule holds in general, _ acknowledge, that
instances may be produced, frolm our most celebrated poetical
perfbrmances, of allusions from material objects, both to the
intellectual and the moral worlds. These, however, are comparatively few in number, and are not to be found in descriptive
or in didactic works; but in compositions written under the
influence of some particular passion, or which are meant to express some peculiarity in the mind of the author. Thus, a
melancholy man who has met with many misfortunes in life,
will be apt to moralize on every physical event, and every appearance of nature; because his attention dwells more habitually on human life and conduct, than on the material objects
around him.  This is the case with the banished Duke, in
Shakspeare's As you, like it; who, in the language of that poet,
"Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing."
But this is plainly a distempered state of the mind; and the
allusions please, not so much by the analogies they present, as
by the picture they give of the character of the person to
whom they have occurred.
2. An allusion pleases, by presenting a new and beautiful
image to the mind. The analogy or the resemblance between
this image and the principal subject, is agreeable of itself, and
is indeed necessary, to furnish an apology for the transition
which the writer makes; but the pleasure is wonderfully heightened, when the new image thus presented is a beautiful one.
The following allusion, in one of Mr. Home's tragedies, appears
to me to unite almost every excellence: —
~- P-" Hope and fear alternate sway'd his breast;
Like light and shade upon a waving field,
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds
Now hide, and now reveal, the sun."
HIere the analogy is remarkably perfect; not only between




INVENTION.                       181
light and hope, and between darkness and fear; but between
the rapid succession of light and shade, and the momentary
influences of these opposite emotions; while at the same time,
the new image wlich is presented to. us, recalls one of the most
pleasing and impressive incidents in rural scenery.
The foregoing observations suggest a reason why the principal stores of fancy are commonly supposed to be borrowed
from the material world.  Wit has a more extensive province,
and delights to display its power of prompt and unexpected
combinations over all the various classes of our ideas; but the
favorite excursions of fancy are from intellectual and moral
subjects to the appearances with which our senses are conversant. The truth is, that such allusions please more than any
others in poetry. According to this limited idea of fancy, it
presupposes, where it is possessed in an eminent degree, an extensive observation of natural objects, and a mind susceptible
of strong impressions from them. It is thus only that a stock
of images can be acquired; and that these images will be ready
to present themselves, whenever any analogous subject occurs.
And hence probably it is, that poetical genius is almost always
united with an exquisite sensibility to the beauties of nature.
Before leaving the subject of fancy, it may not be improper
to remark that its two qualities are, liveliness and luxuriancy.
The word lively refers to the quickness of the association. The
word rich, or luxuriant, to the variety of associated ideas.
4. Of invention in the arts and sciences. - To these powers
of wit and fancy, that of invention in the arts and sciences has
a striking resemblance. Like them, it implies a command over
certain classes of ideas, which, in ordinary men, are not equally
subject to the will; and like them, too, it is the result of acquired
habits, and not the original gift of nature.
Of the process of the mind in scientific invention,/I propose
afterwards to treat fully under the article of reasoning; and I
shall therefore confine myself at present to a few detached remarks upon some views of the subject which are suggested by
the foregoing inquiries.
Diffierence between invention and discovery. - Before we
16




182                    INVENTION.
proceed, it may be proper to take notice of the distinction between invention and discovery. The object of the former, as
has been frequently remarked, is to produce something which
had no existence before; that of the latter, to bring to light
something which did exist, but which was concealed from common observation. Thus we say, Otto Guerricke invented the
air-pump; Sanctorius invented the thermometer; Newton and
Gregory invented the reflecting telescope; Galileo discovered
the solar spots; and Harvey discovered the circulation of the
blood. It appears, therefore, that improvements in the arts are
properly called inventions, and that facts brought to light by
means of observation are properly called discoveries.
Agreeable to this analogy is the use which we make of these
words, when we apply them to subjects purely intellectual. As
truth is eternal and immutable, and has no dependence on our
belief or disbelief of it, a person who brings to light a truth
formerly unknown is said to make a discovery. A person, on
the other hand, who contrives a new method of discovering
truth, is called an inventor. Pythagoras, we say, discovered
the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid's first book; Newton
discovered the binomial theorem; but he invented the method
of prime and ultimate ratios, and he invented the method of
fluxions.
In general, every advancement in knowledge is considered as a
discovery; every contrivance by which wue produce an effect, or
accomplish an end, is considered as an invention.  Discoveries
in science, therefore, unless they are made by accident, imply
the exercise of invention; and accordingly, the word invention is
commonly used to express originality of genius in the sciences
as well as in the arts. It is in this general sense that I employ
it in the following observations.
fHow inventions are made. - It was before remarked, that, in
every instance of invention, there is some new idea, or some new
combination of ideas, which is brought to light by the inventor;
and that, although this may sometimes happen in a way which
he is unable to explain, yet when a man possesses an habitual
fertility of invention in any particular art or science, and can




INVENTION.                     183
rely with confidence on his inventive powers whenever he is
called upon to exert them, he must have acquired, by previous
habits of study, a command over those classes of his ideas which
are subservient to the particular effort that he wishes to make.
In what manner this command is acquired, it is not possible,
perhaps, to explain completely; but it appears to me to be
chiefly in the two following ways. In the first place, by his
habits of speculation, he may have arranged his knowledge in
such a manner as may render it easy for him to combine, at
pleasure, all the various ideas in his mind which have any relation to the subject about which he is occupied: or, secondly,
he may have learned by experience certain general rules, by
means of which he can direct the train of his thoughts into
those channels, in which the ideas he is in quest of may be
most likely to occur to him.
I. The former of these observations I shall not stop to illustrate particularly at present, as the same subject will occur
afterwards under the article of memory.  It is sufficient for my
purpose, in this chapter, to remark, that as habits of speculation
have a tendency to classify our ideas, by leading us to refer
particular facts and particular truths to general principles, and
as it is from an approximation and comparison of related ideas
that new discoveries in most instances result, the knowledge of
the philosopher, even supposing that it is not more extensive, is
arranged in a manner much more favorable to invention than
in a mind unaccustomed to system.
How much invention depends on a proper combination of the
materials of our knowledge, appears from the resources which
occur to men of the lowest degree of ingenuity, when they are
pressed by any alarming difficulty and danger, and from the
unexpected exertions, made by very ordinary characters, when
called to situations which rouse their latent powers. In such
cases, I take for granted, that necessity operates in producing
invention, chiefly by concenztrating the attention of the mind to
one set of ideas, by leading us to view these in every light, and
to combine them variously with each other. As the same idea
may be connected with an infinite variety of others by different




184                     INVENTIOTV.
relations,' it may, according to circumstances, at one time suggest
one of these ideas, and at another time, a different one. When
we dwell.long on the same idea, we obtain all the others to
which it is any way related, and thus are furnished with materials on which our powers of judgment and reasoning may be
employed. The effect of the division of labor in multiplying
mechanical contrivances is to be explained partly on the same
principle.  It limits the attention to a particular subject, and
famniliarizes to the mind all the possible combinations of ideas
which have any relation to it.
How invention differs from wit. - These observations suggest
a remarkable difference between invention and wit. The former
depends, in most instances, on a combination of those ideas,
which are connected by the less obvious principles of association; and it may be called forth in almost any mind by the
pressure of external circumstances. The ideas which must be
combined, in order to produce the latter, are chiefly such as are
associated by those slighter connections, which take place when
the mind is careless and disengaged.  "If you have real wit,"
says Lord Chesterfield, "it will flow spontaneously, and you
need not aim at it; for in that case, the rule of the gospel is
reversed; and it will prove, seek, and you shall not find."
Agreeably to this observation, wit is promoted by a certain
degree of intoxication, which prevents the exercise of that attention which is necessary for invention in matters of science.
Hence too it is, that those who have the reputation of wits, are
commonly men confident in their own powers, who allow the
train of their ideas to follow, in a great measure, its natural
course, and hazard, in company, every thing, good or bad, that
occurs to them. Men of modesty and taste seldom attempt wit
in a promiscuous society; or if they are fQrced to make such an
exertion, they are seldom successful. Such men, however, in
the circle of their friends, to whom  they can unbosom themselves without reserve, are frequently the most amusing and the
most interesting of companions; as the vivacity of their wit is
tempered by a correct judgment and refined manners; and as
its effect is heightened by that sensibility and delicacy, with




INVENTION.                     185
which we so rarely find it accompanied in the common intercourse of life.
When a man of wit malkes an exertion to distinguish himself,
his sallies are commonly too far-fetched to please. He brings
his mind into a state approaching to that of the inventor, and
becomes rather ingenious than witty. This is often the case
with the writers whom Johnson distinguishes by the name of
the metaphysical poets.
Those powers of invention, which necessity occasionally calls
forth in uncultivated minds, some individuals possess habitually.
The related ideas which, in the case of the former, are brought
together by the slow efforts of attention and recollection, present themselves to thie latter, in consequence of a more systematical arrangement of their knowledge. The instantaneousness
with which such remote combinations are effected, sometimes
appear so wonderful, that we are apt to ascribe it to something
like inspiration; but it must be remembered, that when any
subject strongly and habitually occupies the thoughts, it gives
us an interest in the observation of the most trivial circumstances which we suspect to have any relation to it, however
distant; and by thus rendering the common objects and occurrences which the accidents of life present to us, subservient to
one particular employment of the intellectual powers, establishes
in the memory a connection between our favorite pursuit, and
all the materials with which experience and reflection have sup
plied us for the further prosecution of it.
II. Inventions facilitated by general rules. - I observed, in
the second place, that invention may be facilitated by general
rules, which enable the inventor to direct the train of his
thoughts into particular channels. These rules (to ascertain
which ought to be one principal object of the logician) will
afterwards fall under my consideration, when I come to examine those intellectual processes which are subservient to the
discovery of truth. At present, I shall confine myself to a few
general remarks; in stating which, I have no other aim than to
show, t6 how great a degree invention depends on cultivation
16*




186                     INVENTION.
and habit, even in those sciences in which it is generally supposed that every thing depends on natural genius.
When we consider the geometrical discoveries of the ancients,
in the form in which they are exhibited in the greater part of
the works which have survived to our times, it is seldom  possible for us to trace the steps by which they were led to their
conclusions; and, indeed, the objects of this science are so
unlike those of all others, that it is not unnatural for a person,
when he enters on the study, to be dazzled by its novelty, and
to forml an exaggerated conception of the genius of those men
who first brought to light such a variety of truths, so profound
and so remote from the ordinary course of our speculations.
We find, however, that, even at the time when the ancient
analysis was unknown to the moderns, such mathematicians as
had attended to the progress of the mind in the discovery of
truth, concluded a priori, that the discoveries of the Greek
geometers did not, at first, occur to them in the order in which
they are stated in their writings.  The prevailing opinion was,
that they had possessed some secret method of investigation,
which they carefully concealed from the world; and that they
published the result of their labors in such a form, as they
thought would be most likely to excite the admiration of their
readers. The revival of the ancient analysis, by some late mathematicians ill this country, has, in part, justified these remarks, by
showring to how great a degree the inventive powers of th(
Greek geometers were aided by that method of investigation;
and by exhibiting some striking specimens of address in the
practical application of it.
The solution of problems, indeed, it may be said, is but one
mode in which mathematical invention may be displayed. The
discovery of new truths is what we chiefly admire in an original
genius; and the method of analysis gives us no satisfaction with
respect to the process by which they are obtained.
Rtow new theorems are discovered. - To remove this difficulty
completely, by explaining all the various ways in which new
theorems may be brought to light, would lead to inquiries foreign
to this work. In order, however, to render the process of the




INVENTION.                      187
mind, on such occasions, a little less mysterious than it is commonly supposed to be; it may be proper to remark, that the
most copious source of discoveries is the investigation of problems; which seldom fails (even although we should not succeed in the attainment of the object which we have in view) to
exhibit to us some relations formerly unobserved among the
quantities which are under consideration. Of so great importance is it to concentrate the attention to a particular subject,
and to check that wandering and dissipated habit of thought,
which, in the case of most persons, renders their speculations
barren of any profit either to themselves or to others. Many
theorems, too, have been suggested by analogy; many have
been investigated from truths formerly known by altering, or by
generalizing, the hypothesis; and many have been obtained by a
species of induction.  An illustration of these various processes
of the mind would not only lead to new and curious remarks,
but would contribute to diminish that blind admiration of original
genius, which is one of the chief obstacles to the improvement
of science.
Success in scientific researches depends on method. -The
history of natural philosophy, before and after the time of Lord
Bacon, affords another proof, how much the powers of invention
and discovery may be assisted by the study of method: and in all
the sciences, without exception, whoever employs his genius with
a regular and habitual success, plainly shows, that it is by means
of general rules that his inquiries are conducted. Of these
rules, there may be many which the inventor never stated
to himself in words; and perhaps he may even be unconscious
of the assistance which he derives from them; but their influence
on his genius appears unquestionably from  the uniformity with
which it proceeds; and in proportion as they can be ascertained
by his own speculations, or collected by the logician from an
examination of his researches, similar powers of invention will
be placed within the reach of other men, who apply themselves
to the same study.
The following remarks, which a truly philosophical artist has
applied to painting, may be extended, with some trifling altera



188                     DREABMING.
tions, to  all the different employments of our intellectual
powers: -
"WVhat we now call genius begins, not where rules, abstractedly taken, end; but where known, vulgar, and trite rules have
no longer any place.  It must of necessity be, that a work of
genius, as well as every other effect, as it must have its cause,
must likewise have its rules; it cannot be by chance, that excellences are produced with any constancy, or any certainty, for
this is not the nature of chance; but the rules by which men of
extraordinary parts, and such as are called men of genius, work,
are either such as they discover by their own peculiar observation, or of such a nice texture as not easily to admit handling
or expressing in words.
"Unsubstantial, however, as these rules may seem, and difficult as it may be to convey them in writing, they are still seen
aid felt in the mind of the artist; and he works from them with
as much certainty, as if they were embodied, as I may say, upon
paper. It is true, these refined principles cannot be always
made palpable, like the more gross rules of art; yet it does not
follow, but that the mind may be put in such a train, that it
shall perceive, by a kind of scientific sense, that propriety which
words can but very feebly suggest." - (Discourses by Sir
Joshua Reynolds.)
V. Application of the principles stated in the foregoing sections
of this chapter? to explain the phenomena of dreaming. - With
respect to the phenomena of dreaming, three different questions
may be proposed.  First, What is the state of the mind in
sleep? or, in other words, what faculties then continue to operate,
and what faculties are then suspended? Secondly, How far
do our dreams appear to be influenced by our bodily sensations;
and in what respects do they vary, according to the different
conditions of the body in health, and in sickness? Thirdly,
What is the change which sleep produces on those parts of the
body, with which our mental operations are more immediately
connected; and how does this change operate, in diversifying so
remarkably the phenomena which our minds then exhibit, from
those of which we are conscious in our waking hours?  Of these




DREAMING.                     189
three questions, the f/ist belongs to the philosophy of the human
mind; and it is to this question that the following inquiry is
almost entirely confined. The second is more particularly interesting to the medical inquirer, and does not properly fall
under the plan of this work.  The third seems to me to relate
to a subject, which is placed beyond the reach of the human
faculties.
It may be granted, that, if we could ascertain the state of the
mind in sleep, so as to be able to resolve the various phenomena
of dreaming into a smaller number of general principles; and
still more, if we could resolve them  into one general fact, we
should be advanced a very important step in our inquiries upon
this subject; even although we should find it impossible to show,
in what manner this change in the state of the mind results from
the change which sleep produces in the state of the body. Such
a step would at least gratify, to a certain extent, that disposition
of our nature which prompts us to ascend from particular facts
to general laws, and which is the foundation of all our philosophical researches; and, in the present instance, I am inclined to
think, that it carries us as far as our imperfect faculties enable
us to proceed.
What circumstances accelerate or retard the approach of sleep. --
In conducting this inquiry with respect to the state of the mind
in sleep, it seems reasonable to expect, that some light may be
obtained from an examination of the circumstances which accelerate or retard its approach; for when we are disposed to rest,
it is natural to imagine, that the state of the mind approaches
to its state in sleep more nearly, than when we feel ourselves
alive and active, and capable of applying all our various faculties to their proper purposes.
In general, it may be remarked, that the approach of sleep is
accelerated by every circumstance which diminishes or suspends
the exercise of the mental powers; and is retarded by every
thing which has a contrary tendency.  WVhen we wish for sleep,
we naturally endeavor to withhold, as much as possible, all the
active exertions of the mind, by disengaging our attention from
every interesting subject of thought.  When we are disposed to




190                      DREAMING.
keep awake, re naturally fix our attention on some subject
which is calculated to afford employment to our intellectual
powers, or to rouse and exercise the active principles of our
nature.
It is well known, that there is a particular class of sounds
which compose us to sleep. The hum of bees; the murmur of
a fountain; the reading of an uninteresting discourse, have this
tendency in a remarkable degree.  If we examine this class of
sounds, we shall find that it consists wholly of such as are fitted
to withdraw the attention of the mind from  its own thoughts,
and are, at the same time, not sufficiently interesting to engage
its attention to themselves.
It is also matter of common observation, that children and
persons of little reflection, who are chiefly occupied about sensible objects, and whose mental activity is, in a great measure,
suspended, as soon as their perceptive powers are unemployed;
find it extremely difficult to continue awake, when they are
deprived of their usual engagements. The same thing has
been remarked of savages, whose time, like that of the lower
animals, is almost completely divided between sleep and their
bodily exertions.*
The powers dependent on volition suspended during sleep. —From a consideration of these facts, it seems reasonable to conclude that in sleep those operations of the mind are suspended,
which depend on our volition; for if it be certain, that before
we fall asleep, we must withhold, as much as we are able, the
exercise of all our different powers; it is scarcely  to be
imagined, that, as soon as sleep commences, these powers should
again begin to be exerted. The more probable conclusion is,
that when we are desirous to procure sleep, we bring both mind
and body, as nearly as we can, into that state in which they are
* " The existence of the negro slaves in America, appears to participate
more of sensation than reflection. To this must be ascribed, their disposio
tion to sleep when abstracted from their diversions and unemployed in.heir labor. An animal whose body is at rest, and whllo does not reflect,
must be disposed to sleep, of course." — Notes on Virginia, by Mr. Jefferson, p. 225.




DREAMING.                       191
to continue after sleep commences.  The difference, therefore,
between the state of the mind when we are inviting sleep, and
when we are actually asleep, is this, - that in the former case,
although its active exertions be suspended, we can renew them,
if we please. In the other case, the will loses its influence over
all our powers, both of mind and body; in consequence of some
physical alteration in the system, which we shall never, probably,
be able to explain.
In order to illustrate this conclusion a little further, it may be
proper to rem ark, that if the suspension of our voluntary operations in sleep be admitted as a fact, there are only two suppositions which can be formed concerning its cause.  The one is,
that the power of volition is suspended; the other, that the will
loses its influence over those faculties of the mind, and those
members of the body, which, during our waking hours, are subjected to its authority. If it can be shown, then, that the former
supposition is not agreeable to fact, the truth of the latter seems
to follow as a necessary consequence.
1. Volition itself not suspended during sleep. - That the power
of volition is not suspended during sleep, appears from the efforts
which we are conscious of making while in that situation.  We
dream, for example, that we are in danger; and we attempt
to call out for assistance.  The attempt, indeed, is, in general,
unsuccessful; and the sounds which we emit are feeble and
indistinct; but this only confirms, or rather is a necessary con
sequence of the supposition, that, in sleep, the connection, between the will and our voluntary operations is disturbed or
interrupted. The continuance of the power of volition is demonstrated by the effort, however ineffectual.
In like manner, in the course of an alarming dream, we are
sometimes conscious of making an exertion to save ourselves,
by flight, from an apprehended danger; but in spite of all our
efforts, we continue in bed. In such cases, we commonly dream
that we are attempting to escape, and are prevented by some
external obstacle; but the fact seems to be, that the body is, at
that time, not subject to the will. During the disturbed. rest
which we sometimes have when the body is indisposed, the




192                    DREAMGING.
mind appears to retain some power over it; but as, even in
these cases, the motions which are made consist rather of a
general agitation -of the whole system, than of the regular
exertion of a particular member of it, with a view to produce a
certain effect; it is reasonable to conclude, that in perfectly
sound sleep, the mind, although it retains the power of volition,
retains no influence whatever over the bodily organs.
In that particular condition of the system, which is known by
the name of incubus, [or nightmare,] we are conscious of a
total want of power over the body; and, I believe, the common
opinion is, that it is this want of power which distinguishes the
incubus fiom all the other modifications of sleep. But the
more probable supposition seems to be, that every species of
sleep is accompanied with a suspension of the faculty of voluntary motion, and that the incubus has nothing peculiar in it but
this, - that the uneasy sensations which are produced by the accidental posture of the body, and which we find it impossible
to remove by. our own efforts, render us distinctly conscious of
our incapacity to move. One thing is certain, that the instant
of our awaking, and of our recovering the command of our
bodily organs, is one and the same.
2. The same conclusion is confirmed by a different view of
the subject. It is probable, as was already observed, that when
we are anxious to procure sleep, the state into which we naturally bring the mind, approaches to its state after sleep commences. Now  it is manifest, that the means which nature
directs us to employ on such occasions, is, not to suspend the
power of volition, but to suspend the exertion of those powers
whose exercise depends on volition. If it were necessary that
volition should be suspended before we fall asleep, it would be
impossible for us, by our own efforts to hasten the moment of
rest. The very supposition of such efforts is absurd; for it
implies a continued will to suspend the acts of the will.
Sleep affects the mind as it does the body. - According to the
foregoing doctrine with respect to the state of the mind in sleep,
the effect which is produced on our mental operations, is
strikingly analogous to that which is produced on our bodily




DREAMrING.                    193
powers. From the observations which have been already made,
it is manifest that in sleep, the body is, in a very inconsiderable
degree, if at all, subject to our command.  The vital and involuntary motions, however, suffer no interruption, but go on as
when we are awake, in consequence of the operation of some
cause unknown to us. In like manner, it would appear, that
those operations of the mind which depend on our volition are
suspended; while certain other operations are, at least, occasionally carried on. This analogy naturally suggests the idea, that
all our mental operations, which are independent of our will,
may continue during sleep; and that the phenomena of dreaniing may, perhaps, be produced by these, diversified in their
apparent effects, in consequence of the suspension of our voluntary powers.
If the appearances which the mind exhibits during sleep are
found to be explicable on this general principle, it will possess
all the evidence which the nature of the subject admits of.
How much power the will has over the thoughts. — It was
formerly shown, that the train of thought in the mind does not
depend immediately on our will, but is regulated by certain general laws of association. At the same time, it appeared, that
among the various subjects which thus spontaneously present
themselves to our notice, we have the power of' singling out
any one that we choose to consider, and of making it a particular object of attention; and that by doing so, we not only can
stop the train that would otherwise have succeeded, but firequently can divert, the current of our thoughts into a new
channel. It also appeared, that we have a power (which may
be much improved by exercise) of recalling past occurrences
to the memory, by a voluntary effort of recollection.
The indirect influence which the mind thus possesses over
the train of its thoughts is so great, that during the whole time
we are awake, excepting in those cases in which we fall into
what is called a revery, and suffer our thoughts to follow their
natural course, the order of their succession is always regulated
more or less by the will. The will, indeed, in regulating the
train of thought, can operate only (as I have already shown)
17




194                     DREAMING.
by availing itself of the established laws of association; but
still it has the power of rendering this train very different from
what it would have been, if these laws had taken place without
its interference.
How dreams would differ from waking thoughts upon this
theory. —  From  these principles, combined with the general
fact which I have endeavored to establish, with respect to the
state of the mind in sleep, two obvious consequences follow:
first, that when we are in this situation, the succession of our
thoughts, in so far as it depends on the laws of association,
may be carried on by the operation of the same unknown
causes by which it is produced while we are awake; and,
secondly, that the order of our thoughts, in these two states of
the mind, must be very different; inasmuch as, in the one, it
depends solely on the laws of association, and in the other, on
these laws combined with our own voluntary exertions.
In order to ascertain how far these conclusions are agreeable
to truth, it is necessary to compare them with the known
phenomena of dreaming. For which purpose, I shall endeavor
to show, first, that the succession of our thoughts in sleep, is
regulated by the same general laws of association, to which it
-is subjected while we are awake; and, secondly, that the
circumstances which discriminate dreaming from our waking
thoughts, are such as must necessarily arise from the suspension
of the influence of the will.
I. That the succession of our thoughts in sleep, is regulated by
the same general laws of association, which influence the mind
while we are awake, appears from the following considerations.
1. Our dreams are frequently suggested to us-by bodily sensations; and with these, it is well known, from what we experience
while awake, that particular ideas are frequently very strongly
associated. I have been told by a friend, that, having occasion,
in consequence of an indisposition, to apply a bottle of hot
water to his feet when he went to bed, he dreamed that he was
making a journey to the top of Mount _Etna, and that he found
the heat of the ground almost insupportable.  Another person,
having  a blister applied to his head, dreamed that he was




DREAMING.                        195
scalped by a party of Indians. I believe every one who is in
the habit of dreaming, will recollect instances, in his own case,
of a similar nature.
2. Our dreams are influenced by the prevailing temper of the?mind; and vary, in their complexion, according as our habitual
disposition, at the time, inclines us to cheerfulness or to melancholy. Not that this observation holds without exception; but
it holds so generally, as must convince us, that the state of our
spirits has some effect on our dreams, as well as on our waking
thoughts.  Indeed, in the latter case, no less than in the former,
this effect may be counteracted, or modified by various other
circumstances.
After having made a narrow escape from any alarming
danger, we are apt to awake, in the course of our sleep, with
sudden startings; imagining that we are drowning, or on the
brink of a precipice.  A severe misfortune, which has affected
the mind deeply, influences our dreams in a similar way; and
suggests to us a variety of adventures, analogous, in some
measure, to that event from which our distress arises. Such,
according to Virgil, were the dreams of the forsaken Dido.
a --— Agit ipse furentem
In somnis ferus,Aneas; semperque relinqui
Sola sibi; semper longam incomitata videtur
Ire viam, et Tyrios deserth queerere terra."
3. Our dreams are influenced by our prevailing habits of association while awake.
In a former part of this work, I considered the extent of
that power which the mind may acquire over the train of its
thoughts; and I observed, that those intellectual diversities
among men, which we commonly refer to peculiarities of genius,
are, at least in a great measure, resolvable into differences in
their habits of association. One man possesses a rich and
beautiful fancy, which is at all times obedient to his will. Another possesses a quickness of recollection, which enables him,
at a moment's warning, to bring together all the results of his
past experience, and of his past reflections, which can be of




196                     DREAMING.
use for illustrating any proposed subject. A third can, without
effort, collect his attention to the most abstract questions in
philosophy; can perceive, at a glance, the shortest and the
most effectual process for arriving at the truth; and can banish
from his mind every extraneous idea, which fancy or casual
association may suggest, to distract his thoughts or to mislead
his judgment.  A fourth unites all these powers in a capacity
of perceiving truth with an almost intuitive rapidity; and in an
eloquence which enables him to command, at pleasure, whatever
his memory and his fancy can supply, to illustrate and to adorn
it. The occasional exercise which such men make of their
powers, may undoubtedly be said, in one sense, to be unpremeditated or unstudied; but they all indicate previous habits of
meditation or study, as unquestionably as the dexterity of the
expert accountant, or the rapid execution of the professional
musician.
From what has been said, it is evident, that a train of thought
which, in one man, would require a painful effort of study, may,
in another, be almost spontaneous; nor is it to be doubted that
the reveries of studious men, even when they allow, as much as
they can, their thoughts to follow their own course, are more or
less connected together by those principles of association, which
their favorite pursuits tend more particularly to strengthen.
The influence of the same habits may be traced distinctly in
sleep. There are probably few mathematicians, who have not
dreamed of an interesting problem, and who have not even
fancied that they were prosecuting the investigation of it with
much success. They whose ambition leads them to the study
of eloquence, are frequently conscious, during sleep, of a renewal of their daily occupations; and sometimes feel themselves
possessed of a fluency of speech, which they never experienced
befoie. The poet, in his dreams, is transported into Elysium,
and leaves the vulgar and unsatisfactory enjoyments c(f humanity, to dwell in those regions of enchantment and rapture,
which have been created by the divine imaginations of Virgil
and of Tasso.




DREAMING.                        197
"And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,
Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace;
O'er which were shadowy cast Elysian gleams,
That play'd, in waving lights, from place to place,
And shed a roseate smile on Nature's face.
Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array,
So fleece with clouds the pure ethereal space;
Nor could it e'er such melting forms display,
As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay.
No, fair illusions! artful phantoms, no!
My muse will not attempt your fairy land:
She has no colors, that like yours can glow;
To catch your vivid scenes, too gross her hand." —
Castle of Indolence.
As a further proof that the succession of our thoughts in
dreaming, is influenced by our prevailing habits of association,
it may be remarked, that the scenes and occurrences which most
frequently present themselves to the mind while we are asleep,
are the scenes and occurrences of childlhood and early youth.  The
facility of association is then much greater than in more advanced
years; and although, during the day, the memory of the events
thus associated may be banished by the objects and pursuits
which press upon our senses, it retains a more permanent hold
of the mind than any of our subsequent acquisitions; and like
the knowledge which we possess of our mother tongue, is, as it
were, interwoven and incorporated with all its most essential
habits. Accordingly, in old men, whose thoughts are, in a
great measure, disengaged from the world, the transactions of
their middle age, which once seemed so important, are often
obliterated; while the mind dwells, as in a dream, on the spots
and the companions of their infancy.
I shall only observe further, on this head, that in our dreams,
as well as when awake, we occasionally make use of words as
an instrument of thought. Such dreams, however, do not affect
the mind with such emotions of pleasure and of pain, as those
in which the imagination is occupied with particular objects of
sense.  The effect of philosophical studies, in habituating the
mind to the almost constant employment of this instrument, and,
of consequence, its effect in weakening the imagination, was fol17~ 




198                     DREAMING'.
merly remarked. If I am not mistaken, the influence of these
circumstances may also be traced in the history of our dreams;
which, in youth, commonly involve, in a much greater degree,
the exercise of imagination; and affect the mind with much
more powerful emotions, than when we begin to employ our
maturer faculties in more general and abstract speculations.
II. From these different observations, we are authorized to
conclude, that the same laws of association which regulate the
train of our thoughts while we are awake, continue to operate
during sleep. I now proceed to consider, how far the circumstances which discriminate dreaming from  our waking thoughts
correspond with those which might be expected to result from
the suspension of the influence of the will.
i. If the influence of the will be suspended during sleep, alour voluntary operations, such as recollection, reasoning, etc.,
must also be suspended.
That this really is the case, the extravagance and inconsistency of our dreams are sufficient proofs.  We frequently confound together times and places the most remote from  each
other; and in the course of the same dream, conceive the same
person as existing in different parts of the world. Sometimes
we imagine ourselves conversing with a dead friend, without
remembering the circumstance of his death, although, perhaps,
it happened but a few clays before, and affected us deeply. All
this proves clearly, that the subjects which then occupy our
thoughts are such as present themselves to the mind spontaneously; and that we have no power of employing our reason in
comparing together the different parts of our dreams; or even
of exerting an act of recollection in order to ascertain how far
they are consistent and possible.
The process of reasoning in which we sometimes fancy ourselves to be engaged during sleep, furnish no exception to the
foregoing observation; for, although every such process, the
first time we form it, implies volition; and, in particular, implies
a recollection of the premises, till we arrive at the conclusion;
yet, when a number of truths have, been often presented to us
as necessarily connected with each other, this series may after




DREAMING.                      199
wards pass through the mind, according to the laws of association, without any more activity on our part, than in those trains
of thought which are the most loose and incoherent. Nor is
this mere theory. I may venture to appeal to the consciousness
of every man accustomed to dream, whether his reasonings
during sleep do not seem to be carried on without any exertion
of his will; and with a degree of facility of which he was never
conscious while awake. 3Mr, Addison, in one of his Spectators,
las made this observation; and his testimony, in the present
instance, is of the greater weight, that he had no particular
theory on the subject to support. "There is not," says he, " a
more painful action of the mind than invention; yet in dreams
it works with that ease and activity, that we are not sensible
when the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every
one, some time or other, dreams that he is reading papers, books,
or letters; in which case the invention prompts so readily that
the mind is imposed on, and mistakes its own suggestions for
the composition of another."
2. If the influence of the will during sleep be suspended, the
mind will remain as passive, while its thoughts change from one
subject to another, as it does during our waking hours, while different perceptible objects are presented to our senses.
Of this passive state of the mind in our dreams it is unnecessary to multiply proofs; as it has always been considered as
one of the most extraordinary circumstances with which they
are accompanied. If our dreams, as well as our waking thoughts
were subject to the will, is it not natural to conclude, that in the
one case, as well as in the other, we would endeavor to banish,
as much as we could, every idea which had a tendency to disturb us; and detain those only which we found to be agreeable?
So far, however, is this power over our thoughts from being
exercised, that we are frequently oppressed, in spite of all our
efforts to the contrary, with dreams which affect us with the
most painful emotions. And, indeed, it is matter of vulgar
remark, that our dreams are, in every case, involuntary on our
part, and that they appear to be obtruded on us by some external
cause. This fact appeared so unaccountable to the late Mr.




200                     DREAMIING.
Baxter, that it gave rise to his very whimsical theory, in which
he ascribes dreams to the immediate influence of separate spirits
on the mind.
3. If the influence of the will be suspended during sleep, the
conceptions which we then form of sensible objects will be
attended with a belief of their real existence, as much as the
perception of the same objects is while we are awake.
In treating of the power of conception, I formerly observed,
that our belief of the separate and independent existence of the
objects of our perceptions, is the result of experience; which
teaches us that these perceptions do not depend on our will. If
I open my eyes, I cannot prevent myself from seeing the prospect before me. The case is different with respect to our conceptions. While they occupy the mind, to the exclusion of
every thing else, I endeavored to show, that they are always
accompanied with belief: but as we can banish them from the
mind, during our waking hours, at pleasure; and as the momentary belief which they produce, is continually checked by the
surrounding objects of our perceptions, we learn to consider
them as fictions of our own creation; and, excepting in some
accidental cases, pay no regard to them in the conduct of life.
If the doctrine, however, formerly stated with respect to conception be just, and if, at the samre tilne, it be allowed, that sleep
suspends the influence of the will over the train of our thoughts,
we should naturally be led to expect, that the same belief which
accompanies conception while we are awake, should accompany
the perceptions which occur to us in our dreams. It is scarcely
necessary for me to remark, how strikingly this conclusion coincides with acknowledged facts.
May it not be considered as some confirmation of the foregoing
doctrine, that when opium fails in producing complete sleep, it
commonly produces one of the effects of sleep, by suspending
the activity of the mind, and throwing it into a revery; and that
while we are in this state, our conceptions frequently affect us
nearly in the same manner, as if' the objects conceived were
present to our senses? —- (See the Baron de Tott's Account of
the Opium-takers at Contantinople.)




DREADMING.                      201
Another circumstance with respect to our conceptions during
sleep, deserves our notice. As the subjects which we then think
upon occupy the mind exclusively; and as the attention is not
diverted by the objects of our external senses, our conceptions
must be proportionably lively and steady.  Every person knows
how faint the conception is which we form of any thing, with
our eyes open, in comparison of what we can form with our
eyes shut; and that, in proportion as we can suspend the exercise of all our other senses, the liveliness of our conception
increases. To this cause is to be ascribed, in part, the effect
which the dread of spirits in the darkl has on some persons, who
are fully convinced in speculation that their apprehensions are
groundless; and to this, also, is owing the effect of any accidental
perception in giving them a momentary relief from their terrors.
Hence the remedy which nature points out to us, when we find
ourselves overpowered by imagination. If every thing around
us be silent, we endeavor to create a noise by speaking aloud,
or beating with our feet; that is, we strive to divert the attention from the subjects of our imagination, by presenting an
object to our powers of perception. The conclusion which I
draw from these observations is, that as there is no state of the
body in which our perceptive powers are so totally unemployed
as in sleep, it is natural to think that the objects which we conceive or imagine, must then make an impression on the mind
beyond comparison greater than any thing of which we can have
experience while awake.
From these principles may be derived a simple, and, I think,
a satisfactory, explanation of what some writers have represented as the most mysterious of all the circumstances connected
with dreaming; the inaccurate estimates we are apt to form of
time, while we are thus employed;- an inaccuracy which sometimes extends so far, as to give to a single instant the appearance
of hours, or perhaps of days.  A  sudden noise, for example,
suggests a dream connected with that perception; and, the
moment afterwards, this noise has the effect of awaking us;
and yet, during that momentary interval, a long series of circumstances has passed before the imagination.  The story quoted




202                    IDREAMING.
by Mr. Addison, (Spectator, No. 94,) from the Turkish Tales,
of the miracle wrought by a Mahometan doctor to convince an
infidel sultan, is, in such cases, nearly verified.
The facts I allude to at present are generally explained by
supposing, that, in our dreams, the rapidity of thought is greater
than while we are awake; but there is no necessity for having
recourse to such a supposition. The rapidity of thought is, at
all times, such, that in the twinkling of an eye a crowd of ideas
may pass before us, to which it would require a long discourse
to give utterance; and transactions may be conceived, which it
would require days to realize. But, in sleep, the conceptions
of the mind are mistaken for realities; and therefore our estimates of time will be formed, not according to our experience
of the rapidity of thought, but according to our experience of
the time requisite for realizing what we conceive.  Something
perfectly analogous to this may be remarked in the perceptions
we obtain by the sense of sight. When I look into a show-box,
where the deception is imperfect, I see only a set of paltry
daubings of a few inches diameter; but if the representation
be executed with so much skill, as to convey to me the idea of
a distant prospect, every object before me swells in its dimensions, in proportion to the extent of space which I conceive it
to occupy; and what seemed before to be shut up within the
limits of a small wooden frame, is magnified, in my apprehension, to an immense landscape of woods, rivers, and mountains.
The phenomena of partial sleep. - The phenomena which we
have hitherto explained, take place when sleep seems to be
complete; that is, when the mind loses its influence over all
those powers whose exercise depends on its will. There are,
however, many cases in which sleep seems to be partial; that
is, when the mind loses its influence over some powers, and
retains it over others. In the case of the somnambuli, it retains
its power over the limbs, but it possesses no influence over its
own thoughts, and scarcely any over the body; excepting those
particular members of it which are employed in walking. In
madness, the power of the will over the body remains undiminished, while its influence in regulating the train of thought is




DREA3IING.                           203
in a great measure suspended; either in consequence of a particular idea, which engrosses the attention, to the exclusion of
every thing else, and which we find it impossible to banish by
our efforts; or in consequence of our thoughts succeeding each
other with such rapidity, that we are unable to stop  the train.
In both of these kinds of madness, it is worthy of remark, that
the conceptions or imaginations of the mind becoming independent of our will, they are apt to be mistaken for actual perceptions, and to affect us in the same manner.*
* [About ten years ago, the editor of this volume attempted to extend
to the case of insanity the hypothesis which Stewart has here so pleasingly
expounded in relation to dreaming. The following is the substance of the
remarks, which, in the. execution of this purpose, were then published in a
periodical work.
It seems to us, that the most characteristic trait of insanity is a loss of
the indirect controlling power which the will usually exercises over the propensities and the processes of the understanding. We call this power indirect, because the will cannot immediately govern the belief, or the succession of ideas, so as to give distinctness to an imperfect recollection, or
to put aside an unpleasant thought. But it can indirectly labor to these
ends, and human reason differs from brute instinct in no respect so much
as in this sovereignty, partial though it be, which the will and the conscience
exercise over the swift currents of the thoughts, and the impulse of the
desires. This is chiefly done through the faculty of attention, which is
directly dependent on the will. We can stay the succession of ideas at
any instant, in order to dwell upon a selected thought, till we have considered it in all its parts and relations.  Comparison itself has been rightly
defined as an act of alternate attention to two objects; and it is therefore
impaired or lost only when we cease to have command of the attention,
because the will in this respect has become powerless.  We distinguish
fancies from realities only by an effort of attention to our sensations,
which manifest the difference between the imaginary and the true. If circumstances prevent us from making this effort, we live in an unreal world,
heedless and unconscious of external things. The same relaxation of the
power of the will, by which mental phenomena are converted into real
existences, removes all control and guidance from  the thoughts, which
then become confused and incoherent, a mere stream of inconsistent fancies. It is so in dreams; every sleeper is a madman, and would appear
as such, if the will did not lose its power over the body also, so that action
no longer manifests the delusions of the intellect. In the case of somnambulism, the muscles remain subject to the volitions of the sleeper,




2014                         DREAMING.
By means of this supposition of a partial sleep, any apparent exceptions which the history of dreams may afford to the
while the mind is under no control. The somnambulist is, therefore, really
insane, and,. as such, the law does not hold him responsible for his deeds.
To remove the check which the will has over the thoughts is like taking
aw.ay the balance-wheel from a watch, which then runs down with a hurried and irregular motion, no longer taking note of time. Every thinker
perceives this effect, if he abandons himself to a fit of reverie, when the
most heterogeneous ideas chase each other in quick succession through the
mind, without coherency or method, and leaving hardly a trace on the
memory. Startle him from this state of dreamy abstraction, and he looks
round bewildered, and requires a moment of effort, before he becomes
conscious of his situation, and of the presence of surrounding things. Except the depression of spirits, he feels, for an instant, as Lear did, when
wakening to a gleam of sanity, as the clouds which had obscured his intellect were for a moment parted. How admirably are the bewilderment
of mind, and the effort to recall and fix the attention upon the bystandels,
here depicted! It is the struggle of the will to regain its supremacy.
" Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish, fond old man,
Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you,. and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
W~here I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia."
In most cases of recovery, the patient retains no memory of what has occurred, or what he has clone during his madness; or, if any recollection remains, it is dim and perturbed, like that of a dream. Memory being dependent on attention, and that again on the will, this is precisely what we
should expect when the power of volition is suspended. In cases of partial
mania, the will loses its control over a particular thought, or set of ideas,
which then occupy and harass the mind, being invested with a factitious
importance, and leading to the most insane acts. A sane person, if an
unpleasant thought or recollection comes upon him, can resolutely put it
aside, and fix his attention upon other objects. But if he be nervous and
imaginative, irresolute of will, and defective in the power of attention, the
unwelcome visitant - especially if it be of a gloomy or exciting character,




DREAMING.                             205
general principles already  stated, admit of an easy  explanation.
like the recollection of a calamnity, a disappointment, or an insultusurps almost exclusive possession of the mind, and he sinks into habitual
despondency. Every moment then increases his danger; and unless some
counteracting cause, like the necessity for exertion, be applied, the train of
thouglht at last entirely shakes off the sovereignty of the will, and the man
becomes a monomaniac.
The particular character of the delusion will be determined by the
patient's former prevailing turn of mind, and by the chief emotions to
which he was subject. A man's character is not altered by an attack of
insanity; it is only developed and exposed, the check which was usually
imposed on its free manifestations being now taken away. A  person of
sound mind soon learns to control his desires and propensities, from a regarcd to the opinions or the rights of others.  His irascibility is repressed,
his estimation of himself is carefully concealed, his lower appetites are
governed, and he maintains that reserved and staid demeanor, through
which only a penetrating eye, and observation sharpened by long experience, can detect the innate peculiarities of his disposition. This lesson of
self-control is learned at so early a period, and is practised upon so habitually, that one is hardly conscious of effort in submitting to it, unless the
primitive desires are of extraordinary force. Let the power of the will be
destroyed by an attack of mental disease, and this veil is removed; the
passions run riot, the leading emotion betrays itself in the grossest manner,
and the sufferer appears like another being, even to his most intimate
friends.
The love of power, and an inordinate estimate of self, are among the
most common infirmities of human nature; and nowhere are they so
strikingly exhibited, though in a lutdicrous light, as among the inmates of
a lunatic asylum.  Here comes a king of shreds and patches, with a paper
crown on his head, and bits of tinsel showily disposed about his person,
who announces himself as the Prince of Wales and emperor of the world,
and greets his visitor with the utmost condescension, as he would a subject
who had come to do him homage. But he suddenly breaks off in the
midst of a pompous speech, to inform you, that he has just hlad a contest
with the devil in that apartment, and had broken two of his ribs, - this
devil being an unfortunate keeper, to whose face he had taken a dislike,
and whose bones he had actually broken.  The walls of his room are
scribbled all over, chiefly with the lofty titles of his greatness; as, " Snpreme from the Alnighty," " Mighty Prince," " Mighty General-in-Clief,"
"Great Mighty Grand Admiral," and the like.A  Another of the company
* Conolly on Insanity, p. 289.
18




206                          DREAMrIND
Upon reviewing the foregoing observations, it does not occur
to  me that I have in any instance transgressed those rules of
is a poor, mad author, who, in one hour, has written an epic, embracing the
universal history of Greece and Rome; has restored the Iliad to its state
as it came from the genius of Kanki, who lived many millions of ages before the deluge of Ogyges; and accounts for his wonderful endowments,
by saying that lie is a son of Jupiter and Juno.  Scott has given us an
admirable portrait of a deranged female, whose brainsick fancies are only
the foibles of the weaker part of her sex, grossly exaggerated, and displayed without the least reserve.  Madge Wildfire is insane from  an excessive love of admiration, and an insatiable desire to dazzle and captivate;
and in all her ravings, her simpering manner, her fantastic costume, and bits
of finery, we see only the ruling passion divested of any covering or control.
The strange jumble of fancies, which a distracted person exhibits, seems
to be only the perfectly loose and casual succession of ideas in a mind
which has emancipated itself from the governing power of the will. It is
precisely the incoherency of a dream, when the thoughts ramble on without any restraint from volition, or any voluntary pause for the exercise of
judgment.  The utterly passive intellect merely reflects like a mirror the
images that float before it, without receiving any impression from them, or
preserving any trace of their passage.  Outward objects have no longer
their usual power to check the current of loose thoughts, and recall the
mind to a consciousness of its situation; the sleeper does not see them,
and the insane person, from the defect in his will, can pay no attention to
them. The dream of the madman lasts longer; but in every other respect,
it is like the night-visions of the perfectly healthy intellect. He has the
command of his limbs, also; but he walks in his sleep, and has as little
perception of external things as the common somnambulist.
The application of this theory to the cases of moral idiocy and impulsive
insanity may be easily made. Our position is, that mental disease is noth
ing more than the suspension of the ordinary power of the will over thlI
other powers of the mind.  The thoughts and actions then become entirely
irrational, not because reason and judgment, properly speaking, cease to
exist, but because they are both acts consequent upon attention, and, of
course, cannot manifest themselves when the attention is no longer under
control.  These noble faculties, then, neither decay nor are subject to disease; they are simply suspended from the exercise of their functions, by
the impairment of another power which is a prerequisite to their use; and
when the madman's sleep is ended, they revive and perform  their accus.
tomed office. In the same way, the loss of power in the will suspends the
exercise of the moral faculty. In moral mania, the conscience "is not
dead, but sleepeth." The desires and propensities then exist with no
more than their usual force; but they are entirely free from  restraint by




DREAMING.                           207
philosophizing which, since the time of N ewton, are commonly
appealed to, as the tests of sound investigation.  For, in the
first place, I have not supposed any causes which are not
known to exist; and, secondly, I have shown, that the phenomena under our consideration are necessary consequences of the
causes to which I have referred them.  I have not supposed
that the mind acquires in sleep any new faculty of which we
are not conscious while awake; but only (what we know to be
a facet) that it retains some of its powers, while the exercise of
others is suspended; and I have deduced synthetically the known
phenomena of dreaming, from the operation of a particular
class of our faculties, uncorrected by the operation of another.
I flatter myself, therefore, that this inquiry will not only throw
some light on the state of the mind in sleep; but that it will
have a tendency to illustrate the mutual adaptation and subserviency which exist among the different parts of our constitution, when we are in complete possession of all the faculties
and principles which belong to our nature.*
the will. All the active principles of our nature then reign unchecked,
and one is quite as likely to be governed by the more noble, as by the more
debasing, among their number. In an instance described by Pinel, brutal
and violent as were most of the actions of the young man, we learn that
he readily gave way, at times, to motions of beneficence and compassion.
He was literally the creature of his impulses, and blindly followed them,
whether they pointed to good or evil. His condition, then, was very like
that of other maniacs, who are commonly said to be subject to insane impulses; only, in his case, the will seemed to be absolutely bereft of its
rightful authority over the passions, while in theirs, it is powerless only at
intervals, or under particular excitement. Strictly speaking, the inmpulse
is not a mark of insanity, nor unusual in its character. The thought of
killing may frequently enter the mind of a passionate, but perfectly sane,
person; but it is instantly put aside, as an idle or wicked fancy, by the
conscience. The will masters such vague but horrible thoughts, almost
without the consciousness of effort. But as the gradual approach of disease weakens its command over the succession of ideas, the devilish
thought intrudes more frcquently, and will not " down at his bidding."
An air-drawn dagger becomes visible to the " heat-oppressed brain," and
the patient chltches the real weapon at last, in what is, fobr the moment,
an uncontrollable frenzy.]
* Soon after the publication of the first edition of this work, a difficulty




208      THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
PART II.
OF THE' INFLUENCE  OF ASSOCIATION ON THE INTELLECTUAL
AND  ON THE ACTIVE POWERS.
I. Of the influence of casual associations on our speculative
conclusions. -  The association of ideas has a tendency to warp
our speculative opinions chiefly in the three following ways:was started to me with respect to my conclusions concerning the state of
the mind in sleep, by my excellent friend M. Prdvost, of Geneva; a gentleman who has long held a high rank in the republic of letters, and to whose
valuable correspondence I have often been indebted for much pleasure and
instruction.  The same difficulty was proposed to me, nearly about the
same time, by another friend, [Dr. Thomas Brown,] then at a very early
period of life, who has since honorably distinguished himself by his observa
tions on Dr. Darwin's Zoonomia; the first fruits of a philosophical genius,
which, I trust, is destined for yet more important ndlertakings."
As M. Prdvost has, in the present instance, kiridly aided me in the task
of removing his own objection, I shall take the liberty to borrow his words.
[" Without the action of the will, there can be no effort of attention;
without some effort of attention, there can be no memory. Now, in sleep,
the action of the will is suspended. How, then, can there be any recollection of dreams?
" I see there are two or three solutions of this difficulty; for the present,
they are reduced to this observation, either that in perfect sleep there is no
recollection, and when we do recollect, that our sltep.was not perfect; or
that the action of the will which is sufficient for memory, is not suspended
during sleep, - that this degree of activity remains to the mind, being, as it
were, an elementary and almost imperceptible volition."]
I am abundantly sensible of the force of this objection; and am far fiom
being satisfied, that it is in my power to reconcile completely the apparent
inconsistency.  The general conclusions, at the same time, to which I have
been led, seem to result so necessarily from the facts I have stated, that even
although the difficulty in question should remain for the present unsolved,
it would not, in my opinion, materially affect the evidence on which they
rest. In all our inquiries, it is of consequence to remember, that when we
have once arrived at a' general principle by a careful induction, we are not
entitled to reject it, because we may find ourselves unable to explain from
it, synthetically, all the phenomena in which it is concerned. Thee New



THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.                209.iT st, by blending together in our apprehensions things which
are really distinct in their nature; so as to introduce perplexity
and error into every process of reasoning in which they are
involved.
Secondly, by misleading us in those anticipations of the future from the past, which our constitution disposes us to form,
andc which are the great foundation of our conduct in life.
Thirdly, by connecting in the mind erroneous opinions with
truths which irresistibly command our assent, and which we feel
to be of importance to human happiness.
A short illustration of these remarks will throw light on the
origin of various prejudices; and may, perhaps, suggest some
practical hints with respect to the conduct of the understanding.
1. Association often blends together things which are really
distinct.- I formerly had occasion to mention several instances
of very intimate associations formed between two ideas which
have no necessary connection with each other. One of the most
remarkable is, that which exists in every person's mind between
the notions of color and of extension.  The former of these
words expresses (at least in the sense in which we commonly
employ it) a sensation in the mind; the latter denotes a qualiky
of an external object; so that there is, in fact, no more connection
between the two notions than between those of pain and of
solidity;  and yet, in consequence of our always perceiving
tonian theory of the tides is not the less certain, that some apparent exceptions occur to it, of which it is not easy (in consequence of our imperfect
knowledge of the local circumstances by which, in particular cases, the
effect is modified) to give a satisfactory explanation.
Of the solutions suggested by M. Prdvost, the first coincides most nearly
with my own opinion; and it approaches to what I have hinted (in page
202 of this work) concerning the seeming exceptions to my doctrine, which
may occur in those cases where sleep is partial. A strong confirmation of
it, undoubtedly, may be derived fiom the experience of those persons,
(several of whom I have happened to meet with,) who never recollect to
have dreamed, excepting when the soundness of their sleep was disturbed
by some derangement in their general health, or by some accident which
excited a bodily sensation.
Dr. Reid has, with great truth, observed, that Des Cartes' reasonings
against the existence of the secondary qualities of matter, owe all their
18*




210      THE INFLUENCtI  OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
extension, at the same time at which the sensation of color is
excited in the mind, we find it impossible to think of that senllsation, without conceiving extension along with it.
Another intimate association is formed in every mind between
the ideas of space and of time.  When we think of an interval
of duration, we always conceive it as something analogous to a
plausibility to the ambiguity of words. When he affirms, for example,
that the smell of a rose is not in the flower, but in the mind, his proposition amounts only to this, that the rose is not conscious of the sensation
of smell; but it does not follow from 1)es Cartes' reasonings, that there is
no quality in the rose which excites the sensation of smell in the mind;which is all that any person means when he speaks of the smell of that
flower. For the word smell, like the names of all secondary qualities,
signifies twco things, a sensation in the mind, and the unknown quality
which fits it to excite that sensation.  The same remark applies to that
process of reasoning by which Des Cartes attempts to prove that there is
no heat in the fire.
All this, I think, will be readily allowed with respect to smells and
tastes, and also with respect to heat and cold; concerning which, I agree
with Dr. Reid, in thinking that Des Cartes' doctrine, when cleared of that
air of mystery which it derives from the ambiguity of words, differs very
little, if at all, from the commonly received notions. But the case seems
to be different with respect to colors, of the nature of which the vulgar are
apt to form  a very confused conception, which the philosophy of Des
Cartes has a tendency to correct. Dr. Reid has justly distinguished the
qetlity of color from what he calls the appearance of color, which last can
only exist in a mind. Now I am disposed to believe, that when the vulgar
speak of color, they commonly mean the appearance of color; or rather they
associate the appearance and its cause so intimately together, that they
find it impossible to think of them  separately.  The sensation of color
never forms one simple object of attention to the mind, like those of smell
and taste; but every time we are conscious of it, we perceive at the same
time extension and figure. Hence it is, that we find it impossible to conceive color without extension, though certainly there is no more necessary
connection between them, than between extension and smell.
From this habit of associating the two together, we are led also to assign
them the same place, and to conceive the different colors, or, to use Dr.
Reid's language, the appearance of the different colors, as something
spread over the surfaces of bodies. I own, that when we reflect on the
subject with attention, we find this conception to be indistinct, and see
clearly that the appearance of color can exist only in a mind; but still it
is some confused notion of this sort, which every man is disposed to form




TEE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATION'S.             211
line, and we apply the same language to both subjects.  We
speak of a long and short time, as well as of a long and short
distance; and we are not conscious of any metaphor in doing
so.  Nay, so very perfect does the analogy appear to us, that
Boscovich mentions it as a curious circumstance, that extension
should have three dimensions, and duration only one.
This apprehended analogy seems to be founded wholly on an
association between the ideas of space and of time, arising from
our always measuring the one of these quantities by the other.
Wve measure time by motion, and motion by extension.  In an
hour, the hand of the clock moves over a certain space; in two
hours, over double the space; and so on.  Hence the ideas of
space and of time become very intimately united, and we apply
to the latter the words long and short, before and after, in the
same manner as to the former.
The apprehended analogy between the relation which the
different notes in the scale of music bear to each other, and the
relation of superiority and inferiority, in respect of position,
among material objects, arises also from an accidental association of ideas.
What this association is founded upon, I shall not take upon
me to determine; but that it is the effect of accident, appears
clearly from this, that it has not only been confined to particular
who has not been very familiarly conversant with philosophical inquiries. -
I find, at least, that such is the notion which most readily presents itself
to my own mind.
Nor is this reference of the sensation, or appearance, of color to an
external olject, a fact altogether singular in our constitution. It is extremely analogous to the reference, which we always make, of the sensations
of touch to those parts of the body where the exciting causes of the sensations exist. If I strike my hand against a hard object, I naturally say,
that I feel pain in my hand. The philosophical truth is, that I perceive
the cause of the pain to be applied to that part of my body. The sensation itself I cannot refer, in point of place, to the hand, without conceiving the soul to be spread over the body by diffusion.
A still more striking analogy to the fact under our consideration, occurs
in those sensations of touch which we refer to a place beyond the limits of
the body; as in the case of pain felt in an amputated limb.




212      THE INFLUENCE 0E CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
ages and nations, but is the very reverse of an  association
which was once equally prevalent. It is observed by Dr.
Gregory, in the preface to his edition of Euclid's works, that
the more ancient of the Greek writers looked upon grave sounds
-is /tigh, and acutie ones as low; and that the present mode of
xpression on that subject was an innovation introduced at a
later period.*?
In the instances which have now been mentioned, our habits
of combining the notions of two things become so strong, that
we find it impossible to think of the one, without thinking at the
same time of the other.  Various other examples of the same
species of combination, although, perhaps, not altogether so
striking in degree, might easily be collected from  the subjects
about which our metaphysical speculations are employed. The
sensations, for instance, which are excited in the mind by external objects, and the perceptions of material qualities which follow
these sensations, are to be distinguished fiom  each other only
by long habits of patient reflection. A clear conception of this
distinction may be regarded as the key to all Dr. Reid's reasonings concerning the process of nature in perception; and till it
has once been rendered familiar to the reader, a great part of
his writings must appear unsatisfactory and obscure. In truth,
our progress in the philosophy of the human mind depends
much more on that severe and discriminating judgment, which
- The association to which, in modern times, we are habituated from
our infancy, between the ideas of acute and high, and between those of
grave and low, is accounted for by Dr. Smith, in. his Harmonics, from the
fol'mation of the voice in singing; [the deep or grave sounds appearing to
come from the lower part of the throat, and the acute or sharp notes from
above.]
Dr. Beattie, in his ingenious essay on poetry and music, says it is probable that the deepest or gravest sound was called seumma by the Romans,
and the shrillest or acutest ina; and he conjectures, that " this might have
been owing to the construction of their instruments; the string that
sounded the former being perhaps highest in place, and that which
sounded the latter lowest."  If this conjecture could be verified, it would
afford a proof from the fact, how liable the mind is to be influenced in
this respect by casual combinations.




TIHE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    213enables us to separate ideas which nature or habit have immediately combined, than on acuteness of reasoning or fertility of
invention. And hence it is, that metaphysical studies are the
best of all preparations for those philosophical pursuits which
relate to the conduct of life. In none of these, do we meet with
casual combinations so intimate and indissoluble as those which
occur in metaphysics; and he who has been accustomed to such
discriminations as this science requires, will not easily be imposed on by that confusion of ideas, which warps the judgments of the multitude in moral, religious, and political inquiries.
From the facts which have now been stated, it is easy to conceive the manner in which the association of ideas has a tendency
to mislead thejzudfment in the first of the three cases already
enumerated.  When two subjects of thought are so intimately
connected together in the mind, that we find it scarcely possible
to consider them apart, it must require no common efforts of
attention, to conduct any process of reasoning which relates to
either. I formerly took notice of the errors to which we are
exposed in consequence of the ambiguity of words; and of the
necessity of frequent checking and correcting our general reasonings by means of particular examples; but in the cases to
-which I allude at present, there is (if I may use the expression)
an ambiguity of things; so that, even when the mind is occupied
about particulars, it finds it difficult to separate the proper objects of its attention from others with which it has been long
accustomed to blend them. The cases, indeed, in which such
obstinate and invincible associations are formed among different.
subjects of thought, are not very numerous, and occur chiefly
in our metaphysical researches; but in every mind, casual
combinations of an inferior degree of strength, have an habitual
effect in disturbing the intellectual powers, and are not to be
conquered without persevering exertions, of which few men are
capable. The obvious effects which this tendency to combination produces on the judgment, in confounding together those
ideas which it is the province of the metaphysician to distinguish,
su8fficiently illustrate the mode of its operation in those numer



21.4    THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
ous instances, in which its influence, though not so complete
and striking, is equally real, and far more dangerous.
2. Association misleads us in judging of the future from  the
past. - The association of ideas is a source of speculative error,
by misleading us in those anticipations of the future from the
past, which are the foundation of our conduct in life.
The great object of philosophy, as I have already remarked
imore than once, is to ascertain the laws * which regulate the succession of events, both in the physical and moral worlds; in
order that, when called upon to act in any particular combination of circumstances, we may be enabled to anticipate the
probable course of nature from our past experience, and to
regulate our conduct accordingly.
As a knowledge of the established connections among events
is the foundation of sagacity and of skill, both in the practical
arts, and in the conduct of life, nature has not only given to all
men a strong disposition to remark, with attention and curiosity,
those phenomena which have been observed to happen nearly
at the same time; but has beautifully adapted to the uniformity
of her own operations, the laws of association in the human
mind.  By rendering contiguity in time one of the strongest of
our associating principles, she has conjoined together in our
thoughts the same events which we have found conjoined in
our experience, and has thus accommodated (without any effort
on our part) the order of our ideas to that scene in which we
are destined to act.t
The degree of experience which is necessary for the preservation of our animal existence, is acquired by all men without
* See note to page 6.
f [" The law of the association of ideas, which is the regulative principle
of memory, corresponds so exactly with the uniform succession of cause and
eflect, which is the regulative principle of the universe, that no one can
doubt that the one was specially designed to be the complement of the
other. The child associates the idea of burning with that of the fire; and
every pleasant or painful feeling reminds him of the occasion when it was
first excited. On these connections of thought, the whole value of experience depends. If memory acted disorderly, the effect, for all practical




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    215
any particular efforts of study. The laws of nature, which it is
most material for us to know, are exposed to the immediate
observation of our senses; and establish, by means of the principle of association, a corresponding order in our thoughts, long
before the dawn of reason and reflection; or at least, long before
that period of' childhood, to which our recollection afterwards
extends.
This tendency of the mind to associate together events which
have been presented to it nearly at the same time, although,
on the whole, it is attended with infinite advantages, yet like
many other principles of our nature, may occasionally be a
source of inconvenience, unless we avail ourselves of our reason
and of our experience in keeping it under proper regulation.
Among the various phenomena which are continually passing
before us, there is a great proportion, whose vicinity in time does
not indicate a constancy of conjunction; and unless we be careful to make the distinction between these two classes of connections, the order of our ideas will be apt to correspond with the
one as well as with the other; and our unenlightened experience
of the past will fill the mind, in numberless instances, with vain
expectations, or with groundless alarms, concerning the future.
This disposition to confound together accidental and permanent
connections, is one great source of popular superstitions. Hence
the regard which is paid to unlucky days; to unlucky colors; and
to the influence of the planets;-  apprehensions which render
human life, to many, a continued series of absurd terrors.  Lucretius compares them to those which children feel, from an idea
of the existence of spirits in the dark.
purposes, would be the same as if events succeeded each other at random,
and not in an unchangeable sequence. Before the past can be a safe guide
as to the future, it is necessary, not only that the same effect should always
follow the same cause, but also that the sight of the cause should always
and instantly remind us of what is sure to succeed. In this respect, as in
many others, the mind is a microcosm; it mirrors to us those aspects of
external nature which are most necessary to be presented fer the safety of
the individual.  The law of causation is also the law of memory."] -
Bow en's Lozuell Lectures, p. 398.




216     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
"Ac veluti pueri trepidant, atque omnia cacis
In tenebris metuunt, sic nos in luce timemus,
Interdaum nihilo quoa sunt metuenda miagis."
Such spectres can be dispelled by the light of philosophy
only; which, by accustoming us to trace established connections,
teaches us to despise those which are casual; and, by giving a
proper direction to that bias of the mind which is the foundation
of superstition, prevents it from leading us astray.
Wrong associations may mislead even enlightened iminds. - In
the instances which we have now been considering, events come
to be combined together in the mind, merely fiom the accidental
chicurnstance of their contiguity in time, at the moment when
we perceived them.  Such combinations are confined, in a great
measure, to uncultivated and unenlightened minds; or to those
individuals who, from nature or education, have a more than
ordinary facility of association. But there are other accidental
combinations, which are apt to lay hold of the most vigorous
understandings; and from which, as they are the natural and
necessary result of a limited experience, no superiority of intellect is sufficient to preserve a philosopher, in the infancy of
physical science.
As the connections among physical events are discovered to
us by experience alone, it is evident that, when we see a phenomenon preceded by a number of different circumstances, it is
impossible for us to determine, by any reasoning 5 priori, which
of these circumstances are to be regarded as the constant, and
which as the accidental, antecedents of the effect. If, in the
course of our experience, the same combination of circumstances is always exhibited to us without any alteration, and is
invariably followed by the same result, we must for ever remain
ignorant, whether this result be connected with the whole combination, or with one or more of the circumstances combined;
and therefore, if we are anxious, upon any occasion, to produce
a similar effect, the only rule that we can follow with perfect
security, is to imitate in every particular circumstance the
combination which we have seen. It is only where we have an
opportunity of separating such circumstances from each other;




THuE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    217
of combining them variously together; and of observing the
effects which result friom these different experiments, that we
can ascertain with precision the general laws of nature, and
strip physical causes of their accidental and unessential concomitants.
To illustrate this by an example.  Let us suppose that a
savage, who, in a particular instance, had found himself relieved
of some bodily indisposition by a draught of cold water, is a
second time afflicted with a similar disorder, and is desirous to
repeat the same remedy.  With a limited degree of experience
which we have here supposed him to possess, it would be impossible for the acutest philosopher, in his situation, to deter
mine, whether the cure was owing to the water which was
drunk, to the cup in which it was contained, to the fountain
from which it was taken, to the particular day of the month, or to
the particular age of the moon. In order, therefore, to insure the
success of the remedy, he will very naturally, and very wisely,
copy, as far as he can recollect, every circumstance which accompanied the first application of it. He will make use of the
same cup, draw the water from the same fountain, hold his body
in the same posture, and turn his face in the same direction; and
thus all the accidental circumstances in which the first experiment was made, will come to be associated equally in his mind
with the effect produced.  The fountain from which the water
was drawn, will be considered as possessed of particular virtues;
and the cup from which it was drunk, will be set apart fromn
vulgar uses, for the sake of those who may afterwards have
occasion to apply the remedy. It is the enlargement of experience alone, and not any progress in the art of reasolling,
which can cure the mind of these associations, and free the
practice of medicine from those superstitious observances with
which we always find it incumbered among rude nations.
Many instances of this species of superstition might be produced from the works of philosophers who have flourished in
more enlightened ages. In particular, many might be produced from the writings of those physical inquirers who immediately succeeded to Lord Bacon; and who, convinced by his
19




218     THE INIFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
arguments of the folly of all reasonings C priori concerning the
laws of nature, were frequently apt to run into the opposite
extreme, by recording every circumstance, even the most ludicrous, and the most obviously unessential, which attended their
experiments.*
Moral and political prejudices traced to the association of
ideas. -  The observations which have been hitherto made, relate entirely to associations founded on casual combinations of
material objects, or of physical events.  The effects which these
associations produce on the understanding, and which are so
palpable that they cannot fail to strike the most careless observer, will prepare the reader for the remarks I am  now to
make, on some analogous prejudices which warp our opinions
on still more important subjects.
As the established laws of the material world, which have
been exhibited to our senses from  our infancy, gradually accommodate to themselves the order of our thoughts; so the
most arbitrary and capricious institutions and customs, by a
long and constant and exclusive operation on the mind, acquire
such an influence in forming the intellectual habits, that every
deviation from  them not only produces surprise, but is apt to
excite sentiments of contempt and of ridicule.t  X person who
has never extended his views beyond that society of which he
himself is a member, is apt to consider many peculiarities in the
manners and customs of his countrymen as founded on the universal principles of the human constitution; and when he hears
of other nations, whose practices in similar cases are different,
* The reader will scarcely believe, that the following cure for a dysentery is copied verbatim from the works of Mr. Boyle:"Take the thigh-bone of a hanged man, (perhaps another may serve,
but this was still made use of,) calcine it to whiteness, and having purged
the patient with an antimonial medicine, give him one drachm of this white
powder for one dose, in some good cordial, whether conserve or liquor."
t "Nous nous accoutumons'a tout ce que nous voyons; etje ne seals
si le consulat du cheval de Caligula nous auroit autant sulpris que nous
nous l'imaginons." [We become accustomed to every thing which we see;
and I do not know that the consulship of Caligula's horse would have
surprised us as miuch as we imagine.] - Cardinal de Retz,




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    219
lie is apt to censure them as unnatural, and to despise them  as
absurd. There are two classes of men who have more particularly been charged with this weakness; those who are placed
at the bottom, and those who have reached the summit, of the
scale of refinement; the former from ignorance, and the latter
from national vanity.
For curing this class of' prejudices, the obvious expedient
which nature points out to us, is to extend our acquaintance
with human affairs, either by means of books, or of personal
observation. The effects of travelling, in enlarging and in enlightening the mind, are obvious to our daily experience; and
similar advantages may be derived, (although, perhaps, not in
an equal degree,) from a careful study of the manners of past
ages or of distant nations, as they are described by the historian. In making, however, these attempts for our intellectual
improvement, it is of the utmost colsequence to us to vary, to
a considerable degree, the objects of our attention, in order to
prevent any danger of our acquiring an exclusive preference
for the caprices of any one people, whose political situation, or
whose moral character, may attach us to them as faultless
models for our imitation. The same weakness and versatility
of' mind, the same facility of association, which, in the case of
a person who has never extended his views beyond his own
community, is a source of national prejudice and of national
bigotry, renders the mind, when formed into new  situations,
easily susceptible of other prejudices no less capricious; and
frequently prevents the time, which is devoted to travelling, or
to study, fiom being subservient to any better purpose, than an
importation of foreign fashions, or a still more ludicrous imitation of ancient follies.
The philosopher whose thoughts dwell habitually, not merely
upon what is, or what has been, but upon what is best and
most expedient for mankind; who, to the study of books, and
the observation of manners, has added a careful examination of
the principles of the human constitution, and of those which
ought to regulate the social order; is the only person who is
effectually secured against both the weaknesses which I have




20    THEII INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONSo
described. By learning to separate what is essential to morality
and to happiness, fiom those adventitious trifles which it is the
province of fashion to direct, he is equally guarded against the
follies of national prejudices, and a weak deviation, in matters
of indifference, from  established ideas. UTpon his mind, thus
occupied with important subjects of reflection, the fluctuating
caprices and fashions of the times lose their influence; while
accustomed to avoid the slavery of local and arbitrary habits,
lie possesses, in his own genuine simplicity of character, the
same power of accommodation to external circumstances, which
men of the world derive from the pliability of their taste and
the versatility of their manners. As the order too, of his ideas
is accommodated, not to what is casually presented from without,
but to his own systematical principles, his associations are subject only to those slow and pleasing changes which arise from
his growing light and improving reason; and, in such a period
of the world as at present, when the press not only excludes
the possibility of a permanent retrogradation in human affairs,
but operates with an irresistible though gradual progress, in
undermining prejudices and in extending the triumphs of philosophy, he may reasonably indulge the hope, that society will
every day approach nearer and nearer to what he wishes it to
be.  A man of such a character, instead of looking back on the
past with regret, finds himself (if I may use the expression)
more at home in the world, and more satisfied with its order,
the longer he lives in it. The melancholy contrast which old
men are sometimes disposed to state, between its condition
when they are about to leave it, and that in which they found it
at the commencement of their career, arises, in most cases,
friom the unlimited, influence which, in their early years, they
had allowed to the fashions of the times, in the formation of'
their characters.  How  different friom  those sentiments and
prospects which dignified the retreat of Turgot, and brightened
the declining years of Franklin!
Hbow unconscious changes of opinion are produced. — The
querulous temper, however, which is incident to old men,
although it renders their manners disagreeable in the inters




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.              221
course of social life, is by no means the most contemptible form
in which the prejudices I have now been describing may display their influence.  Such a temper indicates at least a certain
degree of observation, in marking the vicissitudes of human
affairs, and a certain degree of sensibility in early life, which
has connected pleasing ideas with the scenes of infancy and
youth.  A  very great proportion of mankind are, in a great
measure, incapable either of the one or of the other; and suffering
themselves to be carried quietly along with the stream of fashion,
and finding their opinions and their feelings always in the same
relative situation to the fleeting objects around them, are perfectly unconscious of any progress in their own ideas, or of any
change in the manners of their age.  In vain the philosopher
reminds them  of the opinions they yesterday held; and forewarns them, from  the spirit of the times, of those which they
are to hold to-morrow. The opinions of the present moment
seorn to them  to be inseparable from  their constitution; and
when the prospects are realized, which they lately treated as
chimerical, their minds are so gradually prepared for the event,
that they behold it without any emotions of wonder or curiosity;
and it is to the philosopher alone, by whom  it was predicted,
that it appears to furnish a subject worthy of future reflection.*
The prejudices to which the last observations relate, have
their origin in that disposition of our nature, which accommodates the order of our ideas, and our various intellectual habits,
d Some reflections similar to the above are subjoined by Gibbon to his
account of the fable of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. " The story of
the seven sleepers has been adopted and adorned by the nations from
Bengal to Africa, who profess the Maholnetan religion; and some vestiges
of a similar tradition have been discovered in the remote extremities of
Scandinavia. This easy and universal belief, so expressive of the sense
of mankind, may be ascribed to the genuine merit of the fable itself.
We imperceptibly advance from youth to age, without observing the
gradual, but incessant change of human affairs; and even in our larger
experience of history, the imagination is accustomed, by a perpetual series
of causes and affects, to unite the most distant revolutions. But iC the
interval between two memorable eras could be instantly annihilated; if it
were possible, after a momentary slumber of two hundred years, to dis.
19 *




222      THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
to whatever appearances have been long and familiarly presented to the mind.  But there are other prejudices, which, by
being intimately associated with the essential principles of' our
constitution, or with the original and universal laws of our belief,
are incomparably more inveterate in their nature, and have a
far more extensive influence on human character and happiness.
3. The support which error derives from its accidental association with truth. -  The manner in which the association of ideas
operates in producing this third class of our speculative errorsl
may be conceived, in part, from what was formerly said, concerning the superstitious observances, which are mixed with the
practice of medicine among rude nations.  As all the different
circumstances which accompanied the first administration of a
remedy, come to be considered as essential to its future success,
and are blended together in our conceptions, without any discrimination of their relative importance; so, whatever tenets
and ceremonies we have been taught to connect with the religious creed of our infancy, become almost a part of our constitution, by being indissolubly united with truths which are
essential to happiness, and which we are led to reverence and to
love by all the best dispositions of the heart.  The astonishment which the peasant feels, when he sees the rites of a religion
different from his own, is not less great than if he saw some
flagrant breach of the moral duties, or some direct act of' impiety to God; nor is it easy for him to conceive, that there can
be any thing worthy in a mind which treats with indifference
play the Nel world to the eyes of a spectator, who still retained a lively
1111d recent impression of the old, his surprise and his reflections would
furnish the pleasing subject of a philosophical romance." —Decline anzd
J'all. vol. 6, pp. 35, 36.
To these observations may be added a remark of Lord Bacon's, to the
truth of which our daily experience bears testimony. "Levitas hominum
atque inconstantia hinc optime perspici potest, qui donec res aliqua perfecta sit, cam mirantur ficri posse; postquam facta semnel est, iterum
inirantur eam jampridern factan non fuisse."  [The levity and inconsistency of men can best be seen in this; — that before a certain thing
is accomplished, they doubt its possibility; but when it is once clone,
they wonder why it was not done long ago.] -Bac. De. Aulg. Scient. Lib. i.




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    223
what awakens in his own breast all its best and sublimest emotions. "Is it possible," says the old and expiring Bramin, in
one of Marmontel's tales, to the young English officer who had
saved the life of his daughter, " is it possible, that he to whose
compassion I owe the preservation of my child, and who now
soothes my last moments with the consolations of piety, should
not believe in the god Vistnou, and his nine metamorphoses! "
What has now been said on the nature of religious superstition, may be applied to many other subjects. In particular, it
may be applied to those political prejudices which bias the judgment even of enlightened men in all countries of the world.
How deeply rooted in the human frame are those important
principles, which interest the good man in the prosperity of the
world; and more especially in the prosperity of that beloved
community to which he belongs! How small, at the same time,
is the number of individuals, who, accustomed to contemplate
one modification alone of the social order, are able to distinguish
the circumstances which are essential to human happiness, from
those which are indifferent or hurtful! In such a situation, how
natural is it for a man of benevolence, to acquire an indiscriminate and superstitious veneration for all the institutions under
which he has been educated; as these institutions, however
capricious and absurd in themselves, are not only familiarized
by habit to all his thoughts and feelings, but are consecrated in
his mind by an indissoluble association with duties which nature
recommAends to his affections, and which reason commands him
to fulfil. It is on these accounts, that a superstitious zeal against
innovation, both in religion and politics, where it is evidently
grafted on piety to God and good-will to mankind, however it
may excite the sorrow of the more enlightened philosopher, is
justly entitled, not only to his indulgence, but to his esteem and
affection.
The remarks which have been already made, are sufficient to
show how necessary it is for us, in the formation of our philosophical principles, to examine with care all those opinions which,
in our early years, we have imbibed from our instructors; or
which are connected with our own local situation. Nlor does




224     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
the universality of an opinion amnony men who have received %
similar education, cfford any rreszuntion in its favor; for however great the deference is, which a wise man will always pay to
common belief, upon those subjects which have employed the
unbiased reason of mankind, he certainly owes it no respect, in
so far as he suspects it to be influenced by fashion or authority.
Nothing can be more just than the observation of Fontenelle,
that "the number of those who believe in a system  already
established in the world, does not, in the least, add to its credibility; but that the number of those who doubt of it has a
tendency to diminish it."
The same remarks lead, upon the other hand, to another conclusion of still greater importance; that, notwithstanding the
various false opinions which are current in the world, there are
some truths which are inseparable from the human understanding,
and by means of which, the errors of education, in most instances, are enabled to take hold of our belief.
A weak mind, unaccustomed to reflection, and which has pas.
sively derived its most important opinions from habits or from
authority, when, in consequence of' a more enlarged intercourse
Twith the world, it finds that ideas which it had been taught to
regard as sacred, are treated by enlightened and worthy men
with ridicule, is apt to lose its reverence for the fundamental
and eternal truths on which these accessory ideas are grafted,
and easily falls a prey to that skeptical philosophy which teaches,
that all the opinions, and all the principles of action by which
mankind are governed, may be traced to the influence of education and example. Amidst the infinite variety of forms, however, which our versatile nature assumes, it cannot fail to strike
an attentive observer, that there are certain indelible features
common to them all. In one situation, we find good men
attached to a republican form of government; in another, to a
monarchy; but in all situations, we find them devoted to the
service of their country and of mankind, and disposed to regard,
with reverence and love, the most absurd and capricious institutions wl-ich custom has led them to connect with the order of
society. The different appearances, therefore, which the politic




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    225
cal opinions anid the political conduct of men exhibit, while they
demonstrate to what a wonderful degree human nature may be
influenced by situation and by early instruction, evince the existence of some common and original principles, which fit it for the
political union, and illustrate the uniform  operation of those
laws of association, to which, in all the stages of society, it is
equally subject.
fLiese principles applicable to questions of religion and morality. - Similar observations are applicable, and, indeed, in a still
more striking degree, to the opinions of mankind on the important questions of religion and morality.  The variety of
systems which they have formed to themselves concerning these
subjects, has often excited the ridicule of the skeptic and the
libertine; but if, on the one hand,, this variety shows the folly
of bigotry, and the reasonableness of mutual indulgence; the
curiosity which has led men in every situation to such speculations, and the influence which their conclusions, however absurd,
have had on their character and their happiness, prove, no less
clearly on the other, that there must be some principles from
which they all derive their origin; and invite the philosopher
to ascertain what are these original and immutable laws of the
human mind.
"Examine," says Mr. Hume, " the religious principles which
have prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded,
that there are any thing but sick men's dreams; or, perhaps, will
regard them more as the playsome whimseys of monkeys in
human shape, than the serious, positive, dogmatical asseverations
of a being who dignifies himself with the name of rational."
-" To oppose the torrent of scholastic religion by such feeble
maxims as these, that it is impossible for the same thing to be
and not to be; that the whole is greater than a part; that two
and three make five: is pretending to stop the ocean with a bulrush."  But what is the inference to which we are led by these
observations? Is it, to use the words of this ingenious writer,
"that the whole is a riddle, an enigma, an inexplicable mystery;
and that doubt, uncertainty, and suspense, appear the only result
of our most accurate scrutiny concerning this subject?"  Or




226     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
should not rather the melancholy histories which lie has exhibited of the follies and caprices of superstition, direct our
attention to those sacred and indelible characters on the human
mind, which all these perversions of reaso-n are unable to
obliterate; like that image of himself, which Phidias wished to
perpetuate, by stamping it so deeply on the buckler of his
iiinerva; "ut nemo delere posset aut divellere, qui totam statuam non imminueret;" [that no one could destroy it or take
it away, without ruining the whole statue.]  In truth, the more
strange the contradictions, and the more ludicrous the ceremonies, to which the pride of human reason has thus been reconciled; the stronger is our evidence that religion has a foundation
in the nature of man. When the greatest of modern philosophers declares, that: he would rather believe all the fables
in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this
universal frame is without mind;" (Lord Bacon, in his Essays;)
he has expressed the same feeling, which, in all ages and nations,
has led good men, unaccustomed to reasoning, to an implicit faith
in the creed of their infancy; - a feeling which affords an evidence of the existence of the Deity incomparably more striking,
than if, unmixed with error and undebased by superstition, this
most important of all principles had commanded the universal
assent of mankind. Where are the other truths, in the whole
circle of the sciences, which are so essential to human happiness, as to procure an easy access, not only for themselves, but
for whatever opinions may happen to be blended with them?
Where are the truths so venerable and commanding, as to impart
their own sublimity to every trifling memorial which recalls them
to our remembrance; to bestow solemnity and elevation on every
mode of expression by which they are conveyed; and which, in
whatever scene they have habitually occupied the thoughts, consecrate every object which it presents to our senses, and the
very ground we have been accustomed to tread?  To attempt
to weaken the authority of such impressions, by a detail of the
endless variety of forms which they derive from casual associations, is surely an employment unsuitable to the dignity of philosophy. To the vulgar it may be amusing, in this, as in other




1R:E INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    227
instances, to indulge their wonder at what is new or uncommon;
but to the philosopher it belongs to perceive, under all these
various disguises, the workings of the same common nature; and
in the superstitions of Egypt, no less than in the lofty visions
of Plato, to recognize the existence of those moral ties which
unite the heart of man to the Author of his being.
I. l]zijuence of the association of ideas on ourjudgments in
matters of taste.  How taste is formed. — The very general
observations which I am to make in this Section, do not presuppose any particular theory concerning the nature of taste.
It is sufficient for my purpose to remark, that taste is not a
simple and original faculty, but a power grccaduzally formed Zi
experience and observation.  It implies, indeed, as its groundwork, a certain degree of natural sensibility; but it implies also
the exercise of the judgment; and is the slow result of an attentive examination and comparison of the agreeable or disagreeable effects produced on the mind by external objects.
The view which was formerly given of the process by which
the general laws of the material world are investigated, and
which I endeavored to illustrate by the state of medicine among
rude nations, is strictly applicable to the history of taste.  That
certain objects are fitted to give pleasure, and others disgust, to
the mind, we know fiom experience alone; and it is impossible
for us, by any reasoning ~'priori, to explain howz the pleasure or
the pain is produced.  In the works of nature we find, in many
instances, beauty and sublimity involved among circumstances
which are either indifferent, or which obstruct the general
effect; and it is only by a train of experiments, that we can
separate those circumstances from the rest, and ascertain with
what particular qualities the pleasing effect is connected.  Accordingly, the inexperienced artist, when he copies nature,
will copy her servilely, that he may be certain of securing the
pleasing effect; and the beauties of his performances will be
incumbered with a number of superfluous or of disagreeable
concomitants.  Experience and observation alone can enable
him to make this discrimination; to exhibit the principles of
beauty pure and unadulterated, and to form a creation of his




228     TIlE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
own, more faultless than ever fell under the observation of his
senses.
This analogy between the progress of taste firom rudeness to
refinement, and the progress of physical knowledge from the
superstitions of a savage tribe to the investigation of the laws
of nature, proceeds on the supposition, that, as in the material
world there are general facts, beyond which philosophy is unable to proceed; so, in the constitution of man, there is an inexplicable adaptation of the mind to the objects with which
these faculties are conversant; in conseqluence of which, these
objects are fitted to produce agreeable or disagreeable emotions.
In both cases, reasoning may be employed with propriety to
refer particular phenomena to general principles; but in both
cases, we must at last arrive at principles of which no account
can be given, but that such is the will of our Maker.
Trhe influence of casual associatins on taste. - A great part,
too, of the remarks which were made in the last section on the
origin of popular prejudices, may be applied to explain the
influence of casual associations on taste; but these remarks do
not so completely exhaust the subject, as to supersede the necessity of further illustration. In matters of taste, the effects
which we consider are produced on the mind itself; and are
accompanied either with pleasure or with pain. Hence the
tendency to casual association is much stronger than it commonly is, with respect to physical events; and when such as
sociations are once formed, as they do not lead to any important
inconvenience, similar to those which result from physical mistakes, they are not so likely to be corrected by mere experience,
unassisted by study. To this it is owing, that the influence of
association on our judgments concerning beauty and deformity,
is still more remarkable than on our speculative conclusions; a
circumstance which has led some philosophers to suppose, that
association is sufficient to account for the origin of these notions,
and that there is no *such thing as a standard of taste, founded
on the principles of the human constitution.  But this is undoubtedly pushing the theory a great deal too fhr. The association of ideas can never account for the origin of a new notion,




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    229
or of a pleasure essentially dierent from all the others which
we know. It may, indeed, enable us to conceive how a thing,
indifferent in itself, may become a source of pleasure, by being
connected in the.mind with something else which is naturally
agreeable; but it presupposes, in every instance, the existence
of those notions and those feelings which it is its province to
combine: insomuch that, I apprehend, it will be found, wherever
association produces a change in our judgments on matters of
taste, it does so by co6perating with some natural principle of
the mind, and implies the existence of certain original sources
of pleasure and uneasiness.
How fashions change. - A mode of dress, which at first appeared awkward, acquires, in a few weeks or months, the appearance of elegance. By being accustomed to see it worn by
those whom we consider as models of taste, it becomes associated with the agreeable impressions which we receive from the
ease and grace and refinement of their manners.  When it
pleases by itself, the effect is to be ascribed, not to the object
actually before us, but to the impressions with which it has
been generally connected, and which it naturally recalls to the
mind.
This observation points out the cause of the perpetual vicissitudes in dress, and in every thing whose chief recommendation
arises from fashion. It is evident that, as far as the agreeable
effect of an ornament arises from association, the effect will
continue only while it is confined to the higher orders. When
it is adopted by the multitude, it not only ceases to be associated with ideas of taste and refinement, but it is associated with
ideas of affectation, absurd imitation, and vulgarity. It is accordingly laid aside by the higher orders, who studiously avoid
every circumstance in external appearance which is debased
by low and common use; and they are led to exercise theirinvention in the introduction of some new peculiarities, which
first become fashionable, then common, and last of all, are
abandoned as vulgar.
It has often been remarked, that after a certain period in
the progress of society, the public taste becomes corrupted; and
20




230     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL- ASSOCIATIONS.
the different productions of the fine arts begin to degenerate
from that simplicity, which they had attained in their state of
greatest perfection. One reason of this decline is suggested by
the foregoing observations.
From the account which has been given of the natural progress of taste, in separating the genuine principles of beauty
from superfluous and from offensive concomitants, it is evident,
that there is a limit, beyond which the love of simplicity cannot
be carried.  No bounds, indeed, can be set to the creations of
genius; but as this quality occurs seldom in an eminent degree,
it commonly happens, that after a period of great refinement of
taste, men begin to gratify their love of variety, by adding
superfluous circumstances to the finished models exhibited by
their predecessors, or by making other trifling alterations on
them, with a view merely of diversifying the effect.  These
additions and alterations, indifferent perhaps, or even in some
degree offensive in themselves, acquire soon a borrowed beauty,
from the connection in which we see them, or firom the influence
of fashion: the same cause which at first produced them, continues perpetually to increase their number; and taste returns
to barbarism, by almost the same steps which conducted it to
perfection.
The truth of these remarks will appear still more striking to
those who consider the wonderful effect which a writer of
splendid genius, but of incorrect taste, has in misleading the
public judgment. The peculiarities of such an author are
consecrated by the connection in which we see them, and even
please, to a certain degree, when detached from the excellences
of his composition, by recalling to us the agreeable impressions
with. which they have been formerly associated.  How many
imitations have we seen of the affectations of Sterne, by men:who were unable to copy his beauties! And yet these imitations of his defects; of his abrupt manner; of his minute
specification of circumstances; and even of his dashes, produce,
at first, some effect on readers of sensibility, but of uncultivated
taste, in consequence of the exquisite strokes of the pathetic,
and the singular vein of humor,  with which they are united in
the original.




TiEE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.           231
Two kinds of taste disting7uished. — From  what has been
said, it is obvious, that the circumstances which please in the
objects of taste, are of two kinds: first, those which are fitted
to please by nature, or by associations which all mankind are
led to form  by their common condition; and, secondly, those
which please in consequence of associations arising from local
and accidental circumstances.  Hence, there are two kinds of
taste; the one enabling us to judge of those beauties which
have a foundation in the human constitution; the other, of such
objects as derive their principal recommendation from  the
influence of fashion.
These two kinds of taste are not always united in the same
person; indeed, I am inclined to think, that they are united but
rarely.  The perfection of the one depends much upon  the
degree in which we are able to free the mind from the influence
of casual associations; that of the other, on the contrary, depends on a facility of association, which enables us to fall in, at
once, with all the turns of the Sfashion, and, as Shakspeare expresses it, " to catch the tune of the times."
The i;nflutence of association on language.- I shall endeavor
to illustrate some of the foregoing remarks, by applying them
to the subject of language, which affords numberless instances
to exemplify the influence which the association of ideas has on
our judgments in matters of taste.
In the same manner in which an article of dress acquired an
appearance of elegance or of vulgarity from  the persons by
whom it is habitually worn; so a particular mode of pronunciation acquires an air of fashion or of rusticity, from the persons
by whom  it is habitually employed.  The Scotch accent is
surely in itself as good as the English, and with a few exceptions, is as agreeable to the ear; and yet how offensive does it
appear, even to us, who have been accustomed to hear it from
our infancy, when compared with that which is used by our
southern neighbors!- No reason can be given for this, but that
the capital of Scotland is now become a provincial town, and
London is the seat of our court.
The distinction which is to be found in the languages of all




232     THIE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
civilized nations, between low and polite modes of expression,
arises from similar causes. It is, indeed, amusing to remark
the solicitude with which the higher orders, in the monarchies
of modern Europe, avoid every circumstance in their exterior
appearance and manner, which, by the most remote association,
may, in the minds of others, connect them with the idea of the
multitude.  Their whole dress and deportment and conversation
are studiously arranged to convey an imposing notion of their
consequence; and to recall to the spectator, by numberless slight
and apparently unintentional hints, the agreeable impressions
which are associated with the advantages of fortune.
To this influence of association on language, it is necessary
for every writer to attend carefully, who wishes to express himself with elegance.  For the attainment of correctness and
purity in the use of words, the rules of grammarians and of
critics may be a sufficient guide; but it is not in the works of
this class of authors, that the higher beauties of style are to be
studied. As the air and manner of a gentleman can be acquired
only by living habitually in the best society, so grace in composition must be attained by an habitual acquaintance with
classical writers. It is indeed necessary for our information, that
we should peruse occasionally many books which have no merit
in point of expression; but I believe it to be extremely useful
to all literary men, to counteract the effect of this miscellaneous
reading, by maintaining a constant and familiar acquaintance
with a few of the most faultless models which the language
affords.  For want of some standard of this sort, we frequently
see an author's taste in writing alter much to the worse in the
course of his life; and his later productions fall below the level
of his early essays.  D'Alembert tells us, that Voltaire had
always lying on his table the Petit Careme of Mlassillon, and
the tragedies of Racine; the former to fix his taste in prose
composition, and the latter in poetry.
In avoiding, however, expressions which are debased by vulgar use, there is a danger of running into the other extreme in
quest of fashionable words and phrases.  Such an affectation
may, for a few years, gratify the vanity of an author, by giving




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    233
him the air of a man of the world; but the reputation it bestows
is of a very transitory nature. The works which continue to
please from age to age are written with perfect simplicity, while
those which captivate the multitude by a display of meretricious
ornaments, if, by chance, they should survive the fashions to
which they are accommodated, remain only to furnish a subject
of ridicule to posterity.  The portrait of a beautiful woman in
the fashionable dress of the day may please at the moment it is
painted, nay, may perhaps please more than in any that the
fancy of the artist could have suggested; but it is only in the
plainest and simplest drapery that the most perfect form can bo
transmitted with advantage to future times.
The exceptions which the history of literature seems to furnish to these observations are only apparent. That, in the
works of our best authors there are many beauties which have
long and generally been admired, and which yet owe their whole
effect to association, cannot be disputed; but, in such cases, it
will always be found that the associations which are the foundation of our pleasures, have, in consequence of some peculiar
combination of circumstances, been more widely diffused, and
more permanently established among mankind, than those which
date their origin from  the caprices of our own age are ever
likely to be. An admiration for the classical remains of antiquity is, at present, not less general in Europe than the advantages of a liberal education; and such is the effect of this
admiration, that there are certain caprices of taste from which
no man who is well educated is entirely free. A composition in
a modern language, which should sometimes depart from the
ordinary modes of expression, from an affectation of the idioms
which are consecrated in the classics, would please a very wide
circle of readers, in consequence of the prevalence of classical
associations; and therefore, such affectations, however absurd
when carried to a degree of singularity, are of a far superior
class to those which are adapted to the fashions of the day.
But still the general principle holds true, that whatever beauties
derive their original merely from casual association, must appear
capricious to those to whom the association does not extend; and
20, 




234     TIHE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
that the simplest style is that which continues longest to please,
and which pleases most universally. In the writings of Mr.
Harris, there is a certain classical air which will always have
many admirers, while ancient learning continues to be cultivated,
but which, to a mere English reader, appears somewhat unnatural and ungraceful, when compared with the composition of
Swift or of Addison.
Injfuence of classical associations on the carts. - The analogy
of the arts of statuary and painting may be of use in illustrating
these remarks. The influence of ancient times has extended
to these, as well as to the art of writing; and, in this case, no
less than in the other, the transcendent power of genius has
established a propriety of choice in matters of indifference, and
has, perhaps, consecrated in the opinion of mankind some of its
own caprices.
" Many of the ornaments of art," says Sir Joshua Reynolds,
"those at least for which no reason can be given, are transmitted
to us, are adopted, and acquire their consequence from the
company in which we have been used to see them. As Greece
and Rome are the fountains from whence have flowed all kinds
of excellence, to that veneration which they have a right to
claim for the pleasure and knowledge which they have afforded
us, we voluntarily add our approbation of every ornament and
every custom that belonged to them, even to the fashion of their
dress. For it may be observed, that, not satisfied with them in
their own place, we make no difficulty of dressing statues of
modern heroes or senators in the fashion of the Roman armor,
or peaceful robe, and even go so far as hardly to bear a statue
in any other drapery.
"The figures of the great men of those nations have come
down to us in sculpture. In sculpture remain almost all the
excellent specimens of ancient art. We have so far associated
personal dignity to the persons thus represented, and the truth
of art to their manner of representation, that it is not in our
power any longer to separate them. This is not so in painting,
because, having no excellent ancient portraits, that connection
was never formed. Indeed, we could no more venture to paint




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    235
a general officer in a Roman military habit, than we could make
a statue in the present uniform.  But since we have no ancient
portraits to show how ready we are to adopt those kind of prejudices, we make the best authority among the moderns serve the
same purpose. The great variety of excellent portraits with
which Vandyke has enriched this nation, we are not content to
admire for their real excellence, but extend our approbation even
to the dress which happened to be the fashion of that age. By
this means, it must be acknowledged, very ordinary pictures
acquired something of the air and effect of the works of Vandyke, and appeared therefore, at first sight, better pictures than
they really were. They appeared so, however, to those only
who had the means of making this association."
The language of poetry affected by casual associations. - The
influence of association on our notions concerning language, is
still more strongly exemplified in poetry than in prose. As it
is one great object of the poet, in his serious productions, to
elevate the imagination of his readers above the grossness of
sensible objects, and the vulgarity of common life, it becomes
peculiarly necessary for him to reject the use of all words and
phrases which are trivial and hackneyed.  Among those which
are equally pure and equally perspicuous, he, in general, finds
it expedient to adopt that which is the least common. Milton
prefers the words Rhene and Danaw to the more common words
Rhine and Danube:
"A multitude, like which the populous North
Pour'd never from his frozen loins, to pass
Rhene or the Danaw."
In the following line,
" Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,"
how much more suitable to the poetical style does the expression
appear, than if the author had said,
" Things unattempted yet in prose or verse."
In another passage, where, for the sake of variety, he has made




236     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS,
use of- the last phrase, he adds an epithet, to remove it a little
from the familiarity of ordinary discourse.
"in prose or numerous verse."
Peculiarities of poetical diction. - In consequence of this circumstance, there arises gradually in every language a poetical
diction, which differs widely from the common diction of prose.
It is much less subject to the vicissitudes of fashion, than the
polite modes of expression in familiar conversation; because,
when it has once been adopted by the poet, it is avoided by
good prose writers, as being too elevated for that species of composition. It may therefore retain its charm, as long as the language exists; nay, the charm may increase, as the language
grows older.
Indeed, the charm of poetical diction must increase to a certain degree, as polite literature advances. For when once a set
of words has been consecrated to poetry, the very sound of
them, independently of the ideas they convey, awakens, every
time we hear it, the agreeable impressions which were connected
with it when we met with them in the performances of our favorite
authors. Even when strung together in sentences which convey no meaning, they produce some effect on the mind of a
reader of sensibility; an effect, at least, extremely different from
that of an unmeaning sentence in prose.
Languages differ from each other widely in'the copiousness
of their poetical diction. Our own possesses, in this respect,
important advantages over the French; not that in this language
there are no words appropriated to poetry, but because their
number is, comparatively speaking, extremely limited.
The scantiness of the French poetical diction is, probably,
attended with the less inconvenience, that the phrases which
occur in good prose writing are less degraded by vulgar application than in English, in consequence of the line being more
distinctly and more strongly drawn between polite and low expressions in that language than in ours. Our poets, indeed, by
having a language appropriated to their own purposes, not only




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    237
can preserve dignity of expression, but can connect with the
perusal of their compositions, the pleasing impressions which
have been produced by those of their predecessors.  And hence,
in the higher sorts of poetry, where their object is to kindle, as
much as possible, the enthusiasm of their readers, they not only
avoid, studiously, all expressions which are vulgar, but all such
as are borrowed from fashionable life. This certainly cannot
be done in an equal degree by a poet who writes in the French
language.
Illn English, the poetical diction is so extremely copious, that
it is liable to be abused; as it puts it in the power of authors of
no genius, merely by ringing changes on the poetical vocabulary, to give a certain degree of currency to the most unmeaning compositions. In Pope's Song by a Person of Quality, the
incoherence of ideas is scarcely greater than what is to be found
in some admired passages of our fashionable poetry.
Nor is it merely by a difference of words, that the language
of poetry is distinguished from that of prose.  When a poetical
arrangement of words has once been established by authors of
reputation, the most common expressions, by being presented in
this consecrated order, may serve to excite poetical associations.
On the other hand, nothing more completely destroys the
charm of poetry, than a string of words which the custom of
ordinary discourse has arranged in so invariable an order, that
the whole phrase may be anticipated from  hearing its commencement. A  single word frequently strikes us as flat and
prosaic, in consequence of its familiarity; but two such words,
coupled together in the order of conversation, can scarcely be
introduced into serious poetry without appearing ludicrous.
No poet in our language has shown so strikingly as Milton,
the wonderful elevation which style may derive from  an
arrangement of words, which, while it is perfectly intelligible,
departs widely from that to which we are in general accustomed.
Many of his most sublime periods, when the order of the words
is altered, are reduced nearly to the level of prose.
To copy this artifice with success is a much more difficult
attainment than is commonly imagined: and, of consequence,




238    THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCITATIONS
when it is acquired, it secures an author, to a great degree,
from that crowd of imitators who spoil the effect of whatever
is not beyond their reach. To the poet who uses blank verse,
it is an acquisition of still more essential consequence than to
him who expresses himself in rhyme; for the more that the
structure of the verse approaches to prose, the more it is necessary to give novelty and dignity to the composition. And accordingly, among our magazine poets, ten thousand catch the
structure of Pope's versification, for one who approaches to the
manner of Milton or of Thomson.
The facility, however, of this imitation, like every other, increases with the number of those who have studied it with success; for the more numerous the authors who have employed
their genius in any one direction, the more copious are the
materials out of which mediocrity may select and combine, so
as to escape the charge of plagiarism.  And, in fact, in our own
language, this, as well as the other great resource of poetical
expression, the employment of appropriated words, has had its
effects so much impaired by the abuse which has been made of
it, that a few of our best poets of late have endeavored to
strike out a new path for themselves, by resting the elevation
for their composition chiefly on a singular, and, to an ordinary
writer, an unattainable, union of harmonious versification with
a natural arrangement of words and a simple elegance of expression.  It is this union which seems to form the distinguishing charm of the poetry of Goldsmith.
From the remarks which have been made on the influence of
the association of ideas on our judgments in matters of taste, it
is obvious how much the opinions of a nation with respect to
merit in the fine arts, are likely to be influenced by the form of
their government, and the state of their manners. Voltaire, in
his discourse pronounced at his reception into the French
academy, gives several reasons why the poets of that country,have not succeeded in describing rural scenes and employments.
The principal one is, the ideas of meanness, and poverty, and
wretchedness, which the French are accustomed to associate
with the profession of husbandry.  The same thing is alluded




THRE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    23S
to by the Abbe de Lille, in the preliminary discourse prefixed
to his translation of the Georgics.  "A  translation," says he,
" of this poem, if it had been undertaken by an author of genius,
would have been better calculated than any other work, for adding to the riches of our language. A version of the IEneid itself,
however well executed, would, in this respect be of less utility,
inasmuch as the genius of our tongue accommodates itself more
easily to the description of heroic achievements, than to the
details of natural phenomena, and of the operations of husbandry. To force it to express these with suitable dignity,
would have been a real conquest over that false delicacy, which
it has contracted from our unfortunate prejudices."
1H1ow different must have been the emotions with which this
divine performance of Virgil was read by an ancient Roman,
while he recollected that period in the history of his country,
when dictators were called from the plough to the defence of
the state, and after having led monarchs in triumph, returned
again to the same happy and independent occupation. A state
of manners to which a Roman author of a later age looked
back with such enthusiasm, that he ascribes, by a bold, poetical
figure, the flourishing state of agriculture under the republic, to
the grateful returns which the earth then made to the illustrious
hands by which she was cultivated.  "Gaudente terra vomere
laureato, et triumphali aratore."  [The land rejoicing because
the plough is wreathed with laurel, and the husbandman has
received the honors of a triumph.]  (Plin. Nat. Hist. xviii. 4.)
III. Of the i7qutence of association on our active principles,
anzd on our zmoral judgments. - In order to illustrate a little further
the influence of the association of ideas on the human mind, I
shall add a few remarks on some of its effects on our active
and moral principles. In stating these remarks, I shall endeavor to avoid, as much as possible, every occasion of controversy, by confining myself to such general views of the subject,
as do not presuppose any particular enumeration of our original
principles of action, or any particular system concerning the
nature of the moral faculty. If my health and leisure enable
me to carry my plans into execution, I propose, in the sequel of




240     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
this work, to resume these inquiries, and to examine the various
opinions to which they have given rise.
The manner in which the association of ideas operates in
producing new principles of action, has been explained very
distinctly by different writers.  Whatever conduces to the
gratification of any natural appetite, or any natural desire, is
itself desired on account of the end to which it is subservient;
and by being thus habitually associated in our apprehension
with agreeable objects, it frequently comes, in process of time, to
be regarded as valuable in itself, independently of its utility.
It is thus that wealth becomes, with many an ultimate object of
pursuit; although, at first, it is undoubtedly valued merely on
account of its subserviency to the attainment of other objects.  In
like manner, men are led to desire dress, equipage, retinue,
furniture, on account of the estimation in which they are supposed to be held by the public. Such desires are called by Dr.
[-utcheson, (see his Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the
Passions;) secondary desires; and their origin is explained by
him  in the way in which I have mentioned.  "Since we are
capable," says he, " of reflection, memory, observation, and
reasoning about the distant tendencies of' objects and actions,
and not confined to things present, there must arise, in consequence of our original desires, secondary desires of every thing
imagined useful to gratify any of thle primary desires; and that
with strength proportioned to the several original desires, and
imagined usefulness or necessity of the advantageous object."
" Thus," he continues, "as soon as we come to apprehend the
use of wealth or power to gratify any of our original desires,
we must also desire them; and hence arises the universality of
these desires of wealth and power, since they are the means of
gratifying all other desires."  The only thing that appears to
me exceptionable in the foregoing passage is, that the author
classes the desire of power with that of wealth; whereas I
apprehend it to be clear, (for reasons which I shall state in another part of this work,) that the former is a primary desire,
and the latter a secondary one.
How our moral jzudments are perverted. - Our moral judg



THE' INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    241.
ments, too, may be modified, and even perverted, to a certain
degree, in consequence of the operation of the same principle.
In the same manner in which a person who is regarded as a
model of taste may introduce, by his example, an absurd or
fantastical dress; so a man  of splendid virtues may attract
some esteem also to his imperfections; and, if placed in a conspicuous situation, may render his vices and follies objects of
general imitation among the multitude.
" In the reign of Charles II." says Mrr. Smith, (Theory of?Mral Sentiments,) " a degree of licentiousness was deemed the
characteristic of a liberal education.  It was connected, accordingl to the notions of those times, with generosity, sincerity,
magnanimity, loyalty; and proved that the person who acted in
this manner was a gentleman, and not a puritan.  Severity of
manners and regularity of conduct, on the other hand, were
altogether unfashionable, and were connected, in the imagination of that age, with cant, cunning, hypocrisy, and low manners.  To superficial minds, the vices of the great seem  at ai
times agreeable. They connect them, not only with the splendor
of fortune, but with many superior virtues which they ascribe
to their superiors; with the spirit of freedom  and independency; with frankness, generosity, humanity, and politeness.
The virtues of the inferior ranks of people, on the contrary,
their parsimonious frugality, their painful industry, and rigid adherence to rules, seem  to them mean and disagreeable.  They
connect them both with the meanness of the station to which
these qualities commonly belong, and with many great vices
which they suppose usually accompany them; such as an abject,
cowardly, ill-natured, lying, pilfering disposition."
The attemtpt to resolve all our qcflections and the moral sense
into the association of ideas. - The theory which, in the foregoing passages from  Hutcheson and Smith, is employed so
justly and philosophically to explain the origin of our secondary
desires, and to account for some perversions of our moral judgments, has been thought sufficient, by some later writers, to account for the origin of all our active principles without exception.  The first of these attempts to extend so very far the
21




242      THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
application of the doctrine of Association was made by the
Reverend  illr. Gay, in a dissertation " concerning the fundamental Principle of Virtue," which is prefixed by Dr. Law to
his translation of Archbishop King's essay " on the Origin of
Evil."  In this dissertation, the author endeavors to show,
" that our approbation of morality, and all affections whatsoever,
are finally resolvable into reason, pointing out private happiness,
and are conversant only about things apprehended to be means
tending to this end; and that, wherever this end is not perceived,
they are to be accounted for from the association of ideas, and
may properly be called hcabits." The same principles have
been since pushed to a much greater length by Dr. Hartley,
whose system (as he himself informs us) took rise from his
accidentally hearing it mentioned as an opinion of Mir. Gay,
"that the association of ideas was sufficient to account for all
our intellectual pleasures and pains." *
It must, I think, in justice, be acknowledged, that this theory,
concerning the origin of our affections and of the moral sense,
is a most ingenious refinement upon the selfish system, as it was
formerly taught; and that, by means of it, the force of many
of the common reasonings against that system is eluded.  Among
these reasonings, particular stress has always been laid on t/ae instantaneousness with which our affections operate, and the moral
sense approves or condemns; and on our total want of consciousness, in such cases, of any reference to our own happiness. The
modern advocates for the selfish system admit the fact to be as
it is stated by their opponents; and grant, that after the moral
sense and our various affections are formed, their exercise, in
particular cases, may become completely disinterested; but still
they contend, that it is upon a. regard to our own happiness that
all these principles are originally grafted. The analogy of
* Mr. Hume, too, who in my opinion has carried this principle of
the association of ideas a great deal too far, has compared the universality
of its applications in the philosophy of mind, to that of the principle of
attraction in physics. " Here," says he, " is a kiaad of attraction, which
in the mental world will be fo-und to have as extraordinary effects as in
the natural, and to show itself in as many and as various forms."




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    243
avarice will serve to illustrate the scope of this theory   It
cannot be doubted that this principle of action is artificial.  It
is on account of the enjoymelts which it enables us to purchase,
that money is originally desired; and yet, in process of time, by
means of the agreeable impressions which are associated with
it, it comes to be desired for its own sake; and even continues
to be an object of our pursuit, long after we have lost all relish
for those enjoyments which it enables us to command.
Without meaning to engage in any controversy on the subject,
I shall content myself with observing, in general, that there
must be some limit, beyond which the theory of association cannot
possibly be carried; for the explanation which it gives, of the
formation of new principles of action, proceeds on the supposition that there are other principles previously existiny in the
mind. The great question then is, when we are arrived at this
limit, or, in other words, when we are arrived at the simple and
original laws of our constitution.
Number of original principles in the mind. -In conducting
this inquiry, philosophers have been apt to go into extre-es.
Lord Kaimes, and some other authors, have been censured, and
perhaps justly, for a disposition to multiply original principles
to an unnecessary degree. It may be questioned, whether Dr.
Hartley and his followers have not sometimes been misled by
too eager a desire of abridging their number.
Of these two errors, the former is the least common, and the
least dangerous. It is the least common, because it is not so
flattering as the other to the vanity of a theorist; and it is the
least dangerous, because it has no tendency, like the other, to
give rise to a suppression or to a misrepresentation of facts; or
to retard the progress of the science, by bestowing upon it an
appearance of systematical perfection, to which, in its present
state, it is not entitled.
Abstracting, however, from these inconveniences, which must
always result from a precipitate reference of phenomena to
general principles, it does not seem to me, that the theory in
question has any tendency to weaken the foundation of nmorals.
It has, indeed, some tendency, in common with the philosophy




244      THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
of Hobbes and of Mandeville, to degrade the dignity of human
nature; but it leads to no skeptical conclusions concerning the
rule of life. For although we were to grant, that all our principles of action are acquired; so striking a difference among
them must still be admitted, as is sufficient to distinguish clearly
those universal laws which were intended to regulate human
conduct, from the local habits which are formed by education
and fashion. It must still be admitted, that, while some active
principles are confined to particular individuals, or to particular
tribes of men, there are others, which, arising from circumstances
in which all the situations of' mankind must agree, are common
to the whole species.  Such active principles as fall under this
last description, at whatever period of life they may appear, are
to be regarded as a part of human nature, no less than the instinct of' suction; in the salve manner as the acquired perception
of distance by the eye, is to be ranked among the perceptive
powers of man, no less than the original perceptions of any of
our other senses.
Leaving, therefore, the question concerning the origin of our
active principles and of the moral faculty, to be the subject of
future discussion, I shall conclude this Section with a few
remarks of a more practical nature.
Opinion of the relative value qf different pursuits.- It has
been shown by different writers, how much of the beauty and
sublimity of material objects arise fiom  the ideas and feelings which we have been taught to associate with them.  The
impression produced on the external senses of a poet by the
imost striking scene in nature, is precisely the same with what is
produced on the senses of a peasant or a tradesman; yet how
different is the degree of pleasure resulting from  this impression! A great part of' this difference is undoubtedly to be
ascribed to the ideas and feelings which the habitual studies and
amusements of the poet have associated with his organical perceptions.
A similar observation may be applied to all the various objects
of our pursuit in life.  Hardly any one of them is appreciated
by any two men in the same manner; and frequently, what one




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    245
man considers as essential to his happiness is regarded with
indifference or dislike by another.  Of these differences of
opinion much is, no doubt, to be ascribed to a diversity of constitution, which renders a particular employment of the intellectual or active powers agreeable to one man which is not equally
so to another.  But much is also to be ascribed to the effect of
association; which, prior to any experience of human life, connects pleasing ideas and pleasing feelings with different objects,
in the minds of different persons.
In consequence of these associations, every man appears to
his neighbor to pursue the objects of his wishes with a zeal disproportioned to its intrinsic value; and the philosopher (whose
principal enjoyment arises from speculation) is frequently apt to
smile at the ardor with which the active part of mankind pursue what appear to him to be mere shadows.  This view of
human affairs some writers have carried so far, as to represent
life as a scene of mere illusions, where the mind refers to the
objects around it, a coloring which exists only in itself; and
where, as the poet expresses it,
-" Opinion gilds with varying rays
Those painted clouds which beautify our days,"
It may be questioned, if these representations of human life
be useful or just. That the casual associations which the mind
forms in childhood and in early youth, are frequently a source
of inconvenience and of misconduct, is sufficiently obvious; but
that this tendency of our nature increases, on the whole, the
sum of human enjoyment, appears to me to be indisputable;
and the instances in which it misleads us from our duty and our
happiness, only prove to what important ends it might be subservient if it were kept under proper regulation.
Nor do these representations of life (admitting them in their
full extent) justify the practical inferences which have been
often deduced fiom them with respect to the vanity of our pursuits. In every case, indeed, in which our enjoyment depends
upon association, it may be said, in one sense, that it arises
from the mind itself; but it does not, therefore, follow, that the
21* 




246     THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
external object which custom  has rendered the cause or the
occasion of agreeable emotions, is indifferent to our happiness.
The effect which the beauties of nature produce on the mind of
the poet is wonderfully heightened by association; but his enjoyment is not on that account the less exquisite; nor are the objects
of his admiration of the less value to his happiness, that they derive their principal charms from the embellishments of his fancy.
After all the complaints that have been made of the peculiar
distresses which are incident to cultivated minds, who would
exchange the sensibilities of his intellectual and moral being
for the apathy of those whose only avenues of pleasure and
pain are to be found in their animal nature; "who move
thoughtlessly in the narrow circle of their existence, and to
whom the falling leaves present no idea but that of approaching
winter? " — Goethe.
Effects which education might produce. -- It is the business of
education, not to counteract, in any instance, the established
laws of our constitution, but to direct them to their proper purposes.  That the influence of early associations on the mind
might be employed, in the most effectual manner, to aid our moral
principles, appears evidently from the effects which we daily see
it produce, in reconciling men to a course of action whicl
their reason forces them to condemn; and it is no less obvious
that by means of it, the happiness of human life might be increased, and its pains diminished, if the agreeable ideas and
feelings which children are so apt to connect with events and
with situations which depend on the caprice of fortune, were
firmly associated in their apprehensions with the duties of their
stations, with the pursuits of science, and with those beauties of
nature which are open to all.
These observations coincide nearly with the ancient Stoical
doctrine concerning the influence of imagination * on morals;
* According to the use which I makie of the words imnagination and associationl in this work, their effects are obviously distinguishable. I have
thought it proper, however, to illustrate the difference between them a little
more fully.
The difference between the effects of association and of imagination, in




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.;                 247
a subject on which many important remarks, (though expres:edt
in a form  different from  that which modern philosophers have
introduced, and, perhaps, not altogether so precise and accurate,) are to be found in the Discourses of Epictetus, and in
the Meditations of Antoninus.  This doctrine of the  Stoical
school Dr. Akenside has in view in the following passage:"Action treads the path
In which Opinion says he follows good,
Or flies fiom evil; and Opinion gives
Report of good or evil, as the scene
the sense in which I employ these words, in heightening the pleasure or
the pain produced on the mind by external objects, will appear from the
following rernumks:1. As far as the association of ideas operates in heightening pleasure or
pnin, the mind is passive: and accordingly, where such associations are a
soulce of inconvenience, they are seldom to be cured by an effort of our
volition., or even by reasoning; but by the gradual formation of contrary
associations.  Imagination is an active exertion of the mind; and although it may often be difficult to restrain it, it is plainly distinguishable
in theory from the associations now mentioned.
2. In every case in which:the association of ideas operates, it is implied
that some pleasure or pain is recalled which was felt by the mind before. I
visit, for example, a scene where I have been once happy; and the sight of
it affects me, on that account, with a degree of pleasure, which I should
not have received from any other scene equally beautiful. I shall not
inquire, whether, in such cases, the associated pleasure arises immediately
upon the sight of the object, and without the intervention of any train of
thoughlt; or wrlcether it is produced by the recollection and conception of
former occurrences which the perception recalls.  On neither supposition
does it inply the exercise of that creative power of the mind to which we
have given the name of lin-gination. It is true, that commonly, on suchl
occasions, imiaginaltion is busy; and our pleasure is much heightened by
the coloring which she gives to the objects of memory. But the difference
between the effects which arise from the operation of this faculty, and those
which result from association, is not, on that account, the less real.
The influence of imagination on happiness is chiefly felt by cultivated
minds. That of association extends to all ranks of men, and furnishes the
chief instrument of education; insomuch that whoever has the regulation
of the associations of another from early infancy, is, to a great degree, the
arbiter of his happiness or misery.
Somne very ingcenious writers have employed the word association in so




248      THE INFLIJENCE  OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIOSoN
Was drawn by fancy, lovely or deformed:
Thus her report can never there be true,
Where fancy cheats the intellectual eye
With glaring colors and distorted lines.
Is there a ran, who at the sound of death
Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up,
And black before him: nought but death-bed groans
And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink
Of light and being, down the gloomy air,
An unknown depthll? Alas! in such a mind,
If no bright forms of excellence attend
The image of his country; nor the pomp
Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice
Of justice on her throne, nor ought that wakes
The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame:
Will not Opinion tell him, that to die,
Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill
Than to betray his country? And in act
Will he not choose to be a wretch and live?
Here vice begins then." -Pleasures of Inayinctzwon, b. iii.
IV. General remarks on the subjects treated in the fobregoing
sections. -I n pursuing the foregoing Sections of this Chapter,
I am aware, that some of my readers may be apt to think that
many of the observations which I have made, might easily be
resolved into more general principles. I am also aware, that to
the followers of Dr. Hartley, a similar objection will occur
extensive a sense, as to comprehend, not only imagination, but all the
other faculties of the mind. Wherever the pleasing or the painful effect of
an object does not depend solely on the object itself, but arises either
wholly or in part from some mental operation to which the perception of it
gives rise, the effect is referred to association. And, undoubtedly, this
language may be employed with propriety, if the word association be applied to all the ideas and feelings which may arise in the mind, in consequence of the exercise which the sight of the object may give to the
imagination, to the reasoning powers, and to the other principles of our
nature. But in this work, and particularly in the second part of chap. v.,
I employ the word association in a much more limited sense; to express
the effect wuhich an object derivesffron ideas, or from  feelings sowhich it does not
necessarily suggest, bult zhich it unziforld7y recalls to the mind, in consequence of
early and lonly constinuted hlabits.




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    249
against all the other parts of this work; and that it will appear
to them the effect of inexcusable prejudice, that I shall stop
short so frequently in the explanation of phenomena; when he
has accounted in so satisfactory a manner, by means of the
association of ideas, for all the appearances which human nature
exhibits.
To this objection, I shall not feel myself much interested to
reply, provided it be granted that my observations are candidly
and accurately stated, so far as they reach.  Supposing that in
some cases I may have stopped short too soon, my speculations,
although they may be censured as imperfect, cannot be considered as standing in opposition to the conclusions of more
successful inquirers.
May I be allowed further to observe, that such views of the
human mind as are contained in this work, (even supposing the
objection to be well founded,) are, in my opinion, indispensably
necessary, in order to prepare the way for those very general
and comprehensive theories concerning it, which some eminent
writers of the present age have been ambitious to form?
Concerning the merit of these theories, I shall not presume to
give any judgment. I shall only remark, that, in all the other
sciences, the progress of discovery has been gradual, from the
less general to the more general laws of nature; and that it
would be singular, indeed, if in the philosophy of the human
mind, a science which but a few years ago was confessedly in its
infancy, and which certainly labors under many disadvantages
peculiar to itself, a step should,/all at once, be made to a single
principle comprehending all the particular phenomena which we
know.
Particular facts are to be taught first; refned tleories cfterwards. - Supposing such a theory to be completely established,
it would still be proper to lead the minds of students to it by
gradual steps. One of the most important uses of theory, is to
give the memory a permanent hold, and a prompt command, of
the particular facts which we were previously acquainted with;
and no theory can be completely understood, unless the mind be
led to it nearly in the order of investigation.




230    THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
It is more particularly useful, in conducting the studies of
others, to familiarize their minds, as completely as possible, with
those laws of nature for which we have the direct evidence of
sense, or of consciousness, before directing their inquiries to the
more abstruse and refined generalizations of speculative curiosity. in natural philosophy, supposing the theory of Boscovich
to be true, it would still be proper, or rather indeed absolutely
necessary, to accustom students, in the first stage of their physical education, to dwell on those general physical facts which fall
under our actual observation, and about which all the practical
arts of life are conversant.  In like manner, in the philosophy
of mind, there are many general facts for which we have the
direct evidence of consciousness.  The words, attention, conception, memory, abstraction, imagination, curiosity, ambition, conmpassion, resentment, express powers and principles of our nature,
which every man may study by reflecting on his own internal
operations.  Words corresponding to these are to be found in
~tll languages, and may be considered as forming the first attempt
towards a philosophical classification of intellectual and moral
phenomena.  Such a classification, however imperfect and indistinct, we may be assured, must have some foundation in nature;
and it is at least prudent, for a philosopher to keep it in view as
the groundwork of his own arrangement.  It not only directs
our attention to those facts in the human constitution, on which
every solid theory in this branch of science must be founded;
but to the facts, which, in all ages, have appeared to the common
sense of mankind to be the most striking and important; and
of which it ought to be the great object of theorists, not to
supersede, but to facilitate the study.
_D)2culty of resolving facts into general principleso - There is
indeed good reason for believing, that many of the facts which
our consciousness would lead us to consider, upon a superficial
view, as ultimate facts, are resolvable into other principles still
nore general. "6 Long before we are capable of reflection," says
Dr. Reid, " the original perceptions and notions of the mind are
so mixed, compounded, and decomlpounded, by habits, associations, and abstractions, that it is extremely difficult for the mind




THE INFLUENCE OF CASU>ALT ASSOCIATIONS.    251
to return upon its own footsteps, and trace back those operations
which have employed it since it first began to think and to act."
The same author remarks, that, " if we could obtain a distinct
and full history of all that hath passed in the mind of a child,
from the beginning of life and sensation, till it grows up to the
use of reason; how its infant faculties began to work, and how
they brought forth and ripened all the various notions, opinions,
and sentiments, which we find in ourselves when we come to
be capable of reflection; this would be a treasure of Natural
History, which would probably give more light into the human
faculties than all the systems of philosophers about them, since
the beginning of the world." To accomplish an analysis of
these complicated phenomena into the simple and original principles of our constitution, is the great object of this branch of
philosophy; but, in order to succeed, it is necessary to ascertain
facts before we begin to reason, and to avoid generalizing, in
any instance, till we have completely secured the ground that
we have gained. Such a caution, which is necessary in all the
sciences, is, in a more particular manner, necessary here, where
the very facts from which all our inferences must be drawn, are
to be ascertained only by the most patient attention; and where
almost all of them  are, to a great degree, disguised; partly by
the inaccuracies of popular language, and partly by the mistaken
theories of philosophers.
Illustrations drawn from tle philosophly of chlemistry. - As the
order established in the intellectual world seems to be regulated
by laws perfectly analogous to those which we trace among the
phenomena of the material system; and as in all our philosophical
inquiries, (to whatever subject they may relate,) the progress of
the mind is liable to be affected by the same tendency to a premature generalization, the following extract from  an eminent
chemical writer may contribute to illustrate the scope, and to
confirm the justness, of some of the foregoing reflections.
4 "Within the last fifteen or twenty years, several new metals
and new earths have been made known to the world.  The
names that support these discoveries are respectable, and the
experiments decisive. If we do not give our assent to them, no




252    THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.
single proposition in chemistry can for a moment stand. But
whether all these are really simple substances, or compounds
not yet resolved into their elements, is what the authors themselves cannot possibly assert; nor would it in the least diminish
the merit of their observations, if future experiment should prove
them to have been mistaken as to the simplicity of these substances. This remark should not be confined to late discoveries;
it may as justly be applied to those earths and metals with which
we have been long acquainted." —" In the dark ages of chemistry, the object was to rival nature; and the substance which the
adepts of those days were busied to create, was universally
allowed to be simple. In a more enlightened period, we have
extended our inquiries, and multiplied the number of the elements. The last task will be to simplify; and, by a closer
observation of nature, to learn from what small store of primlitive materials, all that we behold and wonder at was created."
Chenevix' JIquiries concerning Palladium.
The analogy between the history of Chemistry and that of
the Philosophy of the Human Mlind, which has often struck me
in contrasting the views of the alchemist with those of Lavoisier
and his followers, has acquired much additional value and irmportance in my estimation, since I had the pleasure to peruse a
late work of M. de Gerando; in which I find, that the same
analogy has presented itself to that most judicious philosopher,
and has been applied by him to the same practical purpose, of
exposing the false pretensions and premature generalizations of
some modern metaphysicians.
"It required nothing less than the united splendor of the cdiscoveries brought to light by the new chemical school, to tear the
minds of men from the pursuit of a simple and primary element;
a pursuit renewed in every age with an indefatigable perseverance, and always renewed in vain.  With what feelings of contempt would the physiologists of former times have looked down
on the chemists of the present age, whose limited and circumscribed system admits nearly forty different principles in the
composition of bodies! What a subject of ridicule would the
new nomenclature have afforded to an alchemist!"




THE INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.    253
"The Philosophy of Mindcl. has its alchemists also:- men
whose studies are directed to the pursuit of one single principle,
into which the whole science may be resolved, and who flatter
themselves -with the hope of discovering the grand secret, by
which the pure Gold of Truth may be produced at pleasure."
Among these alchemists in the science of the mind, the first
place is undoubtedly due to Dr. Hartley, who not only attempts
to account for all the phenomlena of human nature fiom the
single principle of association, combined with the h.ypothetical
assumption of an invisible fluid or ether, producing vibrations in
the medullary substance of the brain and nerves; but indulges
his imaoination in anticipating an era, i" when future generations
shall put all kinds of evidences and inquiries into mathematical
forms; reducing Aristotle's ten Categories and Bishop Wilkins'
forty Summa Genera, to the head of quantity alone, so as to
make Mathematics and Logic, Natural History and Civil History, Natural Philosophy and philosophy of all other kinds,
coincide omni ex parte."  If I had never read another sentence
of this author, I should have required no further evidence of
the unsoundness of his understanding.
The nomenclature of philosophy. - I have only to add, that,
although I have retained the phrase of the association of ideas,
in compliance with common language, I am far from being completely satisfied with this mode of expression. I have retained
it, chiefly that I might not expose myself to the censure of
delivering old doctrines in a new form.
As I have endeavored to employ it with caution, I hope that it
has not often misled me in my reasonings. At the same time,
I am more and more convinced of the advantages to be derived
from a reformation of the common language, in most of the
branches of science. How much such a reformation has effected
in Chemistry is well known; and it is evidently much more
necessary in the Philosophy of Minc, where the prevailing language adds to the common inaccuracies of popular expressions,
the peculiar disadvantage of being all suggested by the analogy
of matter. Often, in the composition of this work, have I recollected the advice of Bergman to Morveau: " Ir reforming the
22




254                     MEMORY.
nomenclature of Chemistry, spare no word which is improper.
They who understand the subject already, will suffer no inconvenience; and they to whom the subject is new, will comprehend
it with the greater facility." But it belongs to such authors
alone as have extended the boundaries of science by their own
discoveries, to introduce innovations in language with any hope
of success.
CHAPTER VI.
OF DMEMORY.
I. General observations on Memory.- Among the various
powers of the understanding, there is none which has been so
attentively examined by philosophers, or concerning which so
many important facts and observations have been collected, as
the faculty of Memory. This is partly to be ascribed to its
nature, which renders it easily distinguishable from all the other
principles of our constitution, even by those who have not been
accustomed to metaphysical investigations; and partly to its
immediate subserviency, not only to the pursuits of science, but
to the ordinary business of life; in consequence of which, many
of its most curious laws had been observed, long before any
analysis was attempted of the other powers of the mind, and
have, for many ages, formed a part of the common maxims
which are to be found in every treatise of education. Some
important remarks on the subject may, in particular, be collected
from the writings of the ancient rhetoricians.
Different significations of Memory. -The word Memory is
not employed uniformly in the same precise sense; but it always
expresses some modification of that faculty, which enables us to
treasure up and preserve for future use the knowledge we
acquire, — a faculty which is obviously the great foundation of all




MEMORY..                        255
intellectual improvement, and without which no advantage could
be derived from  the most enlarged experience.  This faculty
implies two things, -  a capacity of retaining knowledge, and a
power of recalling it to our thoughts when we have occasion to
apply it to use.  The word Memory is sometimes employed to
express the capacity, and sometimes the power.  When we speak
of a retentive Memory, we use it in the former sense; when of
a ready Memory, in the latter.
The various particulars which compose our stock of knowledge are, from time to time, recalled to our thoughts in one of
two ways; sometimes they recur to us spontaneously, or at least,
without any interference on our part; in other cases, they are
recalled in consequence of an effort of our will.  For the former
operation of the mind, we have no appropriated name in our
language distinct from Memory. The latter, too, is often called
by the same name, but is more properly distinguished by the
word recollection.
There are, I believe, some other acceptations besides these, in
which the word Memory has been occasionally employed; but
as its ambiguities are not of such a nature as to mislead us in
our present inquiries, I shall not dwell any longer on the illustration of distinctions, which, to the greater part of readers,
might appear uninteresting and minute.* One distinction only
relative to this subject occurs to me as deserving particular
attention.
Memory involves an idea of the past. -  The operations of
* In the French tongue, there are several words connected with this
operation of the mind, marking nice shades of meaning, which cannot be
expressed in our language without circumlocution. Such (according to
Girard) are the words lIIlnoire and Souvenir, the former referring to the
understanding alone, the latter, to things which also touch or affect the
heart. This distinction was plainly in the view of I)iderot, in a passage
which it is scarcely possible to translate into English without impairing
somewhat of the beauty of the original. " Rapportez tout au dernier moment; a ce moment oh la mdmoire des faits les plus eclatants ne vaudra
pas le souvenir d'un verre d'eau presente par humanited   celui qui avoit
soif."




256                      MEMORY.
Memory relate either to things and their relations, or to events.
In the former case, thoughts which have been previously in the
mind may recur to us without suggesting the idea of the past, or
of any modification of time whatever; as when I repeat over a
poem which I have got by heart, or when I think of the features
of an absent frienid.  In this last instance, indeed, philosophers
distinguish the act of the mind by the name of conception; but
in ordinary discourse, and frequently even in philosophical writing, it is considered as an exertion of Memory. In these and
similar cases, it is obvious, that the operations of this faculty do
not necessarily involve the idea of the past.
The case is different with respect to the Memory of events.
When I think of these, I not only recall to the mind the former
objects of its thoughts, but I refer the event to a particular
point of time; so that, of every such act of Memory, the idea
of the past is a necessary concomitant.
I have been led to take notice of this distinction, in order to
obviate an objection which some of the phenomena of Memory
seem  to present, against a doctrine which I formerly stated,
when treating of the powers of conception and imagination.
How conception passes into, or becomes, lemory. - It is evident that, when I think of an event, in which any object of
sense was concerned, my recollection of the event must necessarily involve an act of conception.  Thus, when I think of a
dramatic representation which I have recently seen, my recollection of what I saw, necessarily involves a conception of the
different actors by whom it was performed. But every act of
recollection which relates to events, is accompanied with a belief
of their past existence.  How then are we to reconcile this conclusion with the doctrine formerly maintained concerning conception, according to which, every exertion of that power is
accompanied with a belief that its object exists before us at the
present moment?
The only way that occurs to me of removing this difficulty, is
by supposing, that the remembrance of a past event is not a
simple act of the mind; but that the mind first forms a conception of the event, and then judges from  circumstances of the




M:EMORY.                     257
period of time to which it is to be referred; a supposition which
is by no means a gratuitous one, invented to answer a particular
purpose; but which, as far as I am able to judge, is agreeable
to fact; for if we have the power, as will not be disputed, of
conceiving a past event without any reference to time, it follows,
that there is nothing in the ideas or notions which Memory presents to us, which is necessarily accompanied with a belief of
past existence, in a way analogous to that in which our perceptions are accompanied with a belief of the present existence
of their objects; and, therefore, that the reference of the event
to the particular period at which it happened, is a judgment
founded on concomitant circumstances. So long as we are
occupied with the conception of any particular object connected
with the event, we believe. the present existence of the object;
but this belief, which, in most cases, is only momentary, is
instantly corrected by habits of judging acquired by experience;
and as soon as the mind is disengaged from such a belief, it is
left at liberty to refer the event to the period at which it actually
happened.  Nor will the apparent instantaneousness of such
judgments be considered as an unsurmountable objection to
the doctrine now advanced, by those who have reflected on
the perception of distance obtained by sight, which, although
it seems to be as immediate as any perception of touch, has
been shown by philosophers to be the result of a judgment
founded on experience and observation. The reference we
make of past events to the particular points of time at which
they took place, will, I am inclined to think, the more we consider the subject, be found the more strikingly analogous to the
estimates of distance we learn to form by the eye.
Although, however, I am, myself, satisfied with the conclusion
to which the foregoing reasonings lead, I am far from expecting
that the case will be the same with all my readers. Some of
their objections, which I can easily anticipate, might, I believe,
be obviated by a little further discussion; but as the question is
merely a matter of curiosity, and has no necessary connection
with the observations I am to make in this chapter, I shall not
prosecute the subject at present. The opinion, indeed, we form
22*




258,MEMIORY.
concerning it, has no reference to any of the doctrines maintained in this work, excepting to a particular speculation concerning the belief accompanying conception, which I ventured
to state in treating of that subject, and which, as- it appears to
be extremely doubtful to some whose opinions I respect, I proposed with a degree of diffidence suitable to the difficulty of such
an inquiry.  The remaining observations which I am to make
on the power of Mfemory, whatever opinion may be formed of
their importance, will furnish but little room for a diversity of
judgment concerning their truth.
Why we remember some things better thtan others. - In considering this part of our constitution, one of the most obvious
and striking questions that occurs, is, what the circumstances are
which determine the Memory to retain some things in preference
to others? Among the subjects which successively occupy our
thoughts, by far the greater number vanish without leaving a
trace behind them; while others become, as it were, a part of
ourselves, and, by their accumulations, lay a foundation for our
perpetual progress in knowledge.  Without pretending to exhaust the subject, I shall content myself at present with a partial solution of this difficulty, by illustrating the dependence of
Mlemory upon two principles of our nature, with which it is
plainly very intimately connected; attention and the association
of ideas.
I endeavored in a former chapter to show, that there is a
certain act of the mind, (distinguished, both by philosophers
and the vulgar, by the name of attention,) without which even
the objects of our perceptions make no impression on the AMemory. It is also matter of common remark, that the permanence
of the impression which any thing leaves in the Mlemory, is
proportioned to the degree of attention which was originally
given to it. The observation has been so often repeated, and is
so manifestly true, that it is unnecessary to offer any illustration
of it.'
* It seems to be owing to this dependence of memory on attention, that
it is easier to get b? heart a composition after a very few readings, with




MEMORY.                         259
Attention sometimes spontaneous, and sometimes requires effort.
-I have only to observe further, with respect to attention, considered in the relation in which it stands to MlIemory, that although it be a voluntary act, it requires experience to have it
always under command.  In the case of objects to which we
have been taught to attend at an early period of life, or which
are calculated to rouse the curiosity, or to affect any of our
passions, the attention fixes itself upon them, as it were spontaneously, and without any effort on our part, of which we are
conscious. How perfectly do we remember, and even retain,
for a long course of years, the faces and the handwritings of
our acquaintances, although we never took any particular pains
to fix them in the Memory?  On the other hand, if an object
does not interest some principle of our nature, we may examine
it again and again, with a wish to treasure up the knowledge of
it in the mind, without our being able to command that degree
of attention which may lead us to recognize it the next time we
see it. A person, for example, who has not been accustomed to
attend particularly to horses or to cattle, may study for a considerable time the appearance of a horse or of a bullock, with
out being able, a few days afterwards, to pronounce on his identity; while a horse-dealer or a grazier recollects many hundreds
of that class of animals with which he is conversant, as perfectly as he does the faces of his acquaintances. In order to
account for this, I would remark, that although attention be a
voluntary act, and although we are always able, when we choose,
to make a momentary exertion of it; yet, unless the object to
which it is directed be really interesting, in some degree, to the
an attempt to repeat it at the end of each, than after a hundred readings
without such an effort. The effort rouses the attention from that languid
state in which it remains, while the mind is giving a passive reception to
foreign ideas. The fact is remarked by Lord Bacon, and is explained by
him on the same principle to which I have referred it.
" Qun expectantur et attentionem excitant, melius hbrent quam qu00
prietervolant. Itaque si scriptum aliquod vicies perlegeris, non tam facile
illud memoriter disces, quam si illud legas decies, tentando interim illud
recitare, et ubi deficit memoria, inspiciendo librum." -Bacon, Nov Org.
lib. ii. aph. 26.




260                        MEMORY.
curiosity, the train of our ideas goes on, and we immediately
forget our purpose.  When we are employed, therefore, in
studying such an object, it is not an exclusive and steady attention that we give to it, but we are losing sight of it, and recurring to it every instant; and the painful efforts of which we are
conscious, are not, (as we are apt to suppose them  to be,)
efforts of uncommon attention, but unsuccessful attempts to
keep the mind steady to its object, and to exclude the extraneous ideas, which are from time to time soliciting its notice.
If these observations be well founded, they afford an explanation of a fact which has often been remarked, that objects
are easily remembered which affect any of the passions.*  The
passion assists the Memory, not in consequence of any immediate connection between them, but as it presents, during the time
it continues, a steady and exclusive object to the attention.
The connection between Jlfemory and the association of ideas,
is so striking, that it has been supposed by some, that the whole
of its phenomena might be resolved into this principle. But
this is evidently not the case. The association of ideas connects
our various thoughts with each other, so as to present them to
the mind in a certain order; but it presupposes the existence of
these thoughts in the mind; or, in other words, it presupposes a
faculty of retaining the knowledge which we acquire. It involves,
also, a power of recognizing, as former objects of attention, the
thoughts that from time to time occur to us; a power which is
not implied in that law of our nature which is called the association of ideas. It is possible, surely, that our thoughts might
have succeeded each other, according to the same laws as at;'Si quas res in vita videmus, parvas, usitatas, quotidianas, eas meminisse non solemus; propterea quod nulla nisi nova ant admirabili re
commovetur animus. At si quid videmus ant audimus egregie turpe, aut
honestum, inusitatum, magnum, incredibile, ridiculum, id din meminisse
consuevimus."  [When we witness things that are small, common, and of
daily recurrence, we do not usually remember them; for the mind is not
stirred except by something new and wonderful. But if we see or hear
any thing remarkably base, honorable, unusual, great, incredible, or ridiculous, it generally remains long in the memory.] - Ad. Herenn, lib. 3.




MEllORY.                      261
present, without suggesting to us at all the idea of the past;
and, in fact, this supposition is realized to a certain degree in
the case of some old men, who retain pretty exactly the information which they receive, but are sometimes unable to recollect
in what manner the particulars which they find connected
together in their thoughts, at first came into the mind; whether
they occurred to them  in a dream, or were communicated to
them in conversation.
On the other hand, it is evident, that without the associating
principle, the powers of retaining our thoughts, and of recognizing them when they occur to us, would have been of little
use; for the most important articles of' our knowledge might
have remained latent in the mind, even when those occasions
presented themselves to which they are immediately applicable.
In consequence of this law of our nature, not only are all our
various ideas made to pass, from time to time, in review before
us, and to offer themselves to our choice as subjects of meditation, but when an occasion occurs which calls for the aid of our
past experience, the occasion itself recalls to us all the information upon the subject which that experience has accumulated.
The foregoing observations comprehend an analysis of Memory
sufficiently accurate for my present purpose; some other remarks; tending to illustrate the same subject more completely,
will occur in the remaining sections of this chapter.
JMemory itself is an ultimate and inexplicable fact. —It is
hardly necessary for me to add, that when we have proceeded so far in our inquiries concerning Memory, as to obtain
an analysis of that power, and to ascertain the relation in which
it stands to the other principles of our constitution, we have
advanced as far towards an explanation of it as the nature of
the subject permits.  The various theories which have attempted
to account for it by traces or impressions in the sensorium, are
obviously too unphilosophical to deserve a particular refutation.*
* The following passage from Malebranche will be a sufficient specimen
of the common theories with respect to memory.
"In order to give an explanation of memory, it should be called to
mind, that all our different perceptions are affixed to the changes which




262                          MEMORY.
Such, indeed, is the poverty of language, that we cannot speak
on the subject without employing expressions which suggest one
theory or another; but it is of importance for us always to recollect, that these expressions -are entirely figurative, and afford no
explanatioll of the phenomena to which they refer.  It is partly
happen to the fibres of the principal parts of the brain, wherein the soul
particularly resides.
"This supposition being laid down, the nature of the memory is explained; for as the branches of a tree, which have continued some time
bent after a particular manner, preserve a readiness and facility of being
bent afresh in the same manner; so the fibres of the brain, having once
received certain impressions from the current of the animal spirits, and
from the action of the objects upon them, retain for a considerable time
some facility of receiving the same dispositions. Now the memory consists
only in that promptness or facility; since a man thinks upon the same
things, whenever the brain receives the same impressions." -Book ii.
chap. v.
The different changes which this power of the mind undergoes, in the
course of our progress through life, are explained by some other writers by
means of the following hypothesis. " The mind," we are told, " is like
wax, which may be softened too much to retain, or too little to receive, an
impression. In childhood, the material is too soft, and gives way to impressions, but does not retain them. In old age, it is hard, and retains the
impressions fdrmerly made, but does not receive any new ones. In manhood, the consistence is at once proper to receive and to re'tain the impressions which are made upon it."  I quote the last sentences on the authority
of Dr. Ferguson, as I don't know fiom what writer they are taken. In the
main, the theory here described agrees with that of Aristotle.
The habitual use we make of the art of printing and of writing, in the
acquisition and in the preservation of our knowledge, is apt to predispose
the understanding in favor of this last theory. We conceive the memnory in
particular (not unnaturally, I own, upon a superficial view of the subject)
to be analogous to a tablet, on which certain traces are left; by recurring to
which, the mind can, as it were, read, without any fresh aids from without,
the recorded results of its former experience or reflection.
Admitting, for a moment, the existence of these impressions, the question still recurs, what is the nature of that thinking and percipient being
which reads the impressions, and avails itself of their aid in the exercise
of its various difficulties? WVho taugllt the mind to interpret their import,
and to annex to them notions as foreign to themselves, as alphabetical
characters are to the information which they convey? Even upon this
supposition, therefore, the mystery is not less astonishing than if a child,




MEMORY.                            263
with a view to remind my readers of this consideration, that,
finding it impossible to lay aside completely metaphorical or
without any instructions, were to read a book, the first time it was put into
his hands, with a full comprehension of the author's meaning.
But what I wish chiefly to insist on at present, is the obviously illogical
inference which so many ingenious men seem to have been disposed to
draw from the supposed impressions on the material substance of the brain,
against the immateriality of that being (that thinking and percipient I)
which reads and interprets these impressions. -If the hypothesis which
forms the foundation of this argument be true, all that follows from it is,
that, in the operations of perception and of memory, a process is carried
on by the mind in the dark recesses of the brain, analogous to what takes
place when it reads, by the intervention of the eye, the characters of a book.
The question (it ought always to be remembered) is not about the nature
of the thing read, but about the nature of the reader. In the case of the
book, no one thinks of identifying the reader's mind with the texture of the
paper, or with the chemical composition of the ink. Why then should it
be imagined, that any step is made towards materialism by supposing that
an invisible book exists in the sensorium, by the interpretation of which we
are enabled to perceive external objects; and, by a reference to which, we
recover, as in a tablet, the knowledge which has happened to escape fiom
the memory?
[To the hypothesis that memory takes place through the impressions
which are left upon the brain, Dr. Reid justly objects, " that there is no
evidence nor probability that the cause assigned does exist; that is, that
the impression made upon the brain in perception remains after the object is
removed." Still further; if the impression be the cause of memory, so
long as the cause continues, the effect ought to continue also; that is, the
idea should never fade or disappear from the mind, but the memory, or
rather the perception, should be continuous. I saw a particular horse
yesterday; and the impression made upon my brain by that perception,
according to this hypothesis, is the cause of my remembrance of that horse.
Then, as the impression left upon the brain must have lasted through the
interval from yesterday till to-day, I ought never to have forgotten the
horse, but the idea or recollection of it should have been constantly present
to my mind. It should have been, not memory, but continuous perception,
though growing fainter and fainter every moment, as the impression was
gradually effaced. But this is not the case. Some accidental circumstance
may suddenly recall to mind a person whom I had neither seen nor thought
of for many years. Where was the impression of his face upon my brain
during these intervening years? If it remained there, why did I ever for.
get him? - why did I ever cease to see him?]




264                     MIEMIORY.
analogical words, I have studied to avoid such an uniformity in
the employment of them, as might indicate a preference to one
theory rather than another; and, by doing so, have perhaps
sometimes been led to vary the metaphor oftener and more suddenly, than would be proper in a composition which aimed at
any degree of elegance. This caution in the use of the common
language concerning Memory, it seemed to me the more necessary to attend to, that the general disposition which every person feels at the commencement of his philosophical pursuits, to
explain the phenomena of thought by the laws of matter, is, in
the case of this particular faculty, encouraged by a variety of
peculiar circumstances. The analogy between committing a
thing to Memory that we wish to remember, and engraving on
a tablet a fact that we wish to record, is so striking as to present
itself even to the vulgar; nor is it perhaps less natural to indulge the fancy in considering Memory as a sort of repository,
in which we arrange and preserve for future use the materials
of our information. The immediate dependence, too, of this
faculty on the state of the body, which is more remarkable than
that of any other faculty whatever, (as appears from the
effects produced on it by old age, disease, and intoxication,) is
apt to strike those who have not been much conversant with
these inquiries, as bestowing some plausibility on the theory
which attempts to explain its phenomena on mechanical principles.
Effects of disease and old age on Me2mory. -I cannot help
taking this opportunity of expressing a wish, that medical
writers would be at more pains than they have been at hitherto,
to ascertain the various effects which are produced on the Memory by disease and old age. These effects are widely diversified
in different cases. In some, it would seem that the Memory is
impaired in consequence of a diminution of the power of attention; in others, that the power of recollection is disturbed in
consequence of a derangement of that part of the constitution
on which the association of ideas. depends. The decay of Memory, which is the common effect of age, seems to arise from the
former of these causes. It is probable, that, as we advance in




MEMORY.                          26;3
years, the capacity of attention is weakened by some physical
change in the constitution; but it is also reasonable to think, that
it loses its vigor partly from the effect which the decay of our
sensibility and the extinction of our passions have, in diminishing the interest which we feel in the common occurrences of
life.  That no derangement takes place, in ordinary cases, in
that part of the constitution on which the association of ideas
depends, appears from the distinct and circumstantial recollection which old men retain of the transactions of their youth.*
In some diseases, this part of the constitution is evidently
affected.  A stroke of the palsy has been known, while it did
not destroy the power of speech, to render the patient incapable
of recollecting the names of the most familiar objects.  What is
still more remarkable, the name of an object has been known to
suggest the idea of it as formerly, although the sight of the
object ceased to suggest the name.  Something similar to this
last fact (it may not be improper here to remark) occurs in an
inferior degree, in the case of most old men, even when they
do not labor under any specific disease.  When the faculty of
MIemory begins to decline, the first symptom of its failure is, in
ordinary cases, a want of recollection of words; first, of proper
names and dates, and afterwards, of words in general.  The
transition from the sign to the thing signified seems, in every
case, easier than from the thing signified to the sign; and hence
it is, that many persons who are able to read a foreign language
* Swift somewhere expresses his surprise, that old men should remember their anecdotes so distinctly, and should, notwithstanding, have so
little memory as to tell the same story twice in the course of the same conversation; and a similar remark is made by Montaigne, in one of his
Essays.
The fact seems to be, that all their old ideas remain in the mind, connected as formerly by the different associating principles; but that the
power of attention to new ideas and new occurrences is impaired.
Instances of this are so common, that there can be no dispute about the
fact. At the same time, I agree with Dr. Hartley in thinking, that old men
do not always recollect the events of their youth so distinctly as we might
at first conclude from their narratives; and that it is rather their own narc'a
tives that they remember, than the events to which they relate.
23




266                         MEMOR~Y.
with ease, are perfectly unable to express themselves in that
language in conversation, or even in writing.  Of this fact, some
explanation  may be given, without having recourse to any
physiological consideration; for we are accustomed to pass from
the sign to the thing signified every time we read a book, or
listen to the conversation of another person; whereas we pass
from the thing signified to the sign, only when we have occasion
to communicate our own ideas to others: And cases of this last
sort bear (it is evident) no proportion, in point of number, to
the former.  WTith respect to our peculiar tendency to forget
proper names, when the memory begins to be impaired, the fact
seems to be owing: 1. To the firmer hold which general words
take of the mind, in consequence of their smaller number:
2. To the exercise which our recollection of general words is
constantly receiving in the course of our solitary speculation;
for (as was formerly shown) we can carry on general reasonings
by means of language only; whereas, when we speculate concerning individclials, we frequently fix our thoughts on the object
itself, without thinking of the name.*' "Slight paralytic affections of the organs of speech sometimes occur
without any correspondent disorder in other parts of the body. In such
cases, the tongue appears to the patient too large for his mouth, — the
saliva flows more copiously than usual, - and the vibratory power of the
glottis is somewhat impaired. Hence the effort to speak succeeds the volition of the mind slowly and imperfectly, and the words are uttered with
faltering and hesitation. These are facts of common notoriety; but I have
never seen it remarked, that in this local palsy, the pronunciation of
PROPER NAxtES is attended with peculiar difficulty, and that the recollection
of them becomes either very obscure, or entirely obliterated; whilst that of
persons, places, things, and even of abstract ideas, remains unchanged.
Such a partial defect of memory, of which experience has furnished me
with several examples, confirms the theory of association, and at the same
time admits of an easy solution by it. For as words are arbitrary marks,
and owe their connection with what they import to established usage, the
strength of this connection will be exactly proportioned to the frequency
of their recurrence; and this recurrence must be much more frequent with
generic than with specific terms. Now, proper names are of the latter
class; and the idea of a person or place may remain vivid in the mind,
with ut the least signature of the appellative which distinguishes each of




~MEMo RY                          267
I shall only add further on this head, that, as far as my own
personal observations have extended, the forgetfulness of proper
names incident to old men, is chiefly observable in men of
science, or in those who are habitually occupied with important
affairs; and this, I apprehend, is what might reasonably have
been expected a priori; partly from their habits of general
thought, and partly from their want of constant practice in that
trivial conversation which is every moment recalling particulars
to the mind.
In endeavoring thus to account, from the general laws of our
constitution, for some of the phenomena which are commonly
referred immediately to physical changes in the brain, I would
not be understood to deny, that age often affects the memory
through the medium of the body. This, indeed, is one of those
melancholy truths to which every day's experience bears witness. It is beautifully and pathetically stated by Locke in the
following words: "' The pictures drawn in our minds are laid in
fading colors, and, if not sometimes refreshed, vanish and disappear. Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth, often
die before us; and our minds represent to us those tombs to
which we are approaching; where, though the brass and marble
remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imagery
moulders away." *
them. It is certain, also, that we often think in words; and there is probably, at such times, some slight impulse on the organs of speech, analogous
to what is perceived when a musical note or tune is called to mind. But a
lesion of the power of utterance may break a link in the chain of association, and thus add to the partial defect of memory now under consideration." - (Percival's Worklcs, Vol. II. p. 7.3.); In ordinary cases, I confess, I strongly suspect that the physical effects
of old age on this part of our constitution are not so great as is commonly
imagined; and that much of what is generally imputed to advanced years,
may be fairly ascribed to a disuse of the faculty, occasioned by a premature
retreat from the business of the world. One thing is certain (as Cicero
has remarked) that those old men who have force of mind to keep up their
habits of activity to the last, are, in most cases, distinguished by a strength
of memory unusual at their years; to which I may add, that this faculty,
after a temporary decline, frequently recovers a great deal of its former vigor.
" I never yet heard of any old man," says Cicero, in the character of




268                        MEMORY.
The decay of lMemory may be averted or postponed by our own
efforts. - In so far as this decay of 3Memory which old age
brings along with it, is a necessary consequence of a physical
change in the constitution, or a necessary consequence of a
diminution of sensibility, it is the part of a wise man to submit
cheerfully to the lot of his nature. But it is not unreasonable
to think, that something may be done by our own efforts, to
obviate the inconveniences which commonly result friom it.  If
individuals, who, in the early part of life, have weak memories,
are sometimes able to remedy this defect, by a greater attention
to arrangement in their transactions, and to classification among
their ideas, than is necessary to the bulk of mankind, might it
not be possible, in the same way, to ward off  at least to a
certain degree, the encroachments which time makes on this
faculty?  The few old men who continue in the active scenes
of life to the last moment, it has been often remarked, complain,
in general, much less of a want of recollection than their contemporaries. This is undoubtedly owing, partly, to the effect
which the pursuits of business must necessarily have, in keeping alive the power of attention. But it is probably owing also
to new habits of arrangement, which the mind gradually and
insensibly forms, from the experience of its growing infirmities.
The apparent revival of Memory in old men, after a temporary
decline, which is a case that happens not unfrequently, seems to
favor this supposition.
Cato, " whose memory was so weakened by time, as to forget where he had
concealed his treasure. The aged seem, indeed, to be at no loss in remembering whatever is the principal object of their attention; and few
there are at that period of life who cannot tell what recognizances they
have entered into, or with whom they have had any pecuniary transactions. Innumerable instances of a strong memory in advanced years
might be produced from among our celebrated lawyers, pontiffs, augurs,
and philosophers; for the faculties of the mind will preserve their powers
in old age, unless they are suffered to lose their energy, and become languid
for want of due cultivation."
" The mind and body equally thrive by a suitable exertion of their
powers, with this difference, however, that bodily exercise ends in fatigue,
whereas the mind is never wearied in its activity. When C' cilius there



MEMIORY.                         269
One old man, I have, myself, had the good fortune to know,
who, after a long, an active, and an honorable life, having begun
to feel some of the usual effects of advanced years, has been
able to find resources in his own sagacity, against most of the
inconveniences with which they are commonly attended; and
who, by watching his gradual decline with the cool eye of an
indifferent observer, and employing his ingenuity to retard its
progress, has converted even the infirmities of age into a source
of philosophical amusement.
II. Of tize varieties of ifemnory in different individuals. -  It
is generally supposed, that, of all our faculties, Memory is that
which nature has bestowed in the most unequal degrees on different individuals; and it is far from being impossible, that this
opinion may be well founded. If, however, we consider, that
there is scarcely any man who has not Memory sufficient to
learn the use of language, and to learn to recognize, at the first
glance, the appearances of an infinite number of familiar objects;
besides acquiring such an acquaintance with the laws of nature,
and the ordinary course of human affairs, as is necessary for
directing his conduct in life; we shall be satisfied that the original disparities among men, in this respect, are by no means so
immense as they seem to be at first view; and that much is to
be ascribed to different habits of attention, and to a difference
fore represents certain veterans as fit subjects for the Comic Muse, he alludes only to those weak and credulous dotards, whose infirmities of mind
are not so much the natural effects of their years, as the consequence of
suffering their faculties to lie dormant and unexerted in a slothful and
spiritless inactivity." - llelmloth's Translation of Cicero on Old Age.
Among the practices to which Cato had recourse for exercising his
memory, he mentions his observance of the Pythagorean rule, in recalling
every night, all that he had said, or done, or heard the preceding day: —
And, perhaps, few rules could be prescribed of greater efficacy for fixing
in the mind the various ideas which pass under its review, or for giving it
a ready and practical command of them. Indeed, this habit of frequently
reviewing the information we possess, either in our solitary meditations, or
(which is still better) in our conversations with others, is the most effectual
of all the helps to memory that can possibly be suggested.  But these
remarks properly belong to another branch of our subject.
a,




270                      MEMORY.
of selection among the various objects and events presented to
their curiosity.
It is worthy of remark, also, that those individuals who possess unusual powers of Memory with respect to any one class of
objects, are commonly as remarkably deficient in some of the
other applications of' that faculty. I knew a person who, though
completely ignorant of Latin, was able to repeat over thirty or
forty lines of Virgil, after having heard them once read to
him, -- not indeed with perfect exactness, but with such a degree
of resemblance as (all circumstances considered) was truly
astonishing; yet this person (who was in the condition of a
servant) was singularly deficient in:Memory in all cases in
which that faculty is of real practical utility.  He was noted in
every family in which he had been employed for habits of forgetfulness; and could scarcely deliver an ordinary message
without committing some blunder.
A similar observation, I can almost venture to say, will be
found to apply to by far the greater number of those in whom
this faculty seems to exhibit a preternatural or anomalous degree
of force. The varieties of memory are indeed wonderful; but
they ought not to be confounded with inequalities of memory.
One man is distinguished by a power of recollecting names, and
dates, and genealogies; a second, by the multiplicity of speculations, and of general conclusions, treasured up in his intellect;
a third, by the facility with which words and combinations of
words (the ipsissinza verba of a speaker or of an author) seem
to lay hold of' his mind; a fourth, by the quickness with which
he seizes and appropriates the sense and meaning of an author,
while the phraseology and style seem  altogether to escape his
notice; a fifth, by his Memory for poetry; a sixth, by his Memory
for music; a seventh, by his Memory for architecture, statuary,
and painting, and all the other objects of taste which are addressed
to the eye. All these different powers seem miraculous to those
who do not possess them; and, as they are apt to be supposed,
by superficial observers, to be commonly united in the same
individuals, they contribute much to encourage those exaggerated
estimates concerning the original inequalities among men in




MEMORY.                        271
respect to this faculty, which I am now endeavoring to reduce
to their just standard.
The characteristics of a good Memory. - As the great purpose
to which this faculty is subservient, is to enable us to collect, and
to retain, for the future regulation of our conduct, the results of
our past experience; it is evident that the degree of perfection
which it attains in the case of different persons, must vary,
first, with the facility of making the original acquisition;
secondly, with the permanence of the acquisition; and thirdly,
with the quickness or readiness with which the individual is
able, on particular occasions, to apply it to use. The qualities
therefore, of a good Memory are, in the first place, to be susceptible; secondly, to be retentive; and thirdly, to be ready.
It is but rarely that these three qualities are united in the
same person. We often, indeed, meet with a Miemory which is
at once susceptible and ready; but I doubt much, if such memories be commonly very retentive.  For the same set of habits
which are favorable to the two first qualities, are adverse to the
third.  Those individuals, for example, who, with a view to
conversation, make a constant business of informing themselves
with respect to the popular topics of the day, or of turning
over the ephemeral publications subservient to the amusement
or to the politics of the times, are naturally led to cultivate a
susceptibility and readiness of memory, but have no inducement
to aim at that permanent retention of selected ideas, which enables
the scientific student to combine the most remote materials, and
to concentrate, at will, on a particular object, all the scattered
lights of his experience, and of his reflections. Such men (as
far as my observation has reached) seldom possess a familiar or
correct acquaintance even with those classical remains of our
own earlier writers, which have ceased to furnish topics of discourse to the circles of fashion. A stream  of novelties is perpetually passing through their minds; and the faint impressions
which it leaves, soon vanish to make way for others, - like the
traces which the ebbing tide leaves upon the sand.  Nor is this
all. In proportion as the associating principles which lay the
foundation of susceptibility and readiness predominate in the




272                      MEMIORY.
Memory, those which form the basis of our more solid and lasting acquisitions may be expected to be weakened, as a natural
consequence of the general laws of our intellectual frame.  This
last observation it will be necessary to illustrate more particularly.
Various modes of association in different minds. —I have
already remarked, in treating of a different subject, that the
bulk of mankind, being but little accustomed to reflect and to
generalize, associate their ideas chiefly according to their more
obvious relations; those, for example, of resemblance and of
analogy; and above all, according to the casual relations arising
from contiguity in time and place; whereas, in the mind of a
philosopher, ideas are commonly associated according to those
relations which are brought to light in consequence of particular
efforts of attention; such as the relations of cause and effect, or
of premises and conclusion.  This difference in the modes of
association of these two classes of men, is the foundation of
some very striking diversities between them in respect of intellectual character.
D'1fferences of JMemory betweenphilosophers and the vulgar. -
In the first place, in consequence of the nature of the relations
which connect ideas together in the mind of the philosopher, it
must necessarily happen, that when he has occasion to apply to
use his acquired knowledge, time and reflection will be requisite
to enable him to recollect it. In the case of those, on the other
hand, who have not been accustomed to scientific pursuits, as
their ideas are connected together according to the most obvious
relations, when any one idea of a class is presented to the mind,
it is immediately followed by the others, which succeed each
other spontaneously, according to the laws of association. In
managing, therefore, the little details of some subaltern employment, in which all that is required is knowledge of forms, and
a disposition to observe them, the want of a systematical genius
is an important advantage; because this want renders the mind
peculiarly susceptible of habits, and allows the train of its ideas
to accommodate itself perfectly to the daily and hourly occurrences of its situation. But if, in this respect, men of no




MEMORY.                       273
general principles have an advantage over the philosopher, they
fall greatly below him in another point of view; inasmuclh as
all the information which they possess, must necessarily be
limited by their own proper experience; whereas the philosopher, who is accustomed to refer every thing to general principles, is not only enabled, by means of these, to arrange the facts
which experience has taught him, but by reasoning fiom his
principles synthetically, has it often in his power to determine
facts a priori, which he has no opportunity of ascertaining by
observation.
It follows further, from the foregoing principles, that the intellectual defects of the philosopher, are of a much more corrigible
nature, than those of the mere man of detail. If the former is
thrown by accident into a scene of business, more time will perhaps be necessary to qualify him for it, than would be requisite
for the generality of mankind; but time and experience will
infallibly, sooner or later, familiarize his mind completely with
his situation. A capacity for system and for philosophical
arrangement, unless it has been carefully cultivated in early life,
is an acquisition which can scarcely be made afterwards; and,
therefore, the defects which I already mentioned, as connected
with early and constant habits of business, adopted from imitation, and undirected by theory, may, when once these habits
are confirmed, be pronounced to be incurable.
How to retain knowledge permanently. - I am  also inclined
to believe, both from a theoretical view of the subject, and from
my own observations, as far as they have reached, that if we
wish to fix the particulars of our knowledge very permanently
in the iMemory, the most effectual way of doing it, is to refer
them to general principles. Ideas which are connected together
merely by casual relations, present themselves with readiness
to the mind, so long as we are forced by the habits of our
situation to apply them daily to use; but when a change of circumstances lead us to vary the objects of our attention, we find
our old ideas gradually to escape fiom the recollection; and if
it should happen that they escape from it altogether, the only
method of recovering them, is by renewing those studies by




2714                     MEMORY,
which they were at first acquired. The case is very different
with a man whose ideas, presented to him at first by accident,
have been afterwards philosophically arranged and referred to
general principles. When he wishes to recollect them, some
time and reflection will, frequently, be necessary to enable him
to do so; but the information which he has once completely
acquired, continues, in general, to be an acquisition for life; or
if, accidentally, any article of it should be lost, it may often be
recovered by a process of reasoning.
A language caught by the ear is generally spoken with more
of the ease of a native than if it had been learned by rule; but,
in the course of a few years, it is often as completely obliterated
from the memory as if it had never been acquired. It is only
by a complete possession of the principles of a language, that
we can hope to make it an acquisition for life. We may see
this daily illustrated, in the uncertain hold which girls commonly
retain of the French acquired at boarding-schools, when compared with the permanent acquaintance with Latin which boys
receive from a regular classical education. Few boys, however
well educated, read and speak Latin with the same facility and
fluency with which we daily see young ladies read and speak
French; yet how seldom do they ever lose afterwards a competent knowledge of the Latin tongue!
A philosophical arrangement of our ideas is attended with
another very important advantage. In a mind where the prevailing principles of association are founded on casual relations
among the various objects of its knowledge, the thoughts must
necessarily succeed each other in a very irregular and disorderly
manner, and the occasions on which they present themselves
will be determined merely by accident. They will often occur
when they cannot be employed to any purpose, and will remain
concealed from our view when the recollection of them might
be useful. They cannot, therefore, be considered as under our
own proper command. But in the case of a philosopher, how
slow soever he may be in the recollection of his ideas, he knows
always where he is to search for them, so as to bring them all
to bear on their proper object. When he wishes to avail him



MIEMORY.                       275
self of his past experience,' or of his former conclusions, the
occasion itself summons up every thought in his mind which the
occasion requires. Or if he is called upon to exert his powers
of invention and of discovery, the materials of both are always
at hand, and are presented to his view with such a degree of
connection and arraingement as may enable him to trace with
ease their various relations. How much invention depends upon
a patient and attentive examination of our ideas in order to discover the less obvious relations which subsist among them, I
had occasion to show at some length in a former chapter.'.Wky philosophers do not excel in conversation. -  The remarks
which have been now made are sufficient to illustrate the advantages which the philosopher derives in the pursuits of science
from that sort of systematical Memory which his habits of arrangement give him.  It may, however, be doubted whether
such habits be equally favorable to a talent for agreeable conversation, at least for that lively, varied conversation, which
forms the principal charm of a promiscuous society. The conversation which pleases generally, must unite the recommenda-.
tions of quickness, of ease, and of variety; and in all these three
respects, that of the philosopher is apt to be deficient.  It is deficient in quickness, because his ideas are connected by relations
which occur only to an attentive and collected mind.  It is deficient in ease, because these relations are not the casual and
obvious ones by which ideas are associated in ordinary memories,
but the slow discoveries of patient, and often painful, exertion.
As the ideas, too, which he associates together, are commonly of
the same class, or at least are referred to the same general principles, he is in danger of becoming tedious, by indulging himself
* The practice which literary men in general have of committing to
writing the knowledge they acquire, together with the ready access which
all ranks have now to the use of books, has a tendency to weaken the
faculty of memory, by superseding the necessity of its more extraordinary
exertions. It was on this principle that the Druids (as we are informed by
Cxsar in his Commentaries), although they knew the Greek letters, abstained from the use of writing in recording their theological and philosophical doctrines.




276                      MEMonY.
in long and systematical discourses; while another, possessed of
the most inferior accomplishments, by laying his mind completely
open to impressions from without, and by accommodating continually the course of his own ideas, not only to the ideas which
are stated by his companions, but to every trifling and unexpected accident that may occur to give them a new direction,
is the life and soul of every society into which he enters. Even
the anecdotes which the philosopher has collected, however
agreeable they may be in themselves, are seldom introduced by
him into conversation with that unstudied but happy propriety
which we admire in men of the world, whose facts are not
referred to general principles, but are suggested to their recollection by the familiar topics and occurrences of ordinary life.
Nor is it the imputation of tediousness merely, to which the
systematical thinker must submit from common observers.  It
is but rarely possible to explain completely, in a promiscuous
society, all the various parts of the most simple theory; and, as
nothing appears weaker or more absurd than a theory which is
partially stated, it frequently happens that men of ingenuity, by
attempting it, sink, in the vulgar apprehension, below the level
of ordinary understandings. "Theoriarum  vires," says Lord
Bacon, "'in apta et se mutuo sustinente partium  harnmonia et
quadam in orbem demonstratione consistunt, ideoque per partes
traditto infirmT sunt."  [The excellence of theory lies in the
fitness and harmony of the parts mutually sustaining each other;
so that a theory, enunciated piecemeal, is comparatively weak.]
Peculiarities of casual eimory. - Before leaving the subject
of casual Memory, it may not be improper to add, that how
much soever it may disqualify for systematical speculation,
there is a species of loose and rambling composition to which it
is peculiarly favorable.  With such performances it is often
pleasant to unbend the mind in solitude, when we are more in
the humor for conversation  than for connected  thinking.
Montaigne is unquestionably at the head of this class of
authors. "What, indeed, are his essays," to adopt his own account of them, "but grotesque pieces of patchwork, put together
without any certain figure, or any order, connection, or proportion, but what is accidental?"  (Liv. i. chap. 27.)




iIlEMORY.                       277
It is, however, curious, that in consequence of the predominance in his mind of this species of Memory above every other,
he is forced to acknowledge his total want of that command
over his ideas which can only be founded on habits of systematical arrangement.  As the passage is extremely characteristical of the author, and affords a striking confirmation of some
of the preceding observations, I shall give it in his own words.
"Je ne me tiens pas bien en ma possession et disposition: le
hazard y a plus de droit que moy: l'occasion, la compagnie, le
branle meme de ma voix tire plus de mon esprit? que je n'y
trouve lorsque je sonde et employe a part moy.  Ceci m'advient
aussi, que je ne me trouve pas oil je me cherche; et me trouve
plus par rencontre, que par l'inquisition de mon jugement."*
The differences which I have now pointed out between philosophical and casual Memory, constitute the most remarkable of
all the varieties which the minds of different individuals, considered in respect to this faculty, present to our observation.
But there are other varieties of a less striking nature, the consideration of which may also suggest some useful reflections.
Sights remembered more easily than sounds. - It was before
remarked, that our ideas are frequently associated in consequence
of the associations which take place among their arbitrary signs.
Indeed, in the case of all our general speculations, it is difficult
to see in what other way our thoughts can be associated; for I
before endeavored to show, that, without the use of signs of one
kind or another, it would be impossible for us to make classes,
or genera, objects of our attention.
All the signs by which our thoughts are expressed are addressed either to the eye or to the ear; and the impressions
* [Montaigne's language is so exquisitely idiomatic, that a literal version
gives hardly a glimpse of his meaning. The following is a mere paraphrase of the passage in the text.
"I do not have full possession and command of my own mind; chance
has more power over it than I have; occasion, company, even the sound
of my own voice, draws more out of my understanding than I can, when I
probe and try it in solithde. This also happens to me, that I cannot find
my ideas where I look for them, but rather stumble upon them unawares."]
24 




278                     MEMORY.
made on these organs at the time when we first receive an idea,
contribute to give us a firmer hold of it. Visible objects (as I
observed in the chapter on conception) are remembered more
easily than those of any of our other senses; and hence it is,
that the bulk of mankind are more aided in their recollection by
the impressions made on the eye than by those on the ear. Every
person must have remarked, in studying the elements of geometry, how much his recollection of the theorems was aided by
the diagrams which are connected with them; and I have little
doubt, that ahe difficulty which students commonly find to remember the propositions of the fifth book of Euclid, arises
chiefly from this, that the magnitudes to which they relate, are
represented by straight lines, which do not make so strong an
impression on the memory, as the figures which illustrate the
propositions in the other five books.
This advantage, which the objects of sight naturally have
over those of hearing, in the distinctness and the permanence of
the impressions which they make on the Memory, continues,
and even increases, through life, in the case of the bulk of mankind; because their minds, being but little addicted to general
and abstract disquisitions, are habitually occupied, either with
the immediate perception of such objects, or with speculations
in which the conception, of them  is more or less involved;
which speculations, so far as they relate to individual things
and individual events, may be carried on with little or no assistance from language.
The case is different with the philosopher, whose habits of
abstraction and generalization lay him continually under a
necessity of employing words as an instrument of thought.
Such habits, cooperating with that inattention which he is apt
to contract to things external, must have an obvious tendency
to weaken the original powers of recollection and conception
with respect to visible objects; and at the same time, to
strengthen the power of retaining propositions and reasonings
expressed in language. The common system of education, too,
by exercising the Memory so much in the'acquisition of grammar rules, and of passages from the ancient authors, contributes




MEMORY.                       279
greatly, in the case of men of letters, tci cultivate a capacity
for retaining words.
How verbal Memory may be cultivated. - It is surprising of
what a degree of culture our power of retaining a succession,
even of insignificant sounds, is susceptible. Instances sometimes occur, of men who are easily able to commit to Memory a
long poem, composed in a language of which they are wholly
ignorant; and I have myself known more than one instance of
an individual, who, after having forgotten completely the classical
studies of his childhood, was yet able to repeat with fluency
long passages from  Homer and Virgil, without annexing an
idea to the words that he uttered.
This susceptibility of Memory with respect to words, is possessed by all men in a very remarkable degree in their early
years, and is, indeed, necessary to enable them to acquire the
use of language; but unless it be carefully cultivated afterwards by constant exercise, it gradually decays as we advance
to maturity. The plan of education which is followed in this
country, however imperfect in many respects, falls in happily
with this arrangement of nature, and stores the mind richly,
even in infancy, with intellectual treasures, which are to remain
with it through life. The rules of grammar, which comprehend
systems, more or less perfect, of the principles of the dead
languages, take a permanent hold of the Memory, when the
understanding is yet unable to comprehend their import; and
the classical remains of antiquity, which, at the time we acquire
them, do little more than furnish a gratification to the ear, supply us with inexhaustible sources of the most refined enjoyment;
and, as our various powers gradually unfold themselves, are
poured forth, without effort, from the Memory, to delight the
imagination, and to improve the heart. It cannot be doubted
that a great variety of other articles of useful knowledge, particularly with respect to geographical and chronological details,
might be communicated with advantage to children iii the form
of memorial lines. It is only in childhood that such details
can be learned with facility; and if they were once acquired
and rendered perfectly familiar to the mind, our riper years




280                      MEMORY.O
would be spared much of that painful and uninteresting labor,
which is perpetually distracting our intellectual powers from
those more important exertions for which, in their mature state,
they seem to be destined.
This tendency of literary habits in general, and more particularly of philosophical pursuits, to exercise the thoughts
about words, can scarcely fail to have some effect in weakening
the powers of recollection and conception with respect to sensible objects; and, in fact, I believe it will be found, that whatever
advantage the philosopher may possess over men of little education, in stating general propositions and general reasonings,
he is commonly inferior to them  in point of minuteness and
accuracy, when he attempts to describe any object which he has
seen, or any event which he has witnessed; supposing the
curiosity of both, in such cases, to be interested in an equal
degree. I acknowledge, indeed, that the undivided attention
which men unaccustomed to reflection are able to give to the
objects of their perceptions, is, in part, the cause of the liveliness and correctness of their conceptions.
yarieties of llemory in respect to technical or general description. — With this diversity in the intellectual habits of cultivated and of uncultivated minds, there is another variety of
Memory which seems to have some connection. In recognizing
visible objects, the Memory of one man proceeds on the general
appearance; that of another attaches itself to some minute and
distinguishing marks. A peasant knows the various kinds of
trees from their general habits; a botanist, from those charace
teristical circumstances on which his classification proceeds.
The last kind of Memory is, I think, most common among
literary men, and arises from their habit of recollecting bsy
means of words.  It is evidently much easier to express by
a description a number of botanical marks, than the general
habit of a tree; and the same remark is applicable to other
cases of a similar nature. But to whatever cause we ascrib-e
it, there can be no doubt of the fact, that many individuals are
to be found, and chiefly among men of letters, who, although
they have no memory for the general appearances of objects,




MEo31tRY.                     281
ate yet able to retain with correctness an immense number of
technical discriminations.
Each of these kinds of Memory has itof Memory has its peculiar advantages
and inconveniences, which the dread of being tedious induces
me to leave to the investigation of my readers.
Astonishing feats of Jermory. - Among the extraordinary
exertions of Memory recorded in history, it is worthy of observation, that many of them (mlore especially of those which
are handed down to us from ancient times) relate to acquisitions
of the most trifling nature; or at least, to acquisitions which, in
the present age, would be understood to reflect but little credit
on the capacity of those who should consider the possession of
them as a subject of vanity. In judging, however, of such particulars, when they occur in the lives of eminent men, due
allowances ought always to be made for the essential differences
between the political institutions of- the old world and those of
modern Europe.  Thus, when we are told of Themistocles, that
he could call by their names all the citizens of Athens (whose
number was 20,000); and of Cyrus, that he knew the name of
every soldier in his army, it ought to be recollected, that contemptible as these acquisitions might now appear in men equally
elevated by their rank, they were probably not altogether useless to the general of an ancient army, or to the chief of an
ancient republic. The different state of manners prior to the
invention of printing, and, in particular, the state of manners in
ancient Greece and Rome, rendered the cultivation of Memory
an object of far greater importance to those who were destined
for public life, than it'is under any of our modern governments;
and, accordingly, extraordinary endowments of this sort form a
far more prominent feature in the characters of their illustrious
writers and statesmen than they. do in modern biography,
Examples of this must immediately crowd on the recollectiorn
of every person at all conversant with the classics.
The facts with respect to Memory, which I have chiefly in
my eye at present, may be divided into two classes, according as
they relate to occasional exertions of Memory on particular
subjects, or to the general mass of acquired information treas24*




282                      MEMORY.
ured up in the mind.  Of the first kind are the intellectual
feats ascribed to Cineas, and to Hortensius.  ThIe former (we
are told) when he came to Rome as ambassador from  King
Pyrrhus, saluted, on the day after his arrival. all the senators
and persons of the equestrian order by their names; the latter,
after sitting a whole day at a public sale, gave an account from
Milemory in the evening of all the things sold, with the prices and
the names of the purchasers; which account was found on
examination to agree in every particular with what, had been
taken in writing by a notary. Nor will these anecdotes appear
incredible, when compared with what 3Iuretus himself saw at
Padua, of a young Corsican, who, without stop or hesitation,
recited thirty-six thousand names in the same order in which
he had heard them, and afterwards, beginning at the last, proceeded, in a contrary order, to the first.
To the same class of facts belong (although they indicate
also the strength of still higher faculties) those efforts which
some individuals are able to make, by mere force of attention
and Memory, in the way of arithmetical computation.  We are
told by the celebrated Dr. Wallis of Oxford, that "lie himself
could, in the dark, perform arithmetical operations, as multiplication, division, and extraction of roots, to forty decimal places,
particularly, that, in February, 1671, he proposed to himself, by
night in bed, (at the request of a foreigner,) a number of fiftythree places, and found its square root to twenty-seven places,
and that, without ever writing down the number, le dictated the
result from  memory twenty days afterwards."  None of the
facts, with respect to memory, which I have met with in ancient
authors, conveys to me so high an idea of the wonders which
may be effected by a patient and steady concentration of our
mental powers.
Great Memories of philosophers. -These facts, however, which
relate to occasional exertions of llemory on particular subjects, do
not lead to conclusions of so great practical utility, nor are they.
perhaps, when duly weighed, so astonishing in themselves, as
those which illustrate the comprehensiveness and retentiveness of
which this faculty has Ieen sometimes found susceptible, with




MEMORY.                       283
respect to the general stock of human knowledge. A memorable,
or rather an extreme, case of this sort is said to have occurred
in "that prodigy of parts, Mr. Pascal," of whom  Mr. Locke
tells us, "i6 t was reported, that, till the decay of his health had
impaired his mind, he forgot nothing of what lie had done, read,
or thought, in any part of his rational age."  A  statement to
which, (making every allowance for the usual exaggerations of
testimony,) I do not know that any thing exactly parallel can
be produced in the history of any other individual equally distinguished by all the highest gifts of the understanding.
The learned 3Menage, whom Bayle calls the Varro of the
seventeenth century, deserves also to be mentioned here, on account of the extraordinary strength and extent of his memory;
but still more, on account of the singular degree in which he
appears to have recovered that faculty, after it had been greatly
impaired and almost destroyed by the infirmities of old age.
Few physiological facts, relating to the mind, are so well attested
as this, Menage having himself commemorated his own very
interesting history in Latin verses not inferior to any of his
juvenile productions; and, making due abatements for some
slight poetical licenses, the circumstances which he records cannot have differed widely from the truth.
Another instance of the same sort of memory, though in a
very inferior man, occurred in France, about a hundred years
ago, in the Abbe de Longuerue, whose erudition (to borrow an
expression which D'Alembert applies to it) was not only prodigious, but terrible.  His extraordinary powers displayed themselves even in his childhood, to such a degree, that Louis XIV.,
when passing through Charleville, stopped to see him as a curiosity.  Greek and even Hebrew (we are told) were as familiar
to him as his native tongue; and on questions of literature,
Paris consulted him as an oracle. His mind was so well furnished, not only with historical facts, but with the minutiae of
chronology and topography, that, upon hearing a person remark
in conversation, that it would be a difficult task to write a good
historical description of France, lie asserted that he could do it
from Memory, without consulting any books. All he asked was




284                         MEMORtY.
to have some good maps of ]France laid before him.*  These
recalled to him the history of each province, of all the fiefs of
the crown of each city, and even of each distinguished nobleman's seat in the kingdom.  He wrote his folio History in a
year, which, notwithstanding some very gross errors, is allowed
to be correct, not only in its general outlines, but in by far the
greater part of its trifling details.
Edcltcation to be conformed to the peculiarities of iMe emory. 
With respect to this extraordinary person, MIiss Edgeworth
quotes from the Marquis d'Argenson an anecdote, of which some
use may, I think, be made by those who are employed in the
education of children.  When the 3Marquis asked him  how he
managed to arrange and retain in his head every thing that
entered it, he answered, by observing in general terms, "That
the elements of every science must be learned whilst we are
very young; not only the first principles of every language, but
the A, B, C, of every kind of knowledge.  This," he adds, " is
not difficult in youth, especially as it is not necessary to penetrate far. Simple notions are sufficient; when these are once
acquired, every thing we read afterwards finds its proper place."
This remark appears to me to be equally just and important;
and I am disposed to lay the greater stress upon it, as, in the
person to whom it is ascribed, it must be considered merely as
- This circumstance deserves attention, as it shows what reliance he
placed on visible objects and local associations, as adminicles to his powers of
recollection.,He availed himself, in fact, of the same general principle
which suggested the topical Memory of the ancient rhetoricians; and of
which the efficacy is abundantly confirmed by our own daily experience.
Whoever has paid any attention to the education of young persons, must
be satisfied that the only effectual expedient for fixing historical knowledge
in their minds, is to unite the studies of history and of geography together,
by accustoming them to refer every occurrence to the spot where it took
place, and to follow with the eye, upon an accurate map, every change of
scene in the narrative. The greater part of artificial devices, which have
been thought of for the same purpose, are mere trick and quackery. They
may, perhaps, be occasionally subservient to an ostentatious display, but,
on the whole, they can scarcely fail to do more harm than good to the
v aderstanding.




MEMORY.                       285
an experimental result drawn from the history of his own mind,
and not as an inference from any theoretical principles concerning the nature and laws of Memory. It contains, I suspect, a
great secret of that species of education which is commonly
given to people of very high rank; to whom a power of plausible and imposing discourse is too frequently conceived to be an
object of greater value than the possession of just and enlightened opinions. In the education, however, of all without exception, it is susceptible, under proper management, of the most
important practical application, not only in facilitating the
future acquisition of ornamental knowledge, but in laying an
early foundation for that most valuable sort of Memory which
spontaneously and insensibly classifies, (or, as the Abbe de
Longuerue expressed it, puts in its proper place,) every particular fact at the moment when it is first presented to the mlind.
T.his plan, indeed, seems manifestly to be pointed out to us by
nature herself, inasmuch as she has rendered the impressions of
early youth incomparably more permanent than those of our
more advanced years; and by doing so, has furnished the means
to a skilful instructor, of extending the advantage of that
precious season over the whole of life.
llenmory as a measure of intellectual capacity in general.From these details, (and it would be very easy to add to their
number,) it sufficiently appears, that extraordinary powers of
Memory do not always indicate a corresponding measure of intellectual capacity in general.  At the same time, I can by no
means subscribe to the prevailing opinion, that extraordinary
powers of Memory are incompatible either with judgment or
with genius.  On the contrary, I can scarcely recollect (as I
have elsewhere observed) any one person very eminently distinguished by the latter qualities, who has not also possessed a
more than common share of the former.  And, indeed, if we
only consider for a moment how intimately this faculty is connected with every species of -mental improvement, it must appear perfectly manifest, that, however numerous the instances
may be in which great powers of Memory are united with a
deficiency in other intellectual endowments, it is nevertheless an




28 6                       IiMEMORY.
unquestionable truth, that a vigorous and retentive Memory
may be fairly ranked among the most important of the qualities
which enter into the composition either of an inventive genius,
or of a comprehensive understanding.  In the case, too, of
some individuals of the most powerful and splendid talents, the
same preternatural strength of Miemory has been exemplified,
which, in most instances, is considered, and, perhaps, not altogether without reason, as symptomatical of a weak and superficial judgment.  Of this I have already produced some remarkable proofs in the course of the foregoing observations..Why JMemory is not so much cultivated among the moderns. —
It is justly observed by Miss Edgeworth, that such prodigies of
lMemory are not now to be looked for, as we have reason to
believe were not uncommon in Europe a very few centuries
ago.'The art of printing, by multiplying copies of books, so
as to put them within the reach of all classes of the people, has
lowered the value of those extraordinary powers which some of
the learned were then accustomed to display with so much ostentation. At the revival of literature in Europe, a man who had
read a few manuscripts, and could repeat them, was not merely
a wonder, but a treasure; he could travel from  place to place,
and live by his learning; and had'far more encouragement to
engrave the words of others on his memory, than to exercise his
own powers of judgment and invention." In later times the
case is greatly altered.  A reference in a commonplace-book
to a particular page, relieves the Memory entirely of its burden;
a good index supersedes the labor of years; or (as Pope has
very happily expressed the same idea,)
"Though index-learning turns no student pale,
It holds the eel of science by the tail."
Original differences among men in respect to Memory.  The
facts which have been already mentioned sufficiently account for
the common opinion, that the original differences among men
in their capacities of Memory, are incomparably greater than in
the case of any other faculty.  Nay, I must confess, they seem
to show that this opinion is not altogether without foundation.




MEMORY.                      287
At the same time, I am fully satisfied that these differences are
greatly overrated.  Even in those cases where Memory seems
to be the weakest and most incapable of culture, there is commonly sufficient capacity to enable the individual to acquire a
competent knowledge of his mother-tongue, and to learn to
recognize, at the first glance, an immense multitude of particular
objects belonging to all the different departments of nature;
beside that general acquaintance with the laws of the material
world, and the properties of material substances, which is
necessary for the preservation of our animal existence; and that
no less indispensable acquaintance with many maxims of common sense, relative to life and conduct, without a knowledge
of which a man approaches to the condition of an idiot or
changeling. If we were to analyze carefully this stock of information, it would be found to comprehend a far greater number
of particulars than we might be disposed at first to suspect.
I shall avail myself of the title which I have prefixed to this
section, to introduce here a few detached passages from different
authors, which appear to me worthy of the attention of those
who take an interest in the study of the mind. Some of them
are from books not likely to excite the curiosity of the generality
of readers; and all of them may be more or less useful in illustrating the foregoing conclusions. With these extracts I shall
intersperse slight comments of my own.
Philosophical minds incapable of attending to trifZing cetails.
— I begin with a passage from Leibnitz, one of the few philosophers who have favored the world with any reflections on the
peculiarities of his own intellectual character. ["' Invention or
ingenuity, like Memory, is of two kinds; the one prompt, being
a quality of genius, the other sure, depending on good judgment. Eloquent persons possess the former, men who are slow
in forming their conclusions, but yet are not ill-adapted for
business, have the latter. Others form a remarkable variety,
as in certain times and places, they are wonderfully prompt, and
on other occasions, extremely slow. Among these last I rank
myself, and also perceive that there are few who have the same




288                      MIEMORY.
peculiarity, that all easy things are dificult to me, and on the
other hand, all difficult things are easy."]
Upon this very remarkable expression with respect to himself,
it were to be wished that Leibnitz had enlarged a little more
fully. The only interpretation I call put upon it is, that he felt
a certain degree of dificzulty necessary to rouse his intellectual
faculties to action; and that, in consequence of this circumstance,
(combined probably with a consciousness of his own powers,)
he was inferior to the common run of mankind in some of those
easy acquisitions which are within the reach of all. The case,
I apprehend, is not a singular one; as we often meet with men
of the most splendid talents, who are deficient, to a ludicrous
degree, in some of the most simple and mechanical branches of
school education. I shall only mention, as examples, the art of
penmanship, and the still more important one, of arithmetical
computation; in both of which, (though from different causes,)
the progress of the student is retarded rather than aided by an
extraordinary degree of quickness and of intellectual capacity;
and in which, accordingly, men of genius may be expected t6
fall below the general standard, unless in those cases where they
have had the good fortune to be carefully trained to the practice
of them in their childhood, or very early youth. All such
acquisitions (it may be here observed by the way,) should, on
this account, be rendered by habit a second nature, before the
powers of reason and reflection have attained such a degree of
strength as to render the task of the learner irksome to himself, by presenting more interesting objects to his curiosity.
The art of reading, in particular, may be taught to infants by
any person of common sense, by a process almost as insensible
as the use of speech.
The foregoing quotation from Leibnitz brings to my recollection a fragment of Montesquieu, which affords a memorable
proof of the difficulty which men of superior minds frequently
experience in acquiring a ready and practical knowledge of
those trifling and uninteresting details, which are treasured up
without any effort by those to whose understandings they are
y ~   YVV  I-VVMdrV-VILU~




MEMORY.                       289
more congenial. " YVith respect to my employment as president,
[a judicial title in France,] I have an upright heart - I comprehend with ease the nature of the business; but of the forms
of the court I understand nothing, though I took pains to acquire that knowledge; and what dispirits me most at it is, that
I observe in some blockheads the very talent I seem unable to
attain."
I should, perhaps, have taken an earlier opportunity of remarking, that in contrasting, as I have occasionally done in this
section, the species of Memory possessed by philosophers with
that possessed by the vulgar and illiterate, I evidently have in
view those effects only which their respective pursuits bave a
tendency to produce on the intellectual character. 3M[any exceptions to our general conclusions may be expected in particular instances; nor does there seem  to be any impossibility in
the nature of things to unite, by a proper education, the advantages of both kinds of M1emory. That incapacity, for example,
of attending to trifling details, of which Montesquieu complains
in the above quotation, and which is one great source of what
is generally called a bad Mlemzory, is undoubtedly a most serious
inconvenience to all who have to mingle in the business of the
world; and although it is justly overlooked in those whose
talents and acquirements raise them much above the common
level, yet it can scarcely be guarded against enough by all
those who have any concern in the education of youth.  To
enable a person to command his attention, at all times, to whatever object is before him, whether trifling or important, so that
"whatsoever his hand findeth to do, he may do it with all his
night," is one of the most important habits that can be communiicated to his mind. And it would form a most valuable article
illn a systematical treatise on education, to point out the means
by which this habit may be cultivated, or the contrary habits of
inattention corrected where they have unfortunately been contracted.
The following judicious remark of MAdr. Knox, (in his Treatise
on Education,) while it throws some additional light on these
varieties of Memory which have been now under our consider25




29,0                    AFEBIO r,
ation, suggests a practical lesson which cannot be too steadily
kept in view by all who devote themselves to the study of literature and of the sciences. In point of value, it seems *to me to
rise considerably above tile ordinary level of this author's philosophy.
"Some persons seem to think that a good Memory consists
in retaining dates and minute particulars, but I believe, that,
though a reader remember but few dates and few minute particulars, he may yet retain all the necessary general ideas and
valuable conclusions. lie will see a wide and beautifiul arrangement of important objects, while another, who stoops to pick up
and preserve every trifle, will have his eyes fixed on the ground.
It is not enough that the mind can reproduce just what it has
received fiom  reading, and no more; it must reproduce it
dicested, altered, improved, and rejfined.  Reading, like food,
must show  its e-ffects in promoting growth; according to a
striking' remark of Epictetus, the application of which is sufficiently obvious without any comment; I Sheep do not show
the shepherd how much they have eaten by producing thme grass'
itself; but by producing outwardly wool and milk after their
pasture is inwardly digested.'"
I1l. Of the inmprovemnent of Afemory. - Analysis of the principles on which the culture of lfenmory depends. - The improvement of which the mind is susceptible by culture, is more
remarkable, perhaps, in the case of MAlemory, than in that of
any other of our faculties. The fact has been often taken notice
of in general terms; but I am doubtful if the particular mode
in which culture operates on this part of our constitution, has
been yet examined by philosophers with the attention which it
deserves.
Of one sort of culture, indeed, of which Memory is susceptible in a very striking degree, no explanation can be given; I
mean the improvement which the original faculty acquires by
mere exercise; or, in other words, the tendency which practice
has to increase our natural facility of association.  This effect
of practice upon the Memory, seems to be an ultimate law of
our nature; or rather, to be a particular instance of that general




rMEMrroYi.                     291
law, that all our powers, both of body and mind, may be
strengthlened: by applying them to their propert urposes.
Besides, however, the itm-provemenet lwhich IMemory admits
of, in consequence of the effects of exercise on the original
faculty, it may be greatly aided in its operations, by those expedients which reason and experience suggest for employing it
to the best advantage.  These expedients furnish a curious subject of' philosophical examination; perhaps, too, the inquiry
may not be altoget:her without use; for, although our principal resources for assisting the Memory be sugg'ested by naturee, yet i.t is
reasonable to think, th-at in this, as in similar cases, by following
out systematically thie hints which she suggests to us, a further
preparation may be made for our intellectual improvement.
ifow lifemory becomes more susceptible anzd retenztive. -  Every
person must have remarked, in entering upon any new species
of study, the difficulty of treasuring up in the Memory its elementary principles; and the growing facility which he acquires
in this respect, as his knowledge becomes more extensive.  By
analyzing the different causes which concur in producing this
facility, we may, perhaps, be led to some conclusions which may
admit of a practical application.
1. In every science, the ideas about which it is peculiarly
conversant, asre connected together by some particular associating principle; in one science, for example, by associations
founded on the relation of cause and effect; in another, by
associations founded on the necessary relations of mathematical
truths; in a third, on associations founded on contiguity in place
or time. Hence one cause of the gradual improvement of Memory
with respect to the familiar objects of our knowledge; for whatever be the prevailing associating principle among the ideas
about which we are habitually occupied, it must necessarily
acquire additional strength from our favorite stucdy.
2. In proportion as a science becomes more familiar to us,
we acquire a greater command of attention with respect to the
objects about which it is conversant; for the information which
we already possess, gives us an interest in every new truth and
every new fact which have any relation to it.  In most cases,




292                      MEMORY.
our habits of inattention may be traced to a want of curiosity;
and therefore such habits are to be corrected, not by endeavoring to force the attention in particular instances, but by gradually
learning to place the ideas which we wish to remember, in an
interesting point of view.
3. When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we are
unable to make a proper discrimination in point of utility and
importance, among the ideas which are presented to us f and by
attemnpting to grasp at every thing, we fail in mlaking those
moderate acquisitions which are suited to the limited powers of
the human mind.  As our information extends, our selection
becomes more judicious and more confined; and our knowledge
of useful and connected truths advances rapidly, from our ceasing to distract the attention with such as are detached and
insignificant.
4. Every object of our knowledge is related to a variety of
others; and may be presented to the thoughts, sometimes by one
principle of association, and sometimes by another. In proportion, thelefore, to the multiplication of mutual relations among
our ideas, (which is the natural result of growing infbrmation,
and in particular, of habits of philosophical study,) the greater
will be the number of occasions on which they will recur to the
recollection, and the firmer will be the root which each idea, in
particular, will take in the Mlemory.
It follows, too, from this observation, that the facility of retaining a new fact, or a new idea, will depend on the number of
relations wlich it bears to the former objects of our knowledge;
and, on the other hand, that every such acquisition, so far from
loading the Memory, gives us a firmer hold of all that part of
our previous information, with which it is in any degree connected.
It may not, perhaps, be improper to take this opportunity of
observing, although the remark be not immediately connected
with our present subject, that the accession made to the stock
of our knowledge, by the new facts and ideas which we acquire,
is not to be estimated merely by the number of these facts and
ideas considered individually; but by the number of relations




MIEMORY.                       293
which they bear to one another, and to all the different particulars which were previously in the mind; fobr " new knowledge,"
as MIr. Maclaurin has well remarked, " does not consist so much
in our having access to a new object, as in comparing it with
others already known, observing its relations to them, or discerning what it has in common witll them, and wherein their
disparity consists; and, therefore, our knowledge is vastly
greater than the sum  of what all its objects separately could
afford; and when a new object conmes within our reach, the
addition to our knowledge is the greater, the more we already
know; so that it increases, not as the new objects increase, but
in a much higher proportion."
The above passage may serve to illustrate an ingenious and
profound remark of Duclos, in his Considerations sur les lA1oturs.
"' if education was judiciously conducted, the mind would acquire
a great stock of truths with greater ease than it acquires a small
number of errors.  Truths have among themselves a relation
and connection, certain points of contact, which are equally
fatvorable to the powers of apprehension and of 3iMemory; while,
on the o.tler hand, errors are commonly so many insulated propositiollns, of which, though it be difficult to shake off the authority, it is easy to prevelt the original acquisition."
5. In the last place, the natural powers of Memory are, in the
case of the philosopher, greatly aided by his peculiar habits of
classJifcation and arrangement.  As this is by far the most important improvement of which 3Memory is susceptible, I shall
consider it more particularly than any of the others I have
mentioned.
Hlow  lfemory is aided by the classification of ideas. - The
advantages which the Memory derives from a proper classification of our ideas, may be best conceived by attending to its
effects in enabling us to conduct with ease the common business
of life. In what inextricable confusion would the lawyer or the
merchant be immediately involved, if he were to deposit, in his
cabinet, promiscuously, the various written documents which
daily and hourly pass through his hands?  Nor could this confusion be prevented by the natural powers of Memory, however
25 *




294                    lMEMORY.
vigorous they might happen to be.  By a proper distribution
of these documents, and a judicious reference of them to a few
general titles, a very ordinary Memory is enabled to accomplish
more, than the most retentive  unassisted by method. We
know, with certainty, where to find any article we may have
occasion for, if it be in our possession; and the search is confined within reasonable limits, instead of being allowed to
wander at random amidst a chaos of particulars.
Or, to take an instance still more immediately applicable to
our purpose; suppose that a man- of letters were to record, in a
commonplace-book, without any method, all the various ideas
and facts which occurred to him in the course of his studies;
what difficulties would he perpetually experience in applying
his acquisitions to use? and how completely and easily might
these difficulties be obviated by referring the particulars of his
Information to certain general heads?  It is obvious, too, that,
by doing so, he would not only have his knowledge much more
completely under his command, but as the particulars classed
together would all have some connection, more or less, with each
other, he would be enabled to trace, with advantage, those
mutual relations among his ideas, which it is the object of
philosophy to ascertain.
A commonplace-book, conducted without any method, is an
exact picture of the M3emory of a man whose inquiries are not
directed by philosophy. And the advantages of order in treasuring up our ideas in the mind, are perfectly analogous to its
effects when they are recorded in writing.
Nor is this all. In order to retain our knowledge distinctly
and permanently, it is necessary that we should frequently recall it to our recollection.  But how can this be done without
the aid of arrangement? Or supposing that it were possible,
how much time and labor would be necessary for bringing under
our review the various particulars of which uTr information is
composed?  In proportion as it is properly systematized, this
time and labor are abridlged. The mind dcweds habitually, not
on detached facts, but on a comparatively small number of general principles; and, by means of these, it can summon up, as




MEMORY.                         295
occasions may require, an infinite number of particulars associated with them; each of which, considered as a solitary truth,
would have been as burdensome to the Miemory, as the general
principle with which it is connected.'*
classification alone does not constitute philooophy. - I would
not wish it to be understood from these observations, that philosophy consists in classification alone; and that its only use is to
assist the Memory.  I have often, indeed, heard this asserted
in general terms; but it rather appears to me to be obvious,
that, although this be one of its most important uses, yet something more is necessary to complete the definition of it.  Were
the case otherwise, it would follow, that all classifications are
equally philosophical, provided they are equally comprehensive.
The very great importance of this subject will, I hope, be a
sufficient apology for me, in taking this opportunity to correct
sonle mistaken opinions which have been formed concerning it.
IV. Aid which the Memory derives from  philosophical arrangement. -  It was before observed, that the great use of the
faculty of Memory, is to  enable us to treasure up, for the:future regulation of our conduct, the results of our past experience, and of our past reflections.  But in every case in which
we judge of the future from the past, we must proceed on the
belief, that there is, in the course of events, a certain degree, at
least, of uniformity.  And, accordingly, this belief is not only
justified by experience, but (as Dr. Reid has shown, in a very
satisfactory manner,) it forms a part of the original constitution
of the human mind.  In the general laws of the material world,
this uniformity is found to be complete; insomuch that, in the
s It is very justly and ingeniously remarked by Dr. Priestley, that " the
more we know of any branch of science, the less is the compass into which
we are able to bring its principles, provided the facts fiom which they are
inferred be numerous."  The reason is, that, " in an advanced state of
knowledge, we are able to reduce more of the partictlar into general observations; whereas, in the infancy of a science, every observation is an
independent fact; and, in delivering the principles of it, they must all be
distinctly mentioned; so that, though a selection may be made, a proper
abridgment is impossible."




296                      rMEMORY.
same combinations of circumstances, we expect, with the most
perfect assurance, that the same results will take place.  In the
moral world, the course of events does not appear to be equally
regular; but still it is regular to so great a degree, as to afford
us many rules of importance in the conduct of life.
A knowledge of nature, in so far as it is absolutely necessary
for the preservation of our animal existence, is obtruded on us,
without any reflection on our part, from our earliest infancy. It
is thus that children learn of themselves to accommodate their
conduct to the established laws of the material world.  In doing
so, they are guided merely by Mitemory, and the instinctive
principle of anticipation which has just been mentioned.
In forming conclusions concerning future events, the philosopher, as well as the infant, can only build with safety on past
experience; and lhe, too, as well as the infant, proceeds on an instinctive belief; for which he is unable to account, of the uniformity of' the laws of nature.  There are, however, two important respects, which distinguish the knowledge lie possesses
from that of ordinary men.  In the Jrst place, it is far more
extensive, in consequence of the assistance which science gives
to his natural powers of invention and discovery.  Secondly, it
is not. only more easily retained in the Memory, and more conveniently applied to use, in consequence of the manner in
which his ideas are arranged; but it enables him  to ascertain,
b'y a process of reasoning, all those truths which may be syntlietically.deduced from  his general principles.  The illustration of
these particulars will lead to some useful remarks; and will at
the same time show, that, in discussing the subject of this section, I have not lost sight of the inquiry which occasioned it.
Hiow philosophy aids our powers of inventioin and discovery. -
I. (1.) It was already remarked, that the natural powers of Menmory, together with that instinctive anticipation of the future
from the past, which forms one of the original principles of the
mind, are sufficient to enable infants, after a very short experience, to preserve their animal existence.  The laws of nature,
which it is not so important for us to know, and which are the
objects of philosophical curiosity, are not so obviously exposed




MEMORY.                       297
to our view, but are, in general, brought to light by means of
experiments which are made for the purpose of discovery; or,
in other words, by artificial combinations of circumstances,
which we have no opportunity of seeing conjoined in the course
0of our ordinary experience. In this manner, it is evident, that
many connections may be ascertained, which would never have
occurred spontaneously to our observation.
(2.) There are, too, some instances, particularly in the case
of the astronomical phenomena, in which events, that appear to
common observers to be altogether anomalous, are found, upon
a more accurate and continued examination of them, to be subjected to a regular law.  Such are those phenomena in the
heavens, which we are able to predict by means of cycles. In
the cases formerly described, our knowledge of nature is extended by placing her in new situations. In these cases, it is
extended by continuing our observations beyond the limits of
ordinary curiosity.
(3.)  In the case of human affairs, as long as we confine our
attention to particulars, we do not observe the same uniformity,
as in the phenomena of the material world. When, however,
we extend our views to events which depend on a combination
of different circumstances, such a degree of uniformity appears,
as enables us to establish general rules, from which probable
conjectures may often be formed with respect to futurity. It is
thus, that we can pronounce, with much greater confidence,
concerning the proportion of deaths which shall happen in a
certain period among a given number of men, than we can predict the death of any individual; and that it is more reasonable
to employ our sagacity, in speculating concerning the probable
determinations of a numerous society, than concerning events
which depend on the will of a single person.
In what manner this uniformity in events depending on contingent circumstances is produced, I shall not inquire at present.
The advantages which we derive from  it are obvious, as it
enables us to collect, from our past experience, many general
rules, both with respect to the history of political societies, and
the characters and conduct of men in private lif'e




258                       MeMORY.
(4.) In the last place, the knowledge of the philosopher is
more extensive than that of other men, in consequence of the
attention which he gives, not merely to objects and events, but
to the relations which different objects and different events bear
to each other.
The observations and the experience of the vulgar are almost
wholly limited to things perceived by the senses.  A similarity
between different objects, or between dif-erent events, rouses
their curiosity, and leads them  to classification and to general
rules.  But a similarity between different relations is seldom to
be traced without previous habits of philosophical inquiry.
Many such similarities or connections, however, are to be found
in nature; and when once they are ascertained, they frequently
lead to important discoveries; not only with respect to other
relations, but with respect to the objects or to the events which
are related.  These remarks it will be necessary to illustrate
more particularly.
Aid derived fronz a study of the relactions of things. - The
great object of geometry is to ascertain the relations which
exist between different quantities, and the connections which
exist between different relations.  When we demonstrate, that
the angle at the centre of a circle is double of the angle at the
circumference on the same base, we ascertain a relation between
two quantities.  When we demonstrate, that triangles of the
same altitude are to each other as their bases, we ascertain a
connection between two relations.  It is obvious, how much the
mathematical sciences must contribute to enlarge our knowledge
of the universe, in consequence of such discoveries.  In that
simplest of all processes of practical geometry, which teaches
us to measure the height of an accessible tower, by comparing
the length of its shadow with that of a staff fixed vertically in
the ground, we proceed on the principle, that the relation
between the shadow of the staff and the heiht of the staff is
the same with the relation between the shadow of the tower
and the height of the tower.  But the former relation we can
ascertain by actual measurement; and, of consequence, we not
only obtain the other relation, but, as we can measure one of




M E T ORY"",                    2 )99
the related quantities, we obtain also the other quantity.  In
every case in which mlathematics aissists us in measuring the
inmagnitudes or the distances of objects, it l)roceeds on the same
principle; that is, it begins with ascertaininc- connections among, dif-l-rent relations, and cthus enables us to carry our inquiries
from facts which are exposed to the examination of our senses,
to the most remote parts of the universe.
I observed, also, that there are various relations existing
amlong physical events, and various connections existing among
these relations.  It is owing to this circumstance, that mathematics is so useful an instrument in the hands of the physical
inquirer.  In that beautiful theorem of Huygens, which demonstrates, that the time of a complete oscillatiokI of a pendulum in
the cycloid, is to the time in which a body would fall through
the axis of the cycloid, as the circumference of a circle is to its
diameter, we are made acquainted with a very curious anl
unexpected connection between two relations; and the knowledgce of this connection facilitates the determination of a most
important fact, with respect to the descent of heavy bodies near
the earth's surface, which could not be ascertained conveniently
by a direct experiment.
In examining with attention t.he relations among different
physical events, a-nd the connections amiong different relations,
we sometimes are led by mere induction to the discovery of a
general law, while, to ordinary observers, nothing appears but
irregularity.  From  the writings of the earlier opticians we
learn, that, in examining the first principles of dioptrics, they
were led, by the analogy of the law of reflection, to search for
the relation between the angles of incidence and refriaction, (in
the case of light passing from one medium into another,) in the
angles themselves; andi that some of them, finding this inquiry
unsuccessful, took the trouble to determine, by experimenlts, (in
the case of the media which most fiequently fall under consideration,) the angle of refiraction corresponding tc every
minute of incidencee.  Some very laborious tables, deduced from
such experiments, are to be found in the works of Kircher.  At
length, Snellius discovered what is now called the law of re-frac



300                      MIEMORY.
tion, which comprehends their whole contents in a single sentence: [the sine of the angle of incidence bears a constant ratio
to the sine of the angle of refraction, for each refracting medium.]
The law of the planetary motions, deduced by Kepler, from
the observations of Tycho Brahe, is another striking illustration
of the order, which an attentive inquirer is sometimes able to
trace, among the relations of physical events, when the events
themselves appear, on a superficial view, to be perfectly anomalous.
Such laws are, in some respects, analogous to the cycles
which I have already mentioned; but they differ from them in
this, that a cycle is; commonly, deduced from observations made
on physical events which are obvious to the senses; whereas
the laws we have now been considering are deduced from  an
examination of relations which are known only to men of science.
The most celebrated astronomical cycles, accordingly, are of a
very remote antiquity, and were probably discovered at a period
when the study of astronomy consisted merely in accumulating
and recording the more striking appearances of' the heavens.
II. Memory aided by the power of dedutcing pcarticular truths
from general principles. —  Having now endeavored to show
how much philosophy contributes to extend our knowledge of
facts, by aiding our natural powers of invention and discovery,
I proceed to explain in what manner it supersedes the necessity of studying particular truths, by putting us in possession of
a comparatively small number of general principles in which
they are involved.
I already remarked the assistance which philosophy gives to
the Memory, in consequence of the arrangement it introduces
among our ideas. In this respect, even a ltypothetical theory
may facilitate the recollection of facts, in the same manner in
which the Memory is aided in remembering  the objects of
natural history by artificial classifications.*
) [" Classification is a contrivance for the best possible ordering of the
ideas of objects in our minds; for causing the ideas to accompany or suc



iaIEMORY.                          301
The advantages, however, we derive from  true philosophy,
are incomparably greater than what are to be expected from
any  hypothetical theories.  These, indeed, may  assist us in
recollecting the particulars we are already  acquainted with;
but it is only from the laws of nature, which have been traced
analytically firom  facts, that we can venture, with safety, to deduce consequences by reasoning'i priori.  An example will
illustrate and confirm  this observation.
Suppose that a glass tube, thirty  inches long, is filled with
ceed one another in such a way as shall give us the greatest command over
our knowledge already acquired, and lead most directly to the acquisition
of more. The general problem of Classification, in reference to these purposes, may be stated as follows: To provide that things shall be thought of
in such groups, and those groups in such an order, as will best conduce to
the remembrance and to the ascertainment of their laws."
" There is no property of objects which may not be taken, if we please,
as the foundation for a classification or mental grouping of those objects;
and, in our first attempts, we are likely to select for that purpose properties
which are simple, easily conceived, and perceptible on a first view, without any previous process of thought. Thus, Tournefort's arrangement of
plants was founded on the shape and divisions of the corolla; and that
which is commonly called the Linnmean, (though Linnlmus also suggested
another and more scientific arrange~ment,) was grounded chiefly upon the
number of the stamens and pistils.
"But these classifications, which are at first recommended by the facility
theyafford us of ascertaining to what class any individual belongs, are
seldom much adapted to the ends of that Classification which is the subject
of our present remarks.  [They are like the alphabetical arrangement of
words in a dictionary, which answers no other purpose than that of enabling us easily to find the particular word which we are in search of.]
The Linnman arrangement answers the purpose of making us think together of all those kinds of plants which possess the same number of staiens and pistils; but to think of them  in that manner is of little use,
since we seldom have any thing to affirm in common of the plants which
have a given number of stamens and pistils.... And inasmuch as,
by habitually thinking of plants in these groups, we are prevented fiom
habitually thinking of them  in groups which have a greater number of
properties in common, the effect of such a classification, when systematically adhered to, upon our habits of thought, must be regarded as mischievous.
"The ends of scientific classification are best answered when the objects
26




302                          MEM3ORY
mercury, excepting eight inches, and is inverted, as in the Torricellian experiment, so that the eight inches of common air may
rise to the top; and that I wish to know  at what  height  the
mercury will remain suspenddcl  in the tube, the barometer being
at that time twenty-eight inches high.  There is here a combination of different laws, which it is necessary to attend to, in
order to be able to predict the result.  1. The air is a heavy
fluid, and the press-ure of the atmosphere is measured by the
column of mercury in the barometer.  2. The air is an elastic
fluid, and its elasticity at the earth's surface (as it resists the
pressure of the atmosphere) is measured by the column of merare for iaed into groups, respecting which a greater number of general propositions can be made, and those propositions more important, than could
be made respecting any other groups into which the same things could be
distributed.  The properties, therefore, according to which objects are
classified, should, if possilble, be those which are the causes of many other
properties; or, at any rate, which are sure marks of them.....A
classification thus formed is properly scientific or philosophical, andi is
commonly called a Natural, in contradistinction to a Tccilnical or Arti
ficial, classification or arrangement."  Mill's Systemn of Logic, Am. ed. pp.
432-434.
To these excellent remarks of Mr. Mill, it may be added, that writers
even upon the moral sciences, in which classification is less essential as an
aid to the processes of invention and discovery, still strive to assist the
Memory of their readers, and to give a sort of factitious unity to their
otherwise isolated disquisitions, by bringing' forwarld, with undue prolminenee, some one fact or principle, on which all their other speculations
seem to hitch, and which serves, so to speak, as a kind of key-note to the
whole work.  Thus, in his Thleory of ]foral Sentisnents, Adam Smith, as
we believe, places more stress upon sympatlzy, and adduces it more frequently to aidl in the explanation of complex moral phenomena, than he
would have cdone for purely philosophical reasons, had he not wished to
give a semblance of harmony andc systematic completeness to his remarks
upon a great variety of subjects. He uses a similar artifice in his great
work upon the TWealth of ~Thationis, in which a great deal more is said about
the clivisionz of labor, than would have appeared necessary, had he not been
anxious to avoid the air of desultory speculation.  A more transparent
artifice is often adopted by periodical essayists, like Steele, Swift, Addison,
and Goldsmith, by carrying out the fiction of a club of contributors, or an
imaginary editor, so that rambling essays upon many subjects may have
a slender thread of connection with eacll other. ]




ia:EMOtY,                     303
cury in the barometer.  3. In different states, the elastic force
of the air is reciprocally as the spaces which it occupies.  But,
in this experiment, the mercury which remains suspended in
the tube, together with the elastic force of the air in the top of
the tube, is a counterbalance to the pressure of the atmosphere;
and therefore, their joint effect must be equal to the pressure of
a column of mercury twenty-eight inches high.  Hence we
obtain an algebraical equation, which affords an easy solution of
the problem.  It is further evident, that mny knowledge of the
physical laws which are here combined, puts it in my power to
foretell the result, not only in' this case, butt in all the cases of a
similar nature which can be supposed.  The problem, in any
particular instance, might be solved by making the experiment;
but the result would be of no use to me, if the slightest alteration were made on the data.
It is in this manner that philosophy, by putting us in possession of a few general facts, enables us to determine, by reasoning, what will be the result of any supposed combination of
them, and thus to comprehend an infinite variety of particulars,
which no IMemory, however vigorous, would have been able to
retain.  In consequence of the knowledge of such general facts,
the philosopher is relieved from the necessity of treasuring up
in his mind all those truths which are involved in his principles,
and which may be deduced from them by reasoning; and he
can often prosecute his discoveries, synthetically, in those parts
of the universe which he has no access to examine by immediate observation.  There is, therefore, this important difference
between the hypothetical theory and a theory obtained by induction; that the latter not only enables us to remember the facts
we already know, but to ascertain, by reasoning, many facts
which we have never had an opportunity of examining: whereas,
when we reason from a hypothesis a priori, we are almost certain of running into error; and, consequently, whatever may
be its use to the Memory, it can never be trusted to in judging
of cases which have not previously fallen within our experience.
In what sciences /ypothetical theories are most useful. - There
are some sciences, in which hypothetical theories are more use



304                      MlEMORY.
ful than in others; those sciences, to wit, in which we nave
occasion for an extensive knowledge and a ready recollection of
facts, and which, at the same time, are yet in too imperfect a
state to allow us to obtain just theories by the method of induction. This is particularly the case in the science of medicine,
in which we are under a necessity to apply our knowledge, such
as it is, to practice. It is, also, in some degree, the case in ayriczlture.  In the merely speculative parts of physic and chemistry, we may go on patiently accumulating facts, without forming
any one conclusion, further than our facts authorize us; and
leave to posterity the credit of establishing the theory to which
our labors are subservient.  But in medicine, in which it is of
consequence to hcave our knowledge at command, it seems reasonable to think, that hypothetical theories may be used with advantage; provided always, that they are considered merely in
the light of artificial memories, and that the student is prepared
to lay them aside, or to correct them, in proportion as his knowledge of nature becomes more extensive. I am, indeed, ready
to confess, that this is a caution which it is more easy to give, than
to follow; for it is painful to change any of our habits of
arrangement, and to relinquish those systems in which we have
been educated, and which have long flattered us with an idea
of our own wisdom. Dr. Gregory mentions it as a striking
and distimnguishing circumstance in the character of Sydenham,
that, although full of hypothetical reasoning, it did not render
him the less attentive to observation; and that his hypotheses
seem to have sat so loosely about him, that either they did not
influence his practice at all, or he could easily abandon them,
whenever they would not bend to his experience.
V. Effects produced on the liemory by committing to writing
our acquired knowledge. - Having treated at considerable length
of the improvement of Memory, it may not be improper, before
leaving this part of the subject, to consider what effects are
likely to be produced on the mind by the practice of committing
to writing our acquired knowledge.  That such a practice is
unfavorable, in some respects, to the faculty of Memory, by
superseding, to a certain degree, the necessity of its exertions,




MEo(RY.                       30O
has been often remarked, and, I belie-ve, is true; but the advantages with which it is attended in other respects, are so important, as to overbalance greatly this trifling inconvenience.
It is not my intention, at present, to examine and compare
together the different methods which have been proposed, of
keeping a commnonplace-book.  In this, as in other cases of a
similar kind, it may be difficult, perhaps, or impossible, to
establish any rules which will apply universally.  Individuals
must be left to judge for themselves, and to adapt their contrivances to the particular nature of their literary pursuits, and
to their own peculiar habits of association and arrangement.
The remarks which I am to offer are very general, and are intended merely to illustrate a few of the advantages which the
art of writing affords to the philosopher, for recording, in the
course of his progress through life, the results of his speculations, and the fruits of his experience.
The utility of writing, in enabling one generation to transmit
its discoveries to another, and in thus giving rise to a gradual
progress in thle species, has been sufficiently illustrated by many
authors.  Little attention, however, has been paid to another of
its effects, which is no less important; I mean, to the foundation
which it lays for a perpetual progress in the intellectual powers
of the individual.
N Advantages of the practice of recording our ideas anzd experience. - It is to experience, and to our own reflections, that
we are indebted for by far the most valuable part of our knowledge; and hence it is, that although in youth the imagination
may be more vigorous, and the genius more original, than in
advanced years; yet, in the case of a man of observation and
inquiry, the judgment may be expected, at least as long as his
faculties remain in perfection, to become every day sounder and
more enlightened.  It is, however, only by the constant practice
of writing, tlhat the results of our experience, and the progress
of our ideas, can be accurately recorded.  If they are trusted
merely to the nMemory, they will gradually vanish from  it like
a dream, or will come in time to be so blended with the suggestions of imagination, that Awe shall not be able to reason from
26*




3,96                     MEMORY.
them with any degree of confidence.  What improvements in
science might we not flatter ourselves with the hopes of accomplishing, had we only activity and industry to treasure up every
plausible hint that occurs to us! Hardly a day passes, when
many such do not occur to ourselves, or are suggested by others;
and detached and insulated as they may appear at present, some
of them may, perhaps, afterwards, at the distance of years, furnish the key-stone of an important system.
A long train of reasoning or investigation cannot be prosecuted
except in writing. - But it is not only in this point of view, that
the philosopher derives advantage from the practice of writing.'Without its assistance, he could seldom  be able to advance
beyond those simple elementary truths which are current in the
world, and which form, in the various branches of science, the
established creed of the age he lives in.  How inconsiderable
would have been the progress of mathlematicians, in their more
abstruse speculations, without the aid of tlhe algebraical notation;
and to what sublime discoveries have they been led by this
beautiful contrivance, which, by relieving the MIemory of' the
effort necessary for recollecting the steps of a long investigat.ion, has enabled them  to prosecute an infinite variety of inquiries, to which the unassisted powers.of the human mind would
have been altogether unequal! In the other sciences, it is true,
we have seldom or never occasion to follow out such long chains
of consequences as in mathematics; but in these sciences, if the
chain of investigation be shorter, it is far more difficult to make
the transition from one link to another; and it is only by dwelling long on our ideas, and rendering them perfectly familiar to
us, that such transitions can, in most instances, be made with
safety. In morals and politics, when we advance a step beyond
those elementary truths which are daily presented to us in books
or conversation, there is no method of rendering our conclusions
familiar to us, but by committing them to writing, and making
them frequently the subjects of our meditation.  When we have
once done so, these conclusions become elementary truths with
respect to us; and we may advance from them with confidence
to others which are more remote, and which are far beyond the




MEMORY.                     3C07
reach of vulgar discovery. By following such a plan, we can
hardly fail to have our industry rewarded in due time by some
important improvement; and it is only by such a plan, that we
can reasonably hope to extend considerably the boundaries of
human knowledge. I do not say that these habits of study are
equally favorable to brilliancy of conversation. On the contrary, I believe that those men who possess this accomplishment
in the highest degree, are such as do not advance beyond elementary truths; or rather, perhaps, who advance only a single
step beyond them; that is, who think a little more deeply than
the vulgar, but whose conclusions are not so far removed from
common opinions, as to render it necessary for them, when called
upon to defend them, to exhaust the patience of their hearers,
by stating a long train of intermediate ideas. They who have
pushed their inquiries much further than the common systems
of their times, and have rendered familiar to their own minds
the intermediate steps by which they have been led to their conclusions, are too apt to conceive other men to be in the same
situation with themselves; and when they mean to instruct, are
mortified to find that they are only regarded as paradoxical and
visionary. It is but rarely we find a man of very splendid and
various conversation to be possessed of a profound judgment,
or of great originality of genius.
Nor is it merely to the philosopher, who wishes to distinguish
himself by his discoveries, that writing affords a useful instrument of study. Important assistance may be derived from it
by all those who wish to impress on their minds the investigations which occur to them in the course of their reading; for
although writing may weaken, as I already acknowledge it does,
a Memory for detached observations, or for insulated facts, it
will be found the only effectual method of fixing in it, permanently, those acquisitions which involve long processes of
reasoning.
Htow what we learn fromn  another may be made our own.
When we are employed in inquiries of our own, the conclusions
which we form make a mtuch deeper and more lasting impres.
sion on the AMemory, than any knowledge which we imbibe pas



308                        M E31:Eo r.
sively from another.  This is undoubtedly owing, in part, to the
effect which the ardor of discovery has, in rousing the activity
of the mind, and in fixing its attention; but I apprehend it is
chiefly to be ascribed to this, that when we follow out a train
of thinking of our own, our ideas are arranged in that order
which is most agreeable to our prevailing habits of association.
The only method of putting our acquired knowledge on a level,
in this respect, with our original speculations, is, after making
ourselves acquainted with our author's ideas, to study the subject over again in our own way; to pause, from time to time,
in the course of our reading, in order to consider what we have
gained; to recollect what the propositions are, which the author
wishes to establish, and to examine the different proofs which
he employs to support them.  In making such an experiment,
we commonly find, that the different steps of the process arrange
themselves in our mIinds, in a manner different from  that in
which the author has stated them; and that, while his argument seems, in some places, obscure, from  its conciseness, it is
tedious in others, from  being unnecessarily expanded.  When
we have reduced the reasoning to that form which appears to
ourselves to be the most natural and satisfactory, we may conclude with certainty, not that this form  is better in itself than
another, but that it is the best adapted to our Memory.  Such
reasonings, therefore, as we have occasion frequently to apply,
either in the business of life, or in the course of our studies, it
is of importance to us to commit to writing, in a language and
in an order of our own; and if, at any time, we find it necessary
to refresh our recollection on the subject, to have recourse to
our own composition, in preference to that of any other author.@
t [It is a little remarkable that Stewart, in this ingenious disquisition
upon the advantages of the practice of writing out our thoughts, should
have overlooked that upon which Lord Bacon lays especial stress, when
he says, "R eading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man." In no other way, are we so sure of obtaining precision
and exactness in our knowledge and in our trains of reasoning and
speculation, as by writing out our thoughts and recollections as fast as
they occur to us, whether we afterwards carefully examine the manuscript




MEMORY.                           309
Different modes of reading. -  That the plan of reading which
is commonly followed is very different from  that which I have
been recommending, will not be disputed.  Mlost people read
merely to pass an idle hour, or to please themselves with the
idea of employment, while their indolence prevents them firom
any active exertion; and a considerable number, with a view to
the display which they are afterwards to make of their literary
acquisitions.  From  whichsoever of these motives a person is
led to the perusal of books, it is hardly possible that he can
derive from them any material advantage. If he reads merely
from indolence, the ideas which pass through his mind will
probably leave little or no impression; and if he reads from
vanity, he will be more anxious to select striking particulars in
the matter or expression, than to seize the spirit and scope of
the author's reasoning, or to examine how far he has made any
additions to the stock of useful and solid knowledge.  "Though
it is scarce possible," says Dr. Butler, "' to avoid judging, in some
way or other, of almost every thing which offers itself to one's
thoughts, yet it is certain that many persons, from  different
causes, never exercise their judgment upon what comes before
them, in such a manner as to be able to determine how far it be
conclusive. They are perhaps entertained with some things,
not so with others; they like, and they dislike; but whether
or not.  In conversation, and even in our studious meditations,, the
attention is apt to wander fiom the main subject in hand, gaps and
fallacies in reasoning escape unnoticed, and vagueness or uncertainty of
expression is apt to dim the truth of which we were just beginning to
catch a glimpse. But when we think with the pen in hand, we are compelled to think slowly; we are obliged to pause upon the thought which
we are writing out, while at the same time the attention is not allowed
to wander from it, so that other related ideas have time to be suggested
to us, and we have time to reflect upon these before they are adopted.
The necessary effort to retain perspicuity of language tends to give pre.
cision to our thoughts; and the idea which was only half formed ot
vaguely seen when we began to write, soon swells out into harnmony
and completeness.  The effort to instruct others has a similar effect
upon the mind with that of writing out our knowledge; hence tlie force
of the old proverb, dlcere ldios cloce doctorell. I




31)                      rEMORY.
that which is proposed to be made out, be really made out or
not; whether a matter be stated according to the real truth of
the case, seems, to the generality of people, a circumstance of
little or no importance.  Arguments are often wanted for some
accidental purpose; but proof, as such, is what they never want,
for their own satisfaction of mind, or conduct in life. Not to
mention the multitudes who read merely for the sake of talking,
or to qulalify themselves for the world, or some such kind of
reasons, there are, even of the few who read for their own
entertainment, and have a real curiosity to see zwhat is said,
several, which is astonishing, who have no sort of curiosity to
see what is trte; I say curiosity, because it is too obvious to be
mentioned how much that religious and sacred attention which
is due to truth, and to the important question, what is the rule
of life, is lost out of the world.
" For the sake of this whole class of readers, for they are of
different capacities, different kinds, and get into this way fiom
different occasions, I have often wished that it had been the
custom  to lay before people nothing in matters of argument
but premises, and leave them to draw conclusions themselves;
which, although it could not be done in all cases, might in
many.
"The great number of books and papers of amusement,
which, of one kind or another, daily come in one's way, have in
part occasioned, and mo-st perfectly fall in with and humor, this
idle way of reading and considering things.  By this means,
time, even in solitude, is happily got rid of without the pain of
attention; neither is any part of it more put to the account of
idleness, (one can scarce forbear saying, is spent with less
thought,) than great part of that which is spent in reading."
If the plan of study which I formerly described were adopted,
it would, undoubtedly, diminish very much the number of books
which it would be possible to turn over; but I am convinced
that it would add greatly to the stock of useful and solid knowledge; and, by rendering our acquired ideas in some measure
xur own, would give us a more ready and practical command of
meem; not to mention, that if we are possessed of any inventive




l} cMEMORY.                    3 I 811
powers, such exercises would continually furnish them with an
opportunity of displaying themselves upon all the different subjects which may pass under our review.
Nothing, in truth, has such a tendency to weaken, not only
the powers of invention, but the intellectual powers in general,
as a habit of extensive and various reading, without reflection.
The activity and force of the mind are gradually impaired, in
consequence of disuse; and not unfrequently all our principles
and opinions come to be lost, in the infinite multiplicity and discordancy of our acquired ideas.
By confining our ambition to pursue the truth with modesty
and candor, and learning to value our acquisitions only as fiar
as they contribute to make us wiser and happier, we may, perhaps, be obliged to sacrifice the temporary admiration of' the
common dispensers of literary fame; but we may rest assured,
that it is in this way only we can hope to make real progress in
knowledge, or to enrich the world with useful inventions.
"It requires courage, indeed," as I-elvetius has remarked,
"to remain ignorant of those useless subjects which are generally valued;" but it is a courage necessary to men who either
love the truth, or who aspire to establish a permanent reputation.
VI. Of artificial iemory. -By an artificial Memory is
meant, a method of connecting in the mind things difficult to be
remembered, with the things easily remembered; so as to enable it to retain and to recollect the former, by means of the
latter.  For this purpose, various contrivances have been proposed, but I think the foregoing definition applies to all of them.
Some sorts of artificial Memory are intended to assist the
natural powers of the human mind on lparticular occasions,
which require a more than ordinary effort of recollection; for
example, to assist a public speaker to recollect the arrangement
of a long discourse.  Others have been devised with a view to
enable us to extend the circle of our acquired knowledge, and
to give us a more ready command of all the various particulars
of' our information.
Tile tvopical Memory so much celebrated among the ancient
rhuetoricians, comes tinder the former description.




312             -        MEMORY.
fHow association may be made to assist iiMemory.- I already remarked the effect of sensible objects, in recalling to the mind the
ideas with which it happened to be occupied, at the time when
these objects were formerly perceived. In travelling along a
road, the sight of the more remarkable scenes we meet with,
frequently puts us in mind of the subjects we were thinking or
talking of when we last saw them.  Such facts, which are perfectly familiar even to the vulgar, might very naturally suggest
the possibility of assisting the Memory, by establishing a connection between the ideas we'wish to remember, and certain sensible
objects, which have been found from experience to make a per-,
manent impression on the mind. I have been told of a young
woman, in a very low rank of life, who contrived a method of
committing to 1Memory the sermons which she was accustomed
to hear, by fixing her attention, during the different heads of
the discourse, on different compartments of the roof of the
church, in such a manner as that, when she afterwards saw the
roof, or recollected the order in which its compartments were
disposed, she recollected the method which the preacher had
observed in treating his subject. This contrivance was perfectly
analogous to the topical Memory of the ancients; an art which,
whatever be the opinion we entertain of its use, is certainly
entitled, in a high degree, to the praise of ingenuity.
Suppose that I were to fix in my iMemory the different
apartments in some very large building, and that I had accustomed myself to think of these apartments always in the same
invariable order. Suppose further, that in preparing myself
for a public discourse, in which I had occasion to treat of a great
variety of particulars, I was anxious to fix in my Memory the
order I proposed to observe in the communication of my ideas.
It is evident, that by a proper division of my subject into heads,
and by connecting each head with a particular apartment,
(which I could easily do, by conceiving myself to be sitting in
the apartment while I was studying the part of my discourse I
meant to connect with it,) the habitual order in which these
apartments occurred to my thoughts, would present to me, in
their proper arrangement, and without any effort on my part,




PMEMORY.                      313
the ideas of which I was to treat.  It is also obvious, that a
very little practice would enable me to avail myself of this contrivance, without any embarrassment or distraction of my attention.
How far artificial Memory is useful. -As to tle utility of
this art, it appears to me to depend entirely on the particular
object which we suppose the speaker to have in view; whether,
as was too often the case with the ancient rhetoricians, to bewilder a judge, and to silence an adversary; or fairly and candidly to lead an audience to the truth.  On the former supposition, nothing can possibly give an orator a greater superiority,
than the possession of a secret, which, while it enables him to
express himself with facility and the appearance of method,
puts it in his power, at the same time, to dispose his arguments
and his facts in whatever order  he judges to be the most proper
to mislead the judgment, and to perplex the Memory, of those
whom he addresses.  And such, it is manifest, is the effect, not
only of the topical Mlemory of the ancients, but of all other
contrivances which aid the recollection, upon any principle different from the natural and logical arrangement of our ideas.
To those, on the other hand, who speak with a view to convince or to inform others, it is of consequence that the topics
whlich they mean to illustrate, should be arranged in an order
equally favorable to their own recollection and to that of their
hearers. For this purpose, nothing is effectual but that method
which is suggested by the order of their own investigations; a
method which leads the mind from one idea to another, either
by means of obvious and striking associations, or by those relations which connect the different steps of a clear and accurate
process of reasoning. It is thus only that the attention of an
audience can be completely and incessantly engaged, and that
the substance of a long discourse can be remembered without
effort. And it is thus only that a speaker, after a mature consideration of his subject, can possess a just confidence in his
own powers of recollection, in stating all the different premises
which lead to the conclusion he wishes to establish.
Various kinds of artificial femory. - In modern times, such
27




314                      MEOIRY.
contrivances have been very little, if at all, made use of by publie speakers; but various ingenious attempts have been made,
to assist the AMemory in acquiring and retaining those branches
of knowledge which it has been supposed necessary for a
scholar to carry always about with him; and which, at the same
time, firom the number of particular details which they involve,
are not calculated, of themselves, to make a very lasting impression on the mind.  Of this sort is the lemnor~ea Technica of
BMr. Grey, in which a great deal of historical, chronological,
and geographical knowledge is comprised in a set of verses,
which the student is supposed to make as familiar to himself as
school-boys do the rules of grammar. These verses are, in
general, a mere assemblage of proper names, disposed in a rude
sort of measure; some slight alterations being occasionally
made on the final syllables of the words, so as to be significant
(according to certain principles laid down in the beginning of
the work) of important dates, or of other particulars which it
appeared to the author useful to associate with the names.
I have heard very opposite opinions with respect to the
utility of this ingenious system.  The prevailing opinion is, I
believe, against it; although it has been mentioned in terms of
high approbation by some writers of eminence. Dr. Priestley,
whose judgment, in matters of this sort, is certainly entitled to
respect, has said, that " it is a method so easily learned, and
which may be of so much use in recollecting dates, when other
methods are not at hand, that he thinks all persons of a liberal
education inexcusable, who will not take the small degree of
pains that is necessary to make themselves masters of it; or
who think any thing mean, or unworthy of their notice, which
is so useful and convenient."
In judging of the utility of this, or of any other contrivance
of the same kind, to a particular person, a great deal must depend on the species of Memory which he has received from
nature, or has acquired in the course of his early education.
Some men, as I already remarked, (especially among those who
have been habitually exercised in childhood in getting by heart
grammar rules,) have an extraordinary facility in srequiring and




MEMIORY.                      315
retaining the most barbarous and the nmost insignificant verses;
which another person would find as difficult to remember, as the
geographical and chronological details of which it is the object
of this art to relieve the Memory.  Allowing, therefore, the
general utility of the art, no one method, perhaps, is entitled to
an exclusive preference; as one contrivance may be best suited
to the faculties of one person, and a very different one to those
of another.
Objection to all expedients of this natzcre. —One important
objection applies to all of them, that they accustom the mind to
associate ideas by accidental and arbitrary connections; and,
therefore, how much soever they may contribute, in the course
of conversation, to an ostentatious display of acquired knowledge, they are, perhaps, of little real service to us, when we are
seriously engaged in the pursuit of truth. I own, too, I am
very doubtful with respect to the utility of a great part of that
information which they are commonly employed to impress on
the Memory, and on which the generality of learned men are
disposed to value themselves. It certainly is of no use, but in
so far as it is subservient to the gratification of their vanity;
and the acquisition of it consumes a great deal of time and
attention, which might have been employed in extending the
boundaries of human knowledge.  To those, however, who are
of a different opinion, such contrivances as MIr. Grey's may be
extremely useful; and to all men they may be of service, in
fixing in the Memory those insulated and uninteresting particulars which it is either necessary for them to be acquainted with,
from their situation, or which custom has rendered, in the common opinion, essential branches of a liberal education.  I would,
in particular, recommend this author's method of recollecting
dates, by substituting letters for the numeral cyphers; and
forming these letters into words, and the words into verses. I
have found it, at least in my own case, the most effectual of all
such contrivances of which I have had experience.
VII. Importance of making a proper selection among the objects of our knowledge, in order to derive advantage from  the
acquisitions of /flemory, —  The cultivation of Memory, with all




316                      MEMORIY.
tile helps that we can derive to it from art, will be of little use
to us, unless we make a proper selection of the particulars to
be remembered. Such a selection is necessary to enable us to
profit by reading; and still more so, to enable us to profit by
observation, to which every man is indebted for by far the most
valuable part of his knowledge.
When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we corn
monly find our efforts of attention painful and unsatisfactory.
We have no discrimination in our curiosity; and by grasping at
every thing, we fail in making those moderate acquisitions which
are suited to our limited faculties. As our knowledge extends,
we learn to know what particulars are likely to be of use to us;
and acquire a habit of directing our examination to these, without distracting the attention with others.  It is partly owing to
a similar circumstance, that most readers complain of a defect
of Memory, when they first enter on the study of history.  They
cannot separate important from trifling facts, and find themselves
unable to retain any thing, from their anxiety to secure the
whole.
flow such a selection can best be made. - In order to give a
proper direction to our attention in the course of our studies, it
is useful, before engaging in particular pursuits, to acquire as
familiar an acquaintance as possible with the great outlines of
the different branches of science; with the most important conclusions which have hitherto been formed in them, and with the
most important desiderata which remain to be supplied.  In the
case, too, of those parts of knowledge which are not yet ripe
for the formation of philosophical systems, it may be of use to
study the various hypothetical theories which have been proposed for connecting together and arranging the phenomena.
By such general views alone, we can prevent ourselves from
being lost amidst a labyrinth of particulars, or can engage in a
course of extensive and various reading with an enlightened
and discriminating attention.  While they withdraw our notice
from barren and insulated facts, they direct it to such as tend to
illustrate principles which have either been already established,
or which, from having that degree of connection among them



~MEMORY-.                        317
selves which is nece, sary to give plausibility to a hypothetical
theory, are likely to furnish, in time, the materials of a juster
system.
The proper use of hypothetical theories. -  Some of the followers of Lord Bacon have, I think, been led, in their zeal for the
method of induction, to censure hypothetical theories with too
great a degree of severity.  Such theories have certainly been
frequently of use, in putting philosophers upon the road of discovery. Indeed, it has probably been in this way, that most
discoveries have been made; for although a knowledge of facts
must be prior to the formation of a just theory, yet a hypothetical theory is generally our best guide to the knowledge of useful
facts.  If a man, without forming to himself any conjecture
concerning the unknown laws of nature, were to set himself
merely to accumulate facts at random, he might, perhaps, stumble
upon some important discovery; but by far the greater part of
his labors would be wholly useless. Every philosophical inquirer, before he begins a set of experiments, has some general
principle in his view, which he suspects to be a law of nature;X
and although his conjectures may be often wrong, yet they serve
to give his inquiries a particular direction, and to bring under
his eye a number of facts which have a certain relation to each
other.  It has been often remarked, that the attempts to discover
the philosopher's stone, and the quadrature of the circle, have
led to many useful discoveries in chemistry and mathematics.
And they have plainly done so, merely by limiting the field of
observation and inquiry, and checking that indiscriminate and
desultory attention which is so natural to an indolent mind. A
* " Recte siquidem Plato,' Qui aliquid qunrit, id ipsum, quod qumnrit,
generali quadam notione comprehendit: aliter, qui fieri potest, ut illud,
cum fuerit inventurn, agnoscat' Idcirco quo amplior et certior fuerit
anticipatio nostra, eo magis directa et compendiosa erit investigatio." -
[As Plato justly observes,' He who is in search of any thing, has some
general notion of what it is that he is seeking for; otherwise, how should
he recognize it when found i' Therefore, according as our anticipation is
full and clear, so will our investigation be brief and direct.] -De Aug.
Scient. lib. v. cap. 3.
27*




318                      MEMORY.
hypothetical theory, however erroneous, may answer a similar
purpose.  "Prudens interrogatio," says Lord Bacon, 1" est dimidium  scientita.  Vaga enim  experientia et se tantum sequens
mera palpatio est, et homines potius stupefacit quam informat."
[A wise conjecture is one half of knowledge.  For experimental
investigation made at random, and only following itself, is mere
groping, and rather confounds than instructs men.]  What, indeed, are Newton's queries, but so many hypotheses whicl are
proposed as subjects of examination to philosophers?  And did
not even the great doctrine of gravitation take its first rise from
a fortunate conjecture?
While, therefore, we maintain, with the followers of Bacon,
that no theory is to be admitted as proved, any further than it
is supported by facts, we should, at the same time, acknowledge
our obligations to those writers who hazard their conjectures to
the world with modesty and diffidence.  And it may not be improper to add, that men of a systematizing turn are not now so
useless as formerly; for we are already possessed of a great
stock of facts; and there is scarcely any theory so bad, as not
to bring together a number of particulars which have a certain
degree of relation or analogy to each other.
The foregoing remarks are applicable to all our various
studies; whether they are conducted in the way of reading, or
of observation.  From neither of these two sources of information can we hope to derive much advantage, unless we have
some general principles to direct our attention to proper objects.
Whazmt to observe. - With respect to observation, some fl rther
cautions may be useful; for, in guarding against an indiscriminate accumulation of particulars, it is possible to fall into the
opposite extreme, and to acquire a habit of inattention to the
phenomena which present themselves  to our senses.  The
former is the error of men of little education; the latter is
more common among men of retirement and study.
-Danger of withdrawing the attent.ion too much from partrculars and detcails.- One of the chief effects of a liberal education, is, to enable us to withdraw the attention from the present objects of our perceptions, ani to dwell at pleasure on thel




MEMORY.                        319
past, the absent, or the future.  But when we are led to carry
these efforts to an excess, either from a warm  and romantic
imagination, or from anxious and sanguine temper, it is easy to
see that the power of observation is likely to be weakened, and
habits of inattention to be contracted.  The same effect may be
produced by too early an indulgence in philosophical pursuits,
before the mind has been prepared for the study of general
truths, by exercising its faculties among particulaP objects and
particular occurrences. In this way, it contracts an aversion to
the examination of details, from the pleasure which it has experienced in the contemplation or in the discovery of general
principles.   Both of these turns of thought, however, presuppose a certain degree of observation; for the materials of
imagination are supplied by the senses; and the general truths
which occupy the philosopher, would be wholly unintelligible to
him, if he was a total stranger to all experience with respect to
the course of nature and of human life. The observations, indeed, which are made by men of a warm imagination, are likely
to be inaccurate and fallacious; and those of the speculative
philosopher are frequently carried no further than is necessary
to enable him to comprehend the terms which relate to the subjects of his reasoning; but both the one and the other must
have looked abroad occasionally at nature, and at the world; if
not to ascertain facts by actual examination, at least to store
their minds with ideas.
The metapklysician, whose attention is directed to the faculties
and operations of the mind, is the only man who possesses within
himself the materials of his specucdtions and reasonings.  It is
accordingly, among this class of literary men, that habits of inattention to things external have been carried to the greatest
extreme.
It is observed by Dr. Reid, that the power of reflection, (by
which he means the power of attending to the subjects of our
consciousness,) is the last of our intellectual faculties which unfolds itself; and that, in the greater part of mankind, it never
unfolds itself at all. It is a power, indeed, which being subservient merely to the gratification of metaphysical curiosity, it




320                      ME iSTORY.
is not essentially necessary for us to possess, in any considerable degree.  The power of observation, on the other hand,
which is necessary for the preservation even of our animal existence, discovers itself in infants long before they attain the use
of speech, or rather, I should have said, as soon as'they come
into the world; and where nature is allowed free scope, it continues active and vigorous through life. It was plainly the intention of nature, that in infancy and youth, it should occupy
the mind alnmost exclusively, and that we should acquire all our
necessary information before engaging in speculations which
are less essential; and accordingly, this is the history of the intellectual progress, in by far the greater number of individuals.
In consequence of this, the difficulty of metaphysical researches
is undoubtedly much increased; for the mind, being constantly
occupied in the earlier part of life about the properties and laws
of matter, acquires habits of inattention to the subjects of consciousness, which are not to be surmounted, without a degree of
patience and perseverance of which few men are capable; but
the inconvenience would evidently have been greatly increased,
if the order of nature had, in this respect, been reversed, and if
the curiosity had been excited at as early a period, by the phenomena of the intellectual world, as by those of the material.
Of what would have happened on this supposition, we may form
a judgment from those men who, in consequence of an excessive
indulgence in metaphysical pursuits, have weakened, to an unnatural degree, their capacity of attending to external objects
and occurrences. Few metaphysicians, perhaps, are to be found,
who are not deficient in the power of observation; for, although
a taste for such abstract speculations is far from being common,
it is more apt, perhaps, than any other, when it has once been
formed, to take an exclusive hold of the mind, and to shut up
the other sources of intellectual improvement.  As the metaphysician carries within himself the materials of his reasonings,
he is not under a necessity of looking abroad for subjects of
speculation or amusement; and unless he be very careful to
guard against the effects of his favorite pursuits, he is in more
danger than literary men of any other denomination, to lose all




MEMORY.                       321
interest about the common and proper objects of human curiosity.
hz education, the study of the mind should come last. - Tc
prevent any danger from this quarter, I apprehend that the
study of the mind should form the last branch of the education
of youth; an order which nature herself seems to point out, by
what I have already remarked, with respect to the development
of our faculties. After the understanding is well stored with
particular fitcts, and has been conversant with particular scientific
pursuits, it will be enabled to speculate concerning its own
powers with additional advantage, and will run no hazard of
indulging too far in such inquiries.  Nothing can be more absurd, on this as well as on many other accounts, than the common practice which is followed in our universities, of beginning
a course of philosophical education with the study of logic.  If
this order were completely reversed; and if the study of logic
were delayed till after the mind of the student was well stored
with particular facts in physics, in chemistry, in natural and
civil history; his attention might be led with the most important
advantage, and without any danger to his power of observation,
to an examination of his own faculties; which, besides opening
to him a new and pleasing field of speculation, would enable him
to form an estimate of his own powers, of the acquisitions he
has made, of the habits he has formed, and of the further improvements of which his mind is susceptible.
In general, wherever habits of' inattention, and an incapacity
of observation, are very remarkable, they will be found to have
arisen from some defect in early education.  I already remarked,
that, when nature is allowed free scope, the curiosity, during
early youth, is alive to every external object, and to every external occurrence, while the powers of imagination and reflection
do not display themselves till a much later period; the former
till about the age of puberty, and the latter till we approach to
manhood. It sometimes, however, happens that, in consequence
of a peculiar disposition of mind, or of an infirm bodily constitution, a child is led to seek amusement from books, and to lose
a relish for those recreations which are suited to his age.  In




322 2IEMoRtY
such instances, the ordinary progress of the intellectual powers
is prematurely quickened; but that best of all educations is lost
which nature has prepared both for the philosopher and the man
of the world, amidst the active sports and the hazardous adventtures of childhood.  It is from these alone, that we can acquire,
not only that force of character which is suited to the more
ardulous situations of life, but that complete and prompt commland of attention to things external, without which, the highest
elldown-rT-ients of the understanding, however they may fit a man
fIbr the solitary speculations of the closet, are but of little use in
the practice of atfairs, or for enabling him to profit by his personal experience.
Ho1w habits of inattention to details may be corrected. -'Where,
however, such habits of inattention have unfortunately been
contracted, we ought not to despair of them  as perfectly incurable.  The attention, indeed, as I formerly remarked, can
seldom be forced in particular instances; but we may gradually
learn to place the objects we wish to attend to, in lights more
interesting than those in which we have been accustomed to
view them. Much may be expected from  a change of scene,
and a change of pursuits; but above all, much may be expected
fiom  foreign travel.  The objects which we meet with excite
our surprise by their novelty; and in this manner, we not only
gradually acquire the power of observing and examining them
with attention, but, firom the effects of contrast, the curiosity
comes to be roused with respect to the corresponding objects in
our own country, which, from our early familiarity with them,
we had formerly been accustomed to overlook. In this respect,
the effects of foreign travel, in directing the attention to familiar
objects and occurrences, is somewhat analogous to that which
the study of a dead or of a foreign language produces, in leading the curiosity to examine the grammatical structure of our
Considertable advantage may also be derived, in overcomling
the habits of inattention, which we may have contracted to particular subjects, from studying the systems, true or false, which
philosophers have proposed for explaining or for arranging the




MEMORY.                        323
facts connected with them.  By means of these systenms, not
only is the curiosity circumscribed and directed, instead of being
allowed to wander at random, but, in consequence of our being
enabled to connect facts with general principles, it becomes
interested in the examination of those particulars which would
otherwise have escaped our notice.
VIII. Of the connection between Mklemory and plo/ilosok)/fi'cal
genius.- It is commonly supposed, that genius is seldom united
with a very tenacious M3emory.  So far, however, as, my own
observation has reached, I can scarcely recollect one person
who possesses the former of these qualities, without a more thanl
ordinary share of the latter.
On a superficial view of the subject, indeed, the cown mon
opinion has some appearance of truth; for, we are naturally led,
in consequence of the topics about which conversation is usually
employed, to estimate the extent of Memory by the impression
which trivial occurrences make upon it; and these, in general,
escape the recollection of a man of ability, not because ihe is
tenable to retain them, but because he does not attend to tzemn.  t1is probable, likewise, that accidental associations, founded oil
contiguity in time and place, may make but a slight impression
on his mind.  But it does not, therefore, follow, that his stock
of filets is small. They are connected together in his I3emory
by principles of association different from  those which prevail
in ordinary minds; and they are, on that very account, the more
useful; for as the associations are founded upon real connections among the ideas, (although they may be less conducive to
the fluency, and perhaps to the wit, of conversation,) they are
of incomparably greater use in suggesting facts which are to
serve as a foundation for reasoning or for invention.
It frequently happens, too, that a man of genius, in conse.quence of a peculiarly strong attachment to a particular subject,
may first feel a want of inclination, and may afterwards acquire
a want of capacity, of attending to common occurrences.  But
it is probable, that the whole stock of ideas in his mind is not
inferior to that of other men; and that, however unprofitably he
may have directed his curiosity, the ignorance which he dis



324                     HIEMORY.
covers on ordinary subjects does not arise from a want of
MVfemory, but from a peculiarity in the selection which he has
made of the objects of his study.
Montaigne frequently complains in his writings of his want
of Memory; and he indeed gives many very extraordinary
instances of his ignorance on some of the most ordinary topics
of information. But it is obvious to any person who reads his
works with attention, that this ignorance did not proceed from
an original defect of Memory, but from the singular and whimsical direction which his curiosity had taken at an early period
of life. " I can do nothing," says he," without my memorandumbook; and so great is my difficulty in remembering proper
names, that I am forced to call my domestic servants by their
offices. I am ignorant of the greater part of our coins in use;
of the difference of one grain from another, both in the earth
and in the granary; what use leaven is of in making bread, and
why wine must stand some time in the vat before it ferments."
Yet the same author appears evidently, from his writings, to
have had his Memory stored with an infinite variety of apophthegms, and of historical passages, which had struck his imagination; and to have been familiarly acquainted, not only with the
names, but with the absurd and exploded opinions of the ancient
philosophers; with the ideas of Plato, the atoms of Epicurus,
the plenum and vacuum of Leucippus and Democritus, the water
of Thales, the numbers of Pythagoras, the infinite of Parmenides, and the unity of MIusaus. In complaining, too, of his
want of presence of mind, he indirectly acknowledges a degree
of Memory, which, if it had been judiciously employed, would
have been more than sufficient for the acquisition of all those
common branches of knowledge, in which he appears to have
been deficient. " When I have an oration to speak," says he,
"of any considerable length, I am reduced to the miserable
necessity of getting it, word for word, by heart."
The strange and apparently inconsistent combination of
knowledge and ignorance which the writings of Montaigne exhibit, led Malebranche, (who seems to have formed too low an
opinion both of his genius and character,) to tax him with af?




3MEMlORY.                     325
fectation; and even to call in question the credibility of some
of his assertions.  But no one who is well acquainted with this
most amusing author, can reasonably suspect his veracity; and,
in the present instance, I can give him complete credit, not only
from my general opinion of his sincerity, but from having ob.
served, in the course of my own experience, more than one example of the same sort of combination; not, indeed, carried to
such a length as Montaigne describes, but bearing a striking
resemblance to it.
The observations which have already been made, account, in
part, for the origin of the common opinion, that genius and
Memory are seldom united in great degrees in the same person;
and at the same time show, that some of the facts on which thailt
opinion is founded do not justify such a conclusion.  Besides
these, however, there are other circumstances, which, at first
view, seem rather to indicate an inconsistency between extensive MIemory and original genius.
Wchat kind of Jlemory is possessed by the philosopher. - The
species of Memory which excites the greatest degree of adtmiration in the ordinary intercourse of society, is a Memory for
detached and insulated facts; and it is certain that those men
who are possessed of it are very seldom  distinguished by the
higher gifts of the mind.  Such a species of Memory is unfavorable to philosophical arrangement; because it in part supplies the place of arrangement.  One great use of philosophy,
as I already showed, is to give us an extensive command of
particular truths, by furnishing us with general principles, undcir
which a number of such truths is comprehended.  A person in
whose mind casual associations of time and place make a lasting'
impression, has not the same inducements to philosophize, with
others, who connect facts together chiefly by the relations *of
cause and effect, or of premises and conclusion. I have heard
it observed, that those men who have risen to the greatest eminence in the profession of law, have been, in general, such as
had at first anl aversion to the study. The reason probably is,
that to a mind fond of general principles, every study must be
28




326                      IIEMOPR Y.
at first disgusting, which presents to it a chaos of facts apparently unconnected with each other.  But this love of arrangement, if united with persevering industry, will at last conquer
every difficulty; will introduce order into what seemed, on a
superficial view, a mass of confusion, and reduce the dry and
uninteresting detail of positive statutes into a system  comparatively luminous and beautiful.
The observation, I believe, may be made more general, and
may be applied to every science in which there is a great nmultiplicity of facts to be remembered.  A man destitute of genius
may, with little effort, treasure up in his memory a number of
particulars in chemistry or natural history, which he refers to
no principle, and from which he deduces no conclusion; and
from his facility in acquiring this stock of information, may
flatter himself with the belief -that he possesses a natural taste
for these branches of knowledge. But they who are really
destined to extend the boundaries of science, when they first
enter on new pursuits, feel their attention distracted, and their
Memory overloaded, with facts among which they can trace no
relation, and are sometimes apt to despair entirely of their future progress. In due time, however, their superiority appears,
and arises in part from that very dissatisfaction which they at
first experienced, and which does not cease to stimulate their
inquiries, till they are enabled to trace, amidst a chaos of apparently unconnected materials, that simplicity and beauty
which always characterize the operations of nature.
Inconveniences experienced by men of genius. - There are,
besides, other circumstances which retard the progress of a man
of genius, when lie enters on a new pursuit, and which sometimes render him apparently inferior to those who are possessed
of ordinary capacity. A want of curiosity and of invention
facilitates greatly the acquisition of knowledge.  It renders the
mind passive in receiving the ideas of' others, and saves all the
time which might be employed in examining their foundation,
or in tracing their consequences.  They who are possessed of
much acuteness and originality, enter with difficulty into the,




31M1ORY.                     327
views of others; not from any defect in their power of apprehension, but because they cannot adopt opinions which they
have not examined; and because their attention is often seduced by their own speculations.
It is not merely in the acquisition of knowledge, that a man
of genius is likely to find himself surpassed by others; he has
commonly his information much less at command, than those
who are possessed of an inferior degree of originality; and,
what is somewhat remarkable, he has it least of all at command
on those subjects on which he has found his invention most fertile. Sir Isaac Newton, as we are told by Dr. Pemberton, was
often at a loss, when the conversation turned on his own discoveries. It is probable that they made but a slight impression on
his mind, and that a consciousness of his inventive powers prevented him from taking much pains to treasure them up in his
Memory. Men of little ingenuity seldom forget the ideas they
acquire; because they know, that, when an occasion occurs for
applying their knowledge to use, they must trust to AMemory and
not to invention. Explain an arithmetical rule to a person of
common understanding, who is unacquainted with the principles
of the science; he will soon get the rule by heart, and become
dexterous in the application of it. Another, of more ingenuity,
will examine the principle of the rule before he applies it to
use, and will scarcely take the trouble to commit to Memory a
process which he knows he can, at any time, with a little reflection, recover. The consequence will be, that, in the practice
of calculation, he will appear more slow and hesitating, than if
he followed the received rules of arithmetic without reflection
or reasoning.
Prompt recollection may be mistaken for readiness of apprehension. - Something of the same kind happens every day in
conversation. By far the greater part of the opinions we announce in it, are not the immediate result of reasoning on the
spot, but have been previously formed in the closet, or, perhaps,
have been adopted implicitly on the authority of others. The
promptitude, therefore, with which a man decides in ordinary
discourse, is not a certain test of the quickness of his appres




328'                       MEMORY.
hension;' as it may, perhaps, arise from those uncommon
efforts to furnish the Memory  with acquired knowledge, by
which men of slow parts endeavor to compensate for their want
of invention; while, on the other hand, it is possible that a
consciousness of originality may give rise to a manner apparently embarrassed, by leading  the person who feels it, to trust
too much to extempore exertions.t
TWFIat kind of ZiMemory rarely accompanies original geni ls. 
In general, I believe, it may be laid down as a rule, that those
who carry about with them a great degree of acquired information, which they have always at command, or who have rendered their own discoveries so familiar to them, as always to be
in a condition to explain them, without recollection, are very
seldom possessed of much invention, or even of much quickness
of apprehension. A man of original genius, who is fond of
exercising his reasoning powers anew on every point as it occurs
to him, and who cannot submit to rehearse the ideas of others,
or to repeat by rote the conclusions which he has deduced friom
previous reflection, often appears, to superficial observers, to fall
below  the level of ordinary understandings; while another,
destitute both of quickness and invention, is admired for that
promptitude in his decisions, which arises from the inferiority of
his intellectual abilities.
it must, indeed, be acknowledged in favor of the last descrip* "Memoria facit prompti ingenii famam, ut illa qun dicimus, non domo
attulisse, sed ibi protinus snmpsisse videamuur."  [A good Memory gives
one a reputation for quickness of intellect; for what we say appears not
to have been brought with us from home, but to be struck out upon the
spot.] - Quinct. Inst. Orat. lib. xi. c. 2.' In the foregoing observations, it is not meant to be implied, that
originality of genius is incompatible with a ready recollection of acquired
knovledge; but only that it has a tendency unfavorable to it, and that more
time and practice will commonly be necessary to familiarize, the mind
of a man of invention to the ideas of others, or even to the conclusions of
his own understanding, than are requisite in ordinary cases. Habits of
literary conversation, and still more, habits of extempore discussion in a
popular assembly, are peculiarly useful in giving us a ready and practical
command of our knowledlge




MIEMNIORY.                    329
tion of men, that in ordinary conversation, they form the most
agreeable, and, perhaps, the most instructive companions. How
inexhaustible soever the invention of an individual may be, the
variety of his own peculiar ideas can bear no proportion to the
whole mass of useful and curious information of which the
world is already possessed.  The conversation, accordingly, of
men of genius, is sometimes extremely limited; and is interesting to the few alone, who know the value, and who can distinguish the marks, of originality.  In consequence, too, of that
partiality which every man feels for his own speculations, they
are more in danger of being dogmatical and disputatious, than
those who have no system which they are interested to defend.
The same observations may be applied to authors. A book
which contains the discoveries of one individual only, may be
admired by a few, who are intimately acquainted with the history of the science to which it relates, but it has little chance
for popularity with the multitude. An author who possesses
industry sufficient to collect the ideas of others, and judgment
sufficient to arrange them skilfully, is the most likely person to
acquire a high degree of literary fame; and although, in the
opinion of enlightened judges, invention forms the chief characteristic of genius, yet it commonly happens, that the objects of
public admiration are men who are much less distinguished by
this quality, than by extensive learning and cultivated taste.
Perhaps, too, for the multitude, the latter class of authors is the
most useful; as their writings contain the more solid discoveries
which others have brought to light, separated from those errors
with which truth is often blended in the first formation of a
system.
28*




330                    IMIAGINATION.
CHAPTER VIL[
OF ISIAGINATIONo
I. AnaZysis of Imagination.-In attempting to draw  the
line between conception and imagination, I have already observed, that the province of the fobrmer is to present us with an
exact transcript of what we have formerly felt and perceived;
that of the latter, to make a selection of qualities and of circumstances from a variety of different objects, and by combining and
disposing these, to form a new creation of its own.
According to the definitions adopted in general by modern
philosophers, the province of imagination would appear to be
limited to objects of sight. 6" It is the sense of sight," says Mr.
Addison, " which furnishes the imagination with its ideas; so
that, by the pleasures of imagination, I here mean such as arise
fiom visible objects, either when we have them actually in view,
or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings,
statues, descriptions, or any the like occasions. We cannot, indeed, have a single image in the fancy, that did not make its
first entrance through the sight."  Agreeably to the same view
of the subject, Dr. Reid observes, that "imagination properly
signifies a lively conception of objects of sight; the former
power being distinguished from the latter, as a part from the
whole. "
Inmagination not limited to objects of sight. - That this limitation of the province of imagination to one particular class of
our perceptions is altogether arbitrary, seems to me to be evident; for, although the greater part of the materials which
imagination combines be supplied by this sense, it is nevertheless indisputable, that our other perceptive faculties also contribute occasionally their share.  How many pleasing images




IMAGINATION.                        331
have been borrowed from the fragrance of the fields and the melody of the groves; not to mention that sister art, whose magical
influence over the human frame it has been, in all ages, the
highest boast of poetry to celebrate! In the following passage,
even the more gross sensations of taste form the subject of an
ideal repast, on which it is impossible not to dwell with some
complacency, particularly after a perusal of the preceding lines,
in which the poet describes " the wonders of the torrid zone."
"Bear me, Pomona! to thy citron groves;
To where the lemon and the piercing lime,
With the deep orange, glowing thro' the green,
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclined
Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes,
Fann'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit:
Or, stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun,
O let me drain the cocoa's milky bowl,
More bounteous far than all the frantic juice
Which Bacchus pours! Nor, on its slender twigs
Low bending, be the full pomegranate scorn'd;
Nor, creeping thro' the woods, the gelid race
Of berries. Oft in humbler station dwells
Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp.
Witness thou, best Anana, thou the pride
Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er
The poets imaged in the golden age:
Quick let me strip thee of thy spiny coat,
Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove! "
TnoisoN.
WVhat an assemblage of other conceptions, different from all
those hitherto mentioned, has the genius of Virgil combined in
one distich!
Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lycori,
IIi nemus: hic ipso tecum consumerer evo.
inagyination not limited even to the sensible world. -  These
observations are sufficient to show  how  inadequate a notion
of the province of imagination (considered even in its reference
to the sensible world) is conveyed by the definitions of Mr.
Addison and of Dr. Reid.  But the sensible world, it must be
remembered, is not the only field where imagination exerts her




332                    IMAGINATION.
powers.  All the objects of human knowledge supply materials
to her forming hand; diversifying infinitely the works she produces, while the mode of her operation remains essentially uniform. As it is the same power of reasoning which enables us
to carry on our investigations with respect to individual objects,
and with respect to classes or genera; so it was by the same
processes of analysis and combination, that the genius of lMilton
prtoduced the garden of _Eden, that of H-Iarrington, the commonwealth of Oceana, and that of Shalakspeare, the characters of
flamlet and Falstqff.  The difference between these several
efforts of invention, consists only in the manner in which the
original materials were acquired; as far as the power of irnagination is concerned, the processes are perfectly analogous.
But imaginations of visible objects are most pleasing. - The
attempts of iMr. Addison and of' Dr. Reid to limit the province
of imagination to objects of sight, have plainly proceeded firom
a very important fact, which it may be worth while to illustrate
more particularly.  That the mind has a greater facility, and
of consequence, a greater delight, in recalling the perceptions
of this sense than those of any of the others; while at the samle
timne, the varieties of qualities perceived by it is incomparably
greater.  It is this sense, accordingly, which supplies the painter
and the statuary with all the subjects on which their genius is
exercised, and which furnishes to the descriptive poet the
largest and the most valuable portion of the materials which he
combines.  In that absurd species of prose composition, too,
which borders on poetry, nothing is more remarkable than the
predominance of phrases that recall to the memory glaring
colors, and those splendid appearances of nature which make a
strong impression on the eye. It has been mentioned by different writers, as a characteristical circumstance in the Oriental
or Asiaitc style, that the greater part of the metaphors are
taken from the celestial luminaries.  " The works of the Persians," says MI. de Voltaire, " are like the titles of their kings,
in which we are perpetually dazzled with the sun and the
moon."  Sir William Jones, in a short Essay on the Poetry of
Eastern Nations, has endeavored to show, that this is not owing




IMAGINATION.                    333
to the bad taste of the Asiatics, but to the old language and
popular religion of their country. But the truth is, that the
very same criticism will be found to apply to the juvenile productions of every author possessed of a warm imagination, and
to the compositions of every people among whom  a cultivated
and philosophical taste has not established a sufficiently marked
distinction between the appropriate styles of poetry and of
prose.
Agreeably to these principles, Gray, in describing the infantine reveries of poetical genius, has fixed, with exquisite judgment, on this class of our conceptions:"Yet oft before his infant eye would run
Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray
With orient hues- - 
From  these remarks, it may be easily understood, why the
word imagination, in its most ordinary acceptation, should be
applied to cases where our conceptions are derived from the
sense of sight; although the province of this power be, in fact,
as unlimited as the sphere of human enjoyment and of human
thought. Hence the origin of those partial definitions which I
have been attempting to correct; and hence, too, the origin
of the word imagination; the etymology of which implies
manifestly a reference to visible objects.
To all the various modes in which imagination may display
itself, the greater part of the remarks contained in this chapter
will be found to apply, under proper limitations; but, in order
to render the subject more obvious to the reader's examination,
I shall, in the further prosecution of it, endeavor to convey my
ideas rather by means of particular examples, than in the form
of general principles; leaving it to his own judgment to determine, with what modifications the conclusions to which we are
led may be extended to other combinations of circumstances.
Among the innumerable phenomena which this part of our
constitution presents to our examination, the combinations which
the mind forms out of materials supplied by the power of conception recommend themselves strongly, both by their simplicity,




334                      IM3AGINATIONo
and by tile interesting nature of the discussions to which they
lead.  I shall avail myself; therefore, as much as possible, in
the following inquiries, of whatever illustrations I am  able to
borrow from the arts of poetry and of painting; the operations
of imagination in these arts furnishing the most intelligible and
pleasing exemplifications of the intellectual processes, by which,
in those analogous but less palpable instances that fall under the
consideration of the moralist, the mind deviates from the models
presented to it by experience, and forms to itself new and untried objects of pursuit.  It is in consequence of such processes,
(which, how little soever they may be attended to, are habitually
passing in the thoughts of all men,) that human affairs exhibit
so busy and so various a scene; tending, in one case, to improvement, and, in another, to decline; according as our notions
of excellence and of happiness are just or erroneous.
WThat powers of the mind are included int imagination. -  It
was observed in a former part of this work, that imagination is
a complex power.  It includes conception or simple apprehension,
which enables us to form a notion of those former objects of perception or of knowledge, out of which we are to make a selectionl; abstraction, which separates the selected materials from
the qualities and circumstances which are connected with them
in nature; and judgment or taste, which selects the materials,
and directs their combination.  To these powers, we may add,
that particular habit of association to which I formerly gave the
name of fancy; as it is this which presents to oure choice all
the different materials which are subservient to the efforts of
imagination, and which may, therefore, be considered as forming
the groundwork of poetical genius.*: [Stewart's analysis of imagination, as far as it goes, agrees with that
of Cousin; bhut the latter writer adds, that a lively sensibility to the emotions
of taste is also an essential element in the exercise of the imaginative
faculty. After enumerating, as Stewart has done, coiception, (or the imageforming memory, as Cousin calls it,) abstraction, and jucliment in forming
new combinations, as powers included under this faculty, he asks, " But
is not imagination something more than these? If a man should remember all the images of the past, and should unite to this great memory a




IMAGINATION,                          335
To illustrate these observations, let us consider the steps by
which Milton must have proceeded in creating his imaginary
garden of Eden.  WVhen he first proposed to himself that subject of description, it is reasonable to suppose, that a variety of
the most striking scenes which hoe had seen crowded into his
mind.  The association of ideas suggested them, and the power
of conception placed each of them  before him, with all its beaupower of voluntary abstraction, and a choice among all the materials of
his experience, would he, therefore, be endowed with the creative faculty?
I think not. The philosophers fiom whom I borrow this theory seem to
me to have omitted one of the main elements which make up the function
of imagination: this is, the judgment and the feeling of the beautiful, —
the pure love wrrhich ought to aid the work of the intellect and the memory, and to infuse its own  warmth into both of them. To remember, to
abstract, and to combine, is not to have imagination; if it were so, thle
cool mathematician, who goes on from one deduction to another, and from
one theorem to anotlher, ouoght to be considered an artist. Whether my
memory calls up spontaneously objects with their forms, or whether,
by the force of my will, I call them up myself, and when these images
are evoked, thong'h I have the power of abstracting them, and combining
them anew, - in all this, I see nothing but memory and reason. But is
it with reason and memory alone, that you will make a Michael Angelo
or a Raphael? Would it be enough for Corneille to remember the historical facts, and to combine them artistically, in order to make his tragedy
of the Horatii? Besides a great memnory and a powerful intellect, there
was needed for these great men a measure of enthusiasm, of love - not
that vulgar love which depends on physical sensibility - but the pure and
disinterested love which we have denominated the sentiment of the
beautiful..... Men are very nearly equal to each other in respect to
memory, reason, ancl will; but they possess in very unequal degrees the
power of imagination; because some of them remain cold and unaffected
in presence of the objects, cold in the remembrance of them, cold in their
abstractions and combinations; while others, deeply touched at the sight
of beauty, preserve, through the operations of memory and the voluntary
combination of images, the same vivacity of emotion, the same warmth of
senltiment." - D   Vlcti, dlm Beaet, et cldu Bien.
On tile other hand, Sir William Hamilton, in remarkling on the doctrine
of the incompatibility of creative imagination and philosophical talent, as
held by Hume, Kant, and Reid, says, "There is required, however, for the
metaphysician, not less imagination than for the poet, though of a different
kind; it may, in fact, be doubted whether Hlomer or Aristotle pos;sessed
this faculty in greater vigor." -:Notes t1, Reid.]




3336                   IMAGINATION.
ties and imperfections. In every natural scene, if we destine it
for any particular purpose, there are defects and redundancies,
which art may sometimes, but cannot always, correct. But the
power of imagination is unlimited.  She can create and annihilate, and dispose, at pleasure, her woods, her rocks, and her
rivers.  Mlilton, accordingly, would not copy his Eden from any
one scene, but would select from each the features which were
most eminently beautiful.  The power of abstraction enabled
him to make the separation, and taste directed him in the selection. Thus he was furnished with his materials; by a skilful
combination of which, he has created a landscape, more perfect,
probably, in all its parts, than was ever realized in nature; and
certainly very different from  any thing which this country ex.
hibited at the period when he wrote.  It is a curious remark of
Mr. Walpole, that 3filton's Eden is free from the defects of the
old English garden, and is imagined on the same principles
which it was reserved for the present age to carry into execution.
From what has been said, it is sufficiently evident, that
imagination is not a simple power of the mind, like attention,
conception, or abstraction; but that it is formed by a combination of various faculties. It is further evident, that it must appear under very different forms, in the case of different individuals; as some of its component parts are liable to be greatly
influenced by habit, and other accidental circumstances.  The
variety, for example, of the materials out of which the combinations of the poet or the painter are formed, will depend much
on the tendency of external situation to store the mind with a
multiplicity of conceptions; and the beauty of these combinations will depend entirely on the success with which the power
of taste has been cultivated.  What we call, therefore, the
power of imagination, is not the gift of nature, but the result of
acquired habits, aided by favorable circumstances.  It is not an
original endowment of the mind, but an accomplishment formed
by experience and situation; and which, in its different gradations, fills up all the interval between the first efforts of untutored genius, and the sublime creations of Raphael or of Milton.




IMAGTNATION.                     3 37
An uncommon degree of imagination constitutes poet;ical
yenius; a talent which, although chiefly displayed in poetical
composition, is also the foundation (though not precisely in the
same manner) of various other arts.  A few remarks on the
relation which imafgination bears to some of the most interesting
of these, will throw additional light on its nature and office.
II. Of imagination considered in its relation to some of the
Jfne arts. — Among the arts connected with imagination, some
not only take their rise from  this power, but produce objects
which are addressed to it.  Others take their rise from imaginationl, but produce objects which are addressed to the power of
perception.
(1.) Landscape gardening. — To the latter of these two
classes of arts belongs that of gardening; or, as it has been
lately called, the art of creating landscape.  In this art, the
designer is limlited in his creation by nature; and his only province is to correct, to improve, and to adorn.  As he cannot
repeat his experiments, in order to observe the effect, he must
call up, in his imagination, the scene which he means to produce; and apply to his imaginary scene his taste and his judgment; or, in other words, to a lively conception of visible objects, he must add a power (which long experience and attentive
observation alone can give him) of judging beforehand, of the
effect which they would produce, if they were actually exhibited
to h1is senses.  This power forms what Lord Chatharn beautifully and expressively called the prophetic eye of Taste; that
eye whllich (if I may borrow the language of Mr. Graly) "sees
all the beauties that a place is susceptible of, long before they
are born; and when it plants a seedling, already sits under the
shade of it, and enjoys the effect it will have fiom every point
of view that lies in the prospect." But although the artist who
creates a landscape copies it from  his imagination, the scene
which he exhibits is addressed to the senses, and may produce its
full effect- on the minds of others, without any effort on their
part, either of imagination or of conception.
To prevent being misunderstood, it is necessary for me to remark, that, in the last observation, I speak merely of the natural
29




338 IMAGINATION.
effects produced by a landscape, and abstract entirely from the
pleasure which mlay result from  an accidental association of
ideas with a particular scene.  The effect resulting fiom such
associations will depncnd, in a great measure, on the liveliness
with which the associated objects are conceived, and on the
a.tectinhg nature of the pictures which a creative imagination,
when once roused, will present to the mind; but the pleasures
thus -arising from the accidental exercise that a landscape may
give to the imagination, must not be confounded with- those
which it is naturally fitted to prodtuce.
(2.) Painting. - In painting, (excepting in those instances in
which it exhibits a faithful copy of a particular object,) the
oricinal idea must be formed in the imagination; and, in most
cases, the exercise of imainaztion must concutr wvith perception,
before the picture can produce that effect on the mind of the
spectator which the artist has in view.  Painting, therefore, does
not belong entirely to either of the two classes of arts formerly
nentioned, but has something in common with them both.
As far as the painter aims at copyingf exactly what he sees,
he may be guided mechanically by general rules; and he requlires
no aid from that creative genius which is charalcteristical of the
poet.  Thle pleasure, however, which results from painting, considered merely as an imitative art, is extremely trifling; and is
specifically different firom  that which it aims to produce by
awaking the imagination.  Even in portrait-painting, the servile
copyist of nature is regarded in no hi gher light than that. of a
tradesman.  "Deception," as Reynolds has excellently observed,
"instead of advancing the art, is, in reality carrying it back to
its infant state.  The first essays of painting were certainly
nothing' but mere imitations of individual objects; and when this
amounted to a deception, the artist had accomplished his puar
pose."
\WThen the history or the landscape painter indulges his genius
in forming new combinations of his own, he vies with the poet
in the noblest exertion of the poetical art; and he. avails himself of his professional skill, as the poet avails himself of language, only to convey the ideas in his mind.  To deceive the




IMAAGINATION.                    339
eye by accurate representations of particular forms, is no lon ger
his aim; but, by the touches of an expressive pencil, to speak
to the imaginations of others.;zitation, therefore, is not the
end which he proposes to himself, but the means which he eimploys.in order to accomplish it; nay, if the imitation be carried
so far as to preclude all exercise of the spectator's imagination,
it will disappoint, in a great measure, the purpose of the artist.
(3.) Poetry.- In poetry, and in every other species of composition, in which one person attempts, by means of language,
to present to the mind of another the objects of his own imiagination, this power is necessary, though not in the same degree, to
the author and to the reader.  When we peruse a description,
we naturally feel a disposition to form, in our own minds, a distinct picture of what is described; and in proportion to the
attention and interest which the subject excites, the picture
becomes steady and determinate.  It is scarcely possible for us
to hear much of a particular town without forming some notion
of its figure and size and situation; and in reading history and
poetry, I believe it seldom happens that we do not annex imagilaIry appearances to the names of our favorite characters.  It
is, at the same time, almost certain, that the imaginations of no
two men coincide upon such occasions; and, therefore, though
both may be pleased, the agreeable impressions which they feel,
mtay be widely different from each other, according as the pic
tures by which they are produced are more or less happily
imagined.  Hence it is, that when a person accustomed to
dramatic reading sees, for the first time, one of his favorite
characters represented on the stage, he is generally dissatisfiecd
with the exhibition, however eminent the actor may be; and if
he should happen, before this representation, to have been very
familiarly acquainted with the character, the case may continue
to be the same through life.  For my own part, I have never
received from any Falstaff on the stage half the pleasure which
Shakspeare gives m-ne in the closet; and I am persuadecl that I
should.feel some degree of uneasiness, if I were present at any
attempt to personate the figure or the voice of Don Qulixote or
Sancho Panza.  It is not always that tile actor, on such occa



340                   IMAGINATION.
sions, falls short of our expectation.  He disappoints us, by
exhibiting something different from what our imagination had
anticipated, and which consequently appears to us, at the monment, to be an unfaithful representation of the poet's idea; and
until a frequent repetition of the performance has completely
obliterated our former impressions, it is impossible for us to form
an adequate estimate of its merit.
Similar observations may be applied to other subjects. The
sight of any natural scene, or of any work of art, provided we
have not previously heard of it, commonly produces a greater
effect at first, than ever afterwards: but if, in consequence of a
description, we have been led to form a previous notion of it, I
apprehend, the effect will be found less pleasing the first time
it is seen, than the second. Although the description should
fall short greatly of the reality, yet the disappointment which
we feel, on meeting with something different from what we expected, diminishes our satisfaction.  The second time we see
the scene, the effect of novelty is, indeed, less than before; but
it is still considerable, and the imagination now anticipates
nothing which is not realized in the perception.
Wlly poetry is not so generally relished as landscape gardenung. - The remarks which have been macke, afford a satisfactory
reason why so few are to be found who have a genuine relish
for the beauties of poetry.  The designs of Kent and of Brown
[distinguished landscape gardeners] evince in their authors a
degree of imagination entirely analogous to that of the descriptive poet; but when they are once executed, their beauties
(excepting those which result from association) meet the eye of
every spectator. In poetry, the effect is inconsiderable, unless
upon a mind which possesses some degree of the author's genius; a mind amply furnished, by its previous habits, with the
means of interpreting the language which he employs;,.and
able, by its own imagination, to co6perate with the efforts of his
art.. Different ideas raised by the same words in different minds. -
It has been often remarked, that the general words which express complex ideas, seldom convey precisely the same meaning




IMAGINATION,                    341
to different individuals, and that hence arises much of the ambiguity of language. The same observation holds, in no inconsiderable degree, with respect to the names of sensible objects.
When the words river, mountain, grove, occur in a description,
a person of lively conceptions naturally thinks of some particular river, mountain, and grove, that have made an impression
on his mind; and whatever the notions are, which he is led by
his imagination to form of these objects, they must necessarily
approach to the standard of what he has seen. Hence it is evident that, according to the different habits and education of individuals, according to the liveliness of their conceptions, and
according to the creative power of their imaginations, the same
-words will produce very different effects on different minds.
When a person who has received his education in the country,
reads a description of a rural retirement, the house, the river,
the woods, to which he was first accustomed, present themselves
spontaneously to his conception, accompanied, perhaps, with the
recollection of his early friendships, and all those pleasing ideas
which are commonly associated with the scenes of childhood
and of youth. How different is the effect of the description
upon his mind, from what it would produce on one who has
passed his tender years at a distance from the beauties of nature, and whose infant sports are connected in his memory with
the gloomy alleys of a commercial city!
But it is not only in interpreting the particular words of a
description, that the powers of imagination and conception are
employed. They are further necessary for filling up the different parts of that picture, of which the most minute describer can
only trace the outline. In the best description, there is much
left to the reader to supply; and the effect which it produces on
his mind will depend, in a considerable degree, on the invention
and taste with which the picture is finished. It is therefore
possible, on the one hand, that the happiest efforts of poetical
genius may be perused with perfect indifference by a man of
sound judgment, and not destitute of natural sensibility; and on
the other hand, that a cold and common-place description may
29 *




X342                   IMAGINATION.
be the means of awakening, in a rich and glowing illmag,ination,
a degree of enthusiasm unknown to the author.
The object of all the fine arts is to please. - All the different
arts, which I have hitherto mentioned as taking their rise from
the imagination, have this in common, that their primary object
is to please. This observation applies to the art of poetry, no
less than to the others; nay, it is this circumstance which characterizes poetry, and distinguishes it from all the other classes
of literary composition. The object of the philosopher is to inform and enlighten mankind; that of the orator, to acquire an
ascendant over the will of others, by bending to his own purposes their judgments, their imaginations, and their passions:
but the primary and the distinguishing aim of the poet is, to
please; and the principal resource which he possesses for this
purpose, is by addressing the imagination. Sometimes, indeed,
he may seem to encroach on the province of the philosopher or
of the orator; but, in these instances, he only borrows from
them the means by which he accomplishes his end. If he at-.
tempts to enlighten and to inform, he addresses the understanding only as a vehicle of pleasure; if he makes an appeal to the
passions, it is only to passions which it is pleasing to indulge.
The philosopher, in like manner, in order to accomplish his end
of instruction, may find it expedient, occasionally, to amuse the
imagination, or to make an appeal to the passions; the orator
may, at one time, state to his hearers a process of reasoning; at
another, a calm narrative of facts; and at a third, he may give
the reins to poetical fancy. But still the ultimate end of the
philosopher is to instruct, and of the author to persuade; and
whatever means they make use of which are not subservient to
this purpose, are out of place, and obstruct the effect of' their
labors.
}Why rhythmical langtacge is employed. - The measured composition in which the poet expresses himself, is only one of the
means which he employs to please. As the delight which he
conveys to the imagination is heightened by the other agreeable
impressions, which he can unite in the mind at the same time;




IMAGINATION.                     3.43
he studies to bestow, upon the medium of communication which
he employs, all the various beauties of which it is susceptible.
Among these beauties, the harmony of numbers is not the least
powerful; for its effect is constant, and does not interfere with
any of the other pleasures which language produces. A succession of agreeable perceptions is kept up by the organical
effect of words upon the ear; while they inform the understanding by their perspicuity and precision, or please the imagination
by the pictures they suggest, or touch the heart by the associations they awaken.  Of all these charms of language the poet
may avail himself; and they are all so many instruments of his
art. To the philosopher and the orator, they may occasionally
be of use; and to both, they must be constantly so far an object
of attention, that nothing may occur in their compositions, which
may distract the thoughts, by offending either the ear or the
taste; but the poet must not rest satisfied with this negative
praise. Pleasure is the end of his art; and the more numerous
the sources of it which he can open, the greater will be the effect
produced by the efforts of his genius.
Poetry has a wider range than the other ine arts. - The province of the poet is limited only by the variety of human enjoyments. Whatever is, in the reality, subservient to our happiness,
is a source of pleasure when presented to our conceptions, and
may sometimes derive from  the heightenings of imagination a
momentary charm, which we exchange with reluctance for the
substantial gratification of the senses. The province of the
painter and of the statuary is confined to the imitation of visible
objects, and to the exhibition of such intellectual and moral
qualities, as the human body is fitted to express. In ornamental architecture, and in ornamental gardening, the sole aim of
the artist is to give pleasure to the eye, by the beauty or sublimity of material fbrms.  But to the poet, all the glories of external nature; all that is amiable, or interesting, or respectable
in human character; all that excites and engages our benevolent affections; All those truths which make the heart feel itself
better and more happy; — all these supply materials, out of which
he forms and peoples a world of his own, where no inconven



344                    IIMAGINATION.
iences damlp our enjoyments, and where no clouds darken our
1prospects.
Edmcntnd Butrke's theory of poetry stated and controverted.That the pleasures of poetry arise chiefly from the agreeable
feelings which it conveys to the mind, by awakening the imagination, is a proposition which may seem  too obvious to stand
in need of proof. As the ingenious inquirer, however, into
"the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful," [Edmund Burke,] has disputed the common notions on this subject,
I shall consider some of the principal arguments by which he
las supported his opinion.
The leading principle of the theory which I am now to examine is, " That the common effect of poetry is not to raise ideas
of things;" or, as I would rather choose to express it, its comnmnon effect is not to give exercise to the powers of conception
and imagination.  That I may not be accused of misrepresentation, I shall state the doctrine at length in the words of the
author.  "If words have all their possible extent of power,
three effects arise in the mind of the hearer.  The first is the
sotcnd, the second, the pictlure or representation of the thing signified by the sound, the thirdc is, the affection of the soul produced by one or by both of the foregoing.  Compounded abstract words, (honor, justice, liberty, and the like,) produce the
first and the last of these effects, but not the second.  Simple
abstracts are used to signify some one simple idea, without much
adverting to others which may chance to attend it; as blaue,
green, hot, cold, and the like: these are capable of affecting all
three of the purposes of words; as the aggregate words, man,
castle, horse, etc. are, in a yet higher degree. But I am of opinion, that the most general effect even of these words does not
arise from their forming pictures of the general things they
would represent in the imagination; because, on a very diligent
examination of my own mind, and getting others to consider
theirs, I do not find that, once in twenty times, any such picture
is formed; and when it is, there is most commonly a particular
effort of' the imagination for that purpose.  But the aggregate
words operate, as I said of the compound abstracts, not by pie



IMAGINATION.                     345
senting any image to the mind, but by having, from use, the
sane effect on being mentioned, that their original has when it
is seen.  Suppose we were to read a passage to this effect:'The river Danube rises in a moist and mountainous soil in the
heart of Germany, where, winding to and fro, it waters several
principalities, until, turning into Austria, and leaving the walls
of Vienna, it passes into Hungary; there, with a vast flood, augmented by the Saave and the Drave, it quits Christendom, and,
rolling through the barbarous countries which border on Tartary, it enters by many mouths into the Black Sea.' In this description, many things are mentioned; as mountains, rivers, cities, the sea, etc. But let anybody examine himself, and see
whether he has had impressed on his imagination any pictures
of a river, mountain, watery soil, Germany, etc. Indeed, it is
impossible, in the rapidity and quick succession of words in conversation, to have ideas both of the sound of the word, and of
the thing represented; besides, some words expressing real essences are so mixed with others of a general and nominal import, that it is impracticable to jump from sense to thought, from
particulars to generals, from things to words, in such a manner
as to answer the purposes of life; nor is it necessary that we
should."
In further confirmation of this doctrine, Mr. Burke refers to
the poetical works of the late amiable and ingenious Dr. Blacklock [the blind poet].  " Iere," says he, "is a poet, doubtless as
much acfected by his own descriptions as any that reads them can
be; and yet he is affected with this strong enthusiasm, by things
of which he neither has, nor can possibly have, any idea, further
than that of a bare sound; and why may not those who read
his works be affected in the same manner that he was, with as
little of any real ideas of the things described?"
Some words do not raise ideas, but only excite emotions. - Before I proceed to make any remarks on these passages, I must
observe in general, that I perfectly agree with Mr. Burke, in
thinking that a very great proportion of the words which we
habitually employ, have no effect to raise ideas in the mind; or
to exercise the powers of conception and imagination.  My no



346                    IMAGINATION.
tions on this slubject I have already sufficiently explained in
treating of abstraction.
I agree with him further, that a great proportion of the words
which are used in poetry and eloquence, more especially, I think,
in the latter, produce very powerful effects on the mind, by exciting emotions which we have been accustomed to associate
with particular sounds, without leading the imagination to formn
to itself any pictures or representations; and his account of the
manner in which such words operate, appears to me satisfactory.
"' Such words are, in reality, but mere sounds; but they are
sounds, which, being used on particular occasions, wherein we
receive some good, or suffer some evil; or see others affected
with good or evil; or which we hear applied to other interesting
things or events; and being applied in such a variety of cases
that we know readily by habit to what things they belong, they
produce in the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned,
effects similar to those of their occasions.  The sounds being
often used without reference to any particular occasion, and
carrying still their first impressions, they at last utterly lose
their connection with the particular occasions that gave rise to
them; yet the sound, without any annexed notion, continues to
operate as before."
But words in poetry must raise emotions and ideas also.Notwithstanding, however, these concessions, I cannot admit that
it is in this way poetry produces its principal effect.  Whence
is it that general and abstract expressions are so tame and lifeless, in comparison of those which are particular and figurative?
Is it not because the former do not give any exercise to the imagination, like the latter?  Whence the distinction, acknowledged by all critics ancient and modern, between that charm  of
words which evaporates in the process of translation, and those
permanent beauties, which, presenting to the mind the distinctness of a picture, may impart pleasure to the most remote regions and ages?  Is it not, that in the one case, the poet addresses himself to associations which are local and temnporary;
in the other; to these essential principles of human nature, from
which poetry and painting derive their common attractions?




!3IAGINATION.                    8 47
]Hence, among the various sources of the sublime, tile peculiar
stress laid by Longinus on what he calls Visions, (pavTraial) —
6rav'a 6yiyf xr' rv  iovtaaoO tcai xrovc vPXTretv 6otci, /cat wra' o4t1v AS
ro7S &ao'VCV, [when you seem, from enthusiasm and strong feeling,
actually to see the things spoken of, and to place them before
the eyes of your hearers.]
Different aims of philosophical and rhetorical composition. -
In treating of abstraction, I formerly remarked, that the perfection of philosophical style is to approach as nearly as possible
to that species of language we employ in algebra, and to exclude
every expression which has a tendency to divert the attention by
exciting the imagination, or to bias the judgment by casual
associations.  For this purpose, the philosopher ought to be
sparing in the employment of figurative words, and to convey
his notions by general terms which have been accurately defined.
To the orator, on the other hand, when he wishes to prevent the
cool exercise of the understanding, it may, on the same account,
be frequently useful to delight or to agitate his hearers, by
blending with his reasonings the illusions of poetry, or the magical influence of sounds consecrated by popular feelings. A
regard to the different ends thus aimed at in philosophical and
in rhetorical composition, renders the ornaments which are so
becoming in the one, inconsistent with good taste and good sense
when adopted in the other.
In poetry, as truths and facts are introduced, not Ior the purpose of information, but to convey pleasure to the mind, nothing
offends more, than those general expressions which form the
great instrument of philosophical reasoning.  The original
pleasures, which it is the aim of poetry to recall to the mind,
are all derived from  individual objects; and, of consequence,
(with a very few exceptions, which it does not belong to my
present subject to enumerate,) the more particular and the more
appropriated its language is, the greater will be the charm it possesses.
With respect to the description of the course of the Danube
already quoted, I shall not dispute the result of the experiment
to be as the author represents it. That words may often be




348                      IMIAGINATION.
applied to their proper purposes, without our annexing any
particular notions to them, I have formerly shown at great
length; and I admit that the meaning of this description may
be so understood.  But to be understood is not the sole object
of the poet; his primary object is to please; and the pleasure
which he conveys will, in general, be found to be proportioned
to the beauty and liveliness of the images which he suggests.
In the case of a poet born blind, the effect of poetry must
depend on other causes; but whatever opinion we may form on
this point, it appears to me impossible that such a poet should
receive, even from. his own descriptions, the same degree of
pleasure which they may convey to a reader who is capable of
conceiving the scenes which are described.  Indeed, this instance
which Mr. Burke produces in support of his theory, is sufficient
of itself to show, that the theory cannot be true in the extent in
which it is stated.
Great effect of picturesque phraseology in poetry. -  By way
of contrast to the description of the Danube, I shall quote a
stanza from Gray, which affords a very beautiful example of
the two different effects of poetical expression.  The pleasure
conveyed by the two last lines resolves almost entirely into Mr.
Burke's principles; but great as this pleasure is, how inconsiderable is it, in comparison of that arising from  the continued and
varied exercise which the preceding lines give to the imagination.
"In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom,
To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od'rous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs and dusky loves.
Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursue, and generous shame,
Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame."
I cannot help remarking further, the effect of the solemn and




IMAGINATION.                     3 49
uniform flow of the verse in this exquisite stanza, in retarding
the pronunciation of the reader, so as to arrest his attention to
every successive picture, till it has time t.o produce its proper
impression.  More of the charm of poetical rhythm arises from
this circumstance, than is commonly imagined.
To those who wish to study the theory of poetical expression,
no author in our language affords a richer variety of illustrations than the poet last quoted.  His merits, in many other
respects, are great; but his skill in this particular is more
peculiarly conspicuous.  How much he had made the principles
of this branch of his art an object of study, appears from  his
letters published by Mr. Mason.
I have sometimes thought, that, in the last line of the following passage, he had in view the two different effects of words
already described; the effect of some, in awakening the powers
of conception and imagination; and that of others, in exciting
associated emotions -
" Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-cy'd Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."
HII. Relation of imagination and of taste to genius. - From
the remarks made in the foregoing sections, it is obvious, in what
manner a person accustomed to analyze and combine his conceptions, may acquire an idea of beauties superior to any
which he has seen realized. It may also be easily inferred, that
a habit of forming such intellectual combinations, and of remarking their effects on our own minds, must contribute to refine and
to exalt the taste, to a degree which it never can attain in those
men, who study to improve it by the observation and comparison
of external objects only.
WT7lat constitutes genius in the fine arts.- A cultivated taste,
combined with a creative imagination, constitutes genius in the
fine arts. Without taste, imagination could produce only a
random analysis and combination of our conceptions; and without imagination, taste would be destitute of the faculty of
invention.  These two ingredients of genius may be mixed
30




350                   IMAG INATION.
together in all possible proportions; and wh re either is possessed in a degree remarkably exceeding what falls to the
ordinary share of lankind, it may compensate, in some measure,
for a deficiency in the other.  An uncommonly correct taste,
with little imagination, if it does not produce works which excite
admiration, produces at least nothing which can offend. An
uncommon fertility of imagination, even when it offends, excites
our wonder by its creative power; and shows what it could
have performed, had its exertions been guided by a more perfect
irmodel.
In the infancy of the arts, a union of these two powers in the
same mind is necessary for the production of every work of
genius. Taste, without imagination, is, in such a situation, impossible; for, as there are no monuments of ancient genius on
which it can be formed, it must be the result of experiments,
which nothing but the imagination of every individual can enable
him to make.  Such a taste must necessarily be imperfect, in
consequence of the limited experience of which it is the result;
but, without imaginaation, it could not have been acquired even
in this imperfect degree.
In the progress of the arts, the case comes to be altered.
The productions of genius accumulate to such an extent, that
taste may be formed by a careful study of the works of others;
and, as formerly imagination had served as a necessary foundation -for taste, so taste begins now to invade the province of
imagination. The combinations which the latter faculty has
been employed in making, during a long succession of ages,
approach to infinity; and present such ample materials to a
judicious selection, that, with a high standard of excellence
continually present to the thoughts, industry, assisted by the
most moderate degree of imagination, will, in time, produce performances not only more free from  faults, but incomparably
more powerful in their effects, than the most original efforts of
untutored genius, which, guided by an uncultivated taste, copies
after an inferior model of perfection.  What Reynolds observes
of painting, mlay be applied to all the other fine arts; that " as
the painter, by bringing together, in one piece, those beauties,




IMAGINATION.                     31
which arel dispersed amongst a great variety of indi-viduaS, produces a figure more beautiful than can be found in nature; so
that artist who can unite in himself' the excellences of the various
painters, will approach nearer to perfection than any of his
masters."
IV. Of the influence of imayination on iizuman character and
happpiness. - Hitherto we have considered the power of imagination chiefly as it is connected with the fine arts.  But it
deserves our attention still more, on account of its extensive
influence on human  character and happiness.
The lower animals, as far as we are able to judge, are
entirely occupied with the objects of their present perceptions
and the case is nearly the same with the inferior orders of our
own species.  One of the principal effects which a liberal education produces on the mind, is, to accustom us to withdraw our
attention from the objects of sense, and to direct it at pleasure
to those intellectual combinations which delight the imagination.
Even, however, among men of cultivated understandings, this
faculty is possessed in very unequal degrees by different individuals; and these differences (whether resulting from  original
constitution or from early education) lay the foundation of some
striking varieties in human character.
Sensibility dependent on imaginalion. - What we commonly
call sensibility depends in a great measure on the power of
imagination. Point out to two men any object of compassion;a man, for example, reduced by misfortune from  easy circumstances to indigence.  The one feels merely in proportion to
what he perceives by his senses. The other follows, in imagination, the unfortunate man to his dwelling, and partakes with
him and his family in their domestic distresses.  He listens to
their conversation, while they recall to remembrance the flattering prospects they once indulged; the circle of' friends they
had been forced to leave; the liberal plans of education which
were begun and interrupted; and pictures out to himself all the
various resources which delicacy and pride suggest to conceal
poverty from the world. As he proceeds in the painting, his




O0 2                   IMAGINATIONB
sensibility increases, and he weeps, not for what he sees, but for
what he imagines. It will be said that it was his sensibility
which originally roused his imagination; and the observation is
undoubtedly true; but it is equally evident, on the other hand,
that the warmth of his imagination increases and prolongs his
sensibility.
This is beautifully illustrated in the Sentimental Journey of
Sterne. While engaged in a train of reflections on the stateprisons in France, the accidental sight of a starling in a cage
suggests to him the idea of a captive in his dungeon. He indulges his imagination, " and looks through the twilight of the
grated door to take the picture."
"I beheld," says he, "his body half wasted away with long
expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of
the heart it is, which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking
nearer, I saw him pale and feverish: in thirty years, the western
breeze had not once fanned his blood: he had seen no sun, no
moon, in all that time, nor had the voice of friend or kinsman
breathed through his lattice. His children - But here my
heart began to bleed, and I was forced to go on with another
part of the portrait.
"Hle was sitting upon the ground, in the furthest corner of
his dungeon, on a little straw, which was alternately his chair
and bed: a little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head,
notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed
there; he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a
rusty nail, was etching another day of misery to add to the heap.
As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless
eye towards the door, then cast it down, shook his head, and
went on with his work of affliction."
Why pity is excited by fiction more than by reality. —The
foregoing observations may account, in part, for the effect which
exhibitions of fictitious distress produce on some persons, who
do not discover much sensibility to the distresses of real life.
In a novel or a tragedy, the picture is completely finished in all
its parts; and we are made acquainted not only with every cir



IMAGINATION.                      3 303
turnstance on which the distress turns, but with the seintiments
and feelings of every character, with respect to his situation.
In real life, we see, in general, only detached scenes of the tragedy; and the impression is slight unless imagination finishes
the characters, and supplies the incidents that are wanting.
nmaghination increases our sympathy with others.  It is not
only to scenes of distress that imagination increases our sensibility. It gives us a double share in the prosperity of others,
and enables us to partake with a more lively interest in every
fortunate incident that occurs either to individuals or to communities. Even from the productions of the earth and the vicissitudes of the year, it carries forward our thoughts to the enjoyments they bring to the sensitive creation, and by interesting
our benevolent affections in the scenes we behold, lends a new
charm to the beauties of nature.
I have often been inclined to think, that the apparent coldness
and selfishness of mankind may be traced, in a great measure,
to a want of attention and a want of imagination.  In the case
of misfortunes which, happen to ourselves, or to our near connections, neither of these powers is necessary to make us acquainted with our situation: so that we feel, of necessity, the
correspondent emotions.  But without an uncommon decree of
both, it is impossible for any man to comprehend completely the
situation of his neighbor, or to have an idea of a great part of
the distress which exists in the world.  If we feel, therefore,
more for ourselves than for others, the difference is to be ascribed, at least partly, to this; that, in the former case, the
flicts which are the foundation of our feelings, are more fully
befbre us than they possibly can be in the latter.
In order to prevent misapprehensions of my meaning, it is
necessary for me to add, that I do not mean to deny that it is a
law of our nature, in cases in which there is an interference between our own interest and that of other men, to give a certain
degree of preference to ourselves; even supposing our neighbor's situation to be as completely known to us as our own. I
only affirm, that, where this preference becomes blamable and
unjust, the effect is to be accounted for partly in the wav I men30 




354                   I12MAGINATION.
tioned.*' One striking proof of this is, the powerful emotions
which may be occasionally excited in the minds of the most callous, when the attention has been once fixed, and the iniagination awakened by eloquent, and circumstantial, and pathetic description..Adam  Smith traces the sense of justice to a regard for the
opinion of others. - A very amiable and profound moralist, in
the account which he has given of the origin of our sense of
justice, has, I think, drawn a less pleasing picture of the natural
constitution of the human mind, than is agreeable to truth. "' To
distulrb," says he, " the happiness of our neighbor, merely because it stands in the way of our own; to take from  him what
is of' real use to him, merely because it may be of equal or of
more use to us; or, to indulge, in this manner, at the expense
of other people, the natural preference which every man has for
his own happiness above that of other people, is what no impar-.
tial spectator can go along with.  Every man is, no doubt, first
and principally recommended to his own care; and as lie is
fitter to take care of himself than of any other person, it is fit
and right that it should be so. Every man, therefore, is much
more deeply interested in whatever immediately concerns himself, than in what concerns any other man; and to hear, perhaps, of the death of another person with whom we have no
particular connection, will give us less concern, will spoil our
stomach, or break our rest, much less than a very insignificant
disaster which has befallen ourselves. But though the ruin of
our neighbor may affect us much less than a very small misfortune of our own, we must not ruin him to prevent that small
misfortune, nor even to prevent our own ruin.'We must here,
as in all other cases, view ourselves not so much according to that
light in which we may naturally appear to ourselves, as according
to that in which we naturally appear to others. Though every
man may, according to the proverb, be the whole world to him
self, to the rest of mankind he is a most insignificant part of it
* I say partly; for habits of inattention to the situation of other men,
undoubtedly presuppose some defect in the social affections.




IMAGINATION.                    3 5
Though his own happiness may be of more importance to him
than thaict of all the world besides, to every other person it is of
no more consequence than that of any other man. Though it
may be true, therefore, that every individual, in his own breast,
naturally prefers himself to all mankind, yet he dares not look
mankind in the face, and avow that he acts according to this
principle. He feels that, in this preference, they can never go
along with him, and that, how natural soever it may be to him,
it must always appear excessive and extravagant to them.
When he views himself in the light in which he is conscious
that others will view him, he sees that, to then, lie is but one of
the multitude, in no respect better than any other in it. If he
would act so as that the impartial spectator may enter into the
principles of his conduct, which is what of all things he has the
greatest desire to do, he must, upon this, as upon all other occasions, humble the arrogance of his self-love, and bring it down
to something which other men can go along with."
T5his theory controverted; benevolent feeling independent of the
opinion of others. - I am ready to acknowledge, that there is
much truth in this passage; and that a prudential regard to the
opinion of others, might teach a man of good sense, without the
aid of more amiable motives, to conceal his unreasonable partialities in favor of himself, and to act agreeably to what he conceives to be the sentiments of impartial spectators. But I can,.
not help thinking, that the fact is much too strongly stated with
respect to the natural partiality of self-love, supposing the situation of our neighbors to be as completely presented to our view,
as our own must of necessity be. When the orator wishes to
combat the selfish passions of his audience, and to rouse them
to a sense of what they owe to mankind, what mode of persuasion does nature dictate to him? Is it, to remind them of the
importance of the good opinion of the world, and of the necessity, in order to obtain it, of accommodating their conduct to
the sentiments of others, rather than to their own feelings?
Such considerations undoubtedly might, with some men, produce
a certain effect; and might lead them to assume the appearance




ItG  JAGINATION'.
of virtue; but they would never excite a sentiment of indignam
tion at the thought of injustice, or a sudden and involuntary
burst of disinterested affection. If the orator can only succeed
in fixing their attention to facts, and iii bringing these facts
home to their imagination by the power of his eloquence, he has
completely attained his object.  No sooner are the facts apprehended, than the benevolent principles of our nature display
themselves in all their beauty. The most cautious and timid
lose, for a moment, all thought of themselves, and despising
every consideration of prudence or of safety, become wholly engrossed with the fortunes of others.
Many other facts, which are commonly alleged as proofs of
the original selfishness of mankind, may be explained, in part,
in a similar way; and may be traced to habits of inattention, or
to a want of imagination, arising, probably, from some fault in
early education.
WThat has now been remarked with respect to the social principles, may be applied to all our other passions, excepting those
which take their rise from the body. They are commonly stro-ng
in proportion to the warmth and vigor of the imagination.
ifUnexercised imaginations, whten once rousecd, become ungoverncable. -It is, however, extremely curious, that when an imagilnation, which is naturally phlegmatic, or which, like those of the
vulgar, has little activity from a want of culture, is fairly roused
by the descriptions of the orator or the poet, it is more apt to
produce the violence of enthusiasm, than in minds of a superior
order.  By giving this faculty occasional exercise, we acquire a
great degree of command over it. As we can withdraw the
-attention at pleasure from  objects of sense, and transport ourEelves into a world of our own, so, when we wish to moderate
our enthusiasm, we can dismiss the objects of imagination, and
return to our ordinary perceptions and occupations. But in a
mind to which these intellectual visions are not familiar, and
which borrows them completely fiom the genius of another, imagination, when once excited, becomes perfectly ungovernable,
and produces something like a temporary insanity.  Hence the




IMAGINATION.                        7
wonderful effects of popular eloquence on the lower orders;
effects which are much more remarkable than what it ever pro.
duces on men of education.*
V. Ineconveniences resultingy from a  ill-regulated imagination.
- It was undoubtedly the intention of nature, that the objects
of perception should produce much stronger impressions on the
mind than its own operations.  And, accordingly, they always
do so, when proper care has been taken in early life to exercise
the different principles of our constitution.  But it is possible,
by long habits of solitary reflection, to reverse this order of
things, and to weaken the attention to sensible objects to so
great a degree, as to leave the conduct almost wholly under the
influence of imagination. Removed to a distance from society,
and from the pursuits of life, when we have long been accustomed to converse with our own thoughlts, and have found our
activity gratified by intellectual exertions, which afford scope to
all our powers and affections, without exposing us to the inconveniences resulting from the bustle of the world, we are apt to
contract an unnatural predilection for meditation, and to lose all
interest in external occurrences. In such a situation, too, the
mind gradually loses that command which education, when
properly conducted, gives it over the train of its ideas, till at
length, the most extravagant dreams of imagination acquire as
powerful an influence in exciting all its passions, as if they were
realities.  A wild and mountainous country, which presents but
a limited variety of objects, and these only of such a sort as
"awake to solemn thought," has a remarkable effect in cherishing this enthusiasm.
Remedies for a disordered imagination. -  When such disorders of the imagination have been long confirmed by habit, the
evil may, perhaps, be beyond a remedy; but in their inferior
* "The province of eloquence is to reign over minds of slow perception
and little imcgination; to set things in lights they never saw them in; to
engage their attention by details and circumstances gradually unfolded;
to adorn and heighten them with images and colors unknown to them;
and to raise and engage their rude passions to the point to which the
speaker wishes to bring them." - Gray's Letters, p. 394.




degrees, imuch may be expected from  our own eflbrts; in particular, from mlingling gradually in the business and amusements
of the world; or, if we have sufficient force of mind for the
exertion, firom resolutely plunging into those active and interesting and hazardous scenes, which, by compelling us to attend to
external circumstances, may weaken the impressions of imagination, and strengthen those produced by realities.  The advice
of the poet, in these cases, is equally beautiful and just:" Go, soft enthusiast 1 quit the cypress groves,
Nor to the rivulet's lonely meanings tune
Your sad complaint. Go, seek the cheerful haunts
Of men, and mingle with the bustling crowd;
Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish
Of nobler minds, and push them night and day.
Or join the caravan in quest of scenes
New to your eyes, and shifting every hour,
Beyond the Alps, beyond the Apennines.
Or, more adventurous, rush into the field
~Where war grows hot; and raging through the sky,
The lofty trumpet swells the madd'ning soul;
And in the hardy camp and toilsome march,
Forget all softer and less manly cares."
ARMiSTRONG.
Coonnection between genius and melancholy. -  The disordered
state of mind to which these observations refer, is the more interesting, that it is chiefly incident to men of uncommon sensibility
and genius. It has been often remarked, that there is a connection
between genius and melancholy; and there is one sense of the
word melancholy, in which the remark is undoubtedly true; a
sense which it may be difficult to define, but in which it implies
nothing either gloomy or malevolent.  This, I think, is not only
confirmed by facts, but may be inferred from  some principles
which were formerly stated on the subject of invention; for as
the disposition now alluded to has a tendency to retard the current of thought, and to collect the attention of the mind, it is
peculiarly favorable to the discovery of those profound conclusions which result from  an accurate examination of' the less
obvious relations among our ideas.  From  the same principles,
too, may be traced some of the effects which situation and early




I N! AV CXINS ATION.             85 09
education produce on the intellectual character. Among the
natives of wild and solitary countries, we may expect to meet
with sublime exertions of poetical imagination and of philosophical research; while those men whose attention has been
dissipated from  infancy amidst the bustle of the world, and
whose current of thought has been trained to yield and accommodate itself; every moment, to the rapid succession of trifles,
which diversify fashionable life, acquire, without any effort on
their part, the intellectual habits which are favorable to gayety,
vivacity, and wit.
TVry-.incagtinctive persons may cppeear almost insane. -  ~When
a man, under the habitual influence of a warm  imagination, is
oblied to mingle occasionally in scenes of real business, he is
perpetually in danger of being misled by his own enthusiasm.
What we call good sense in the conduct of life, consists chiefly
in that temper of mind which enables its possessor to view, at
all times, with perfect coolness and accuracy, all the various circumstances of his situation, so that each of them  may produce
its due impression on him, without any exaggeration arising from
its own peculiar habits.  But to a man of an ill-regulated
imagination, external circumstances only serve as hints to excite
his own thoughts, and the conduct he pursues has, in general, far
less reference to his real situation, than to some imaginary ont,
in which he conceives himself to be placed; in consequence of
which, while he appears to himself to be acting with the most
perfect wisdom  and consistency, he may frequently exhibit to
others all the appearances of folly. Such, pretty nearly, seems
to be the idea which the author (Madame de Stael Holstein) of
the  "Reflections on the Character and Writings of Rousseau,"
has formed of that extraordinary man.  "His faculties," we are
told, "were slow in their operation, but his heart was ardent; it
was in consequence of his own meditations that he became impassioned; he discovered no sudden emotions, but all his feelings
grew upon reflection. It has, perhaps, happened to him to fall
in love gradually with a woman, by dwelling on the idea of her
during her absence.  Sometimes he would part with you with
all Lis former affection; but if an expression had escaped you,




3(b)                  1i AG1NAA TIO N.
which might bear an unfavorable construction, he would recollect it, examine it, exaggerate it, perhaps dwell upon it for a
month, and conclude by a total breach with you. Hence it was
that there was scarce a possibility of undeceiving him; for the
light which broke in upon him at once was not sufficient to
efface the wrong impressions which had taken place so gradually
in his mind. It was extremely difficult, too, to continue long
on an intimate footing with him. A word, a gesture, furnished
him with matter of profound meditation; he connected the most
trifling circumstances like so many mathematical. propositions,
and conceived his conclusions to be supported by the evidence
of demonstration."  "I believe," continues this ingenious writer,
"that imagination was the strongest of his faculties, and that it
had almost absorbed all the rest.  He dreamed rather than
existed, and the events of his life might be said, more properly
to have passed in his mind, than without him; a mode of being,
one should have thought, that ought to have secured him fiom
distrust, as it prevented him from observation; but the truth
was, it did not hinder him from attempting to observe; it only
rendered his observations erroneous. That his soul was tender,
no one can doubt, after having read his works; but his imagination sometimes interposed between his reason and his affections,
and destroyed their influence: lie appeared sometimes void of
sensibility; but it was because he did not perceive objects such.
as they were. Had he seen them with our eyes, his heart
would have been more affected than ours."
In this very striking description, we see the melancholy picture
of sensibility and genius approaching to insanity. It is a case,
probably, that but rarely occurs in the extent here described;
but, I believe, there is no man who has lived much in the world,
who will not trace many resembling features to it, in the circle
of his own acquaintances; perhaps there are few who have not
been occasionally conscious of some resemblance to it in themselves.
1Mistakes in judgment resulting from an ill-regulated imagination. - To these observations we may add, that, by an excessive
indulgence in the pleasures of imagination, the taste may acquire




IMAGINATION.:361
a fastidious refinement, unsuitable to the present situation of
human nature; and those intellectual and moral habits, which
ought to be formed by actual experience of the world, may be
gradually so accommodated to the dreams of poetry and romance,
as to disqualify us for the scene in which we are destined to act.
Such a distempered state of the mind is an endless source of
error; more particularly when we are placed in those critical
situations, in which our conduct determines our future happiness
or misery; and which, on account of this extensive influence
on human life, form the principal groundwork of fictitious comlposition.  The effect of novels, in misleading the passions of
youth, with respect to the most interesting and important of all
relations, is one of the many instances of the inconveniences
resulting from an ill-regulated imagination.
The passion of love'has been in every age the favorite subject of the poets, and has given birth to the finest productions
of human genius.  These are the natural delight of the young
and susceptible, long before the influence of the passions is felt;
and from these a romantic mind forms to itself an ideal model
of beauty and perfection, and becomes enamored with its own
creation.  On a heart which has been long accustomed to be
thus warmed by the imagination, the excellences of real characters make but a slight impression; and, accordingly, it will be
found, that men of a romantic turn, unless when under the influence of violent passions, are seldom  attached to a particular
object. Where, indeed, such a turn is united with a warmth
of temperament, the effects are different; but they are equalily
fatal to happiness.  As the distinctions which exist among real
characters are confounded by false and exaggerated conceptions
of ideal perfection, the choice is directed to some object by
caprice and accident; a slight' resemblance is mistaken for an
exact coincidence; and the descriptions of the poet and novelist
are applied literally to an individual, who perhaps falls short of
the common standard of excellence. "' I am certain'," says the
author last quoted, in her account of the character of Rousseau,
" that he never formed an attachment which wzeas not founded on
caprice.  It was illusions alone that could captivate his pas31




f (3               1 A.IIWG IINATI ON.
sions; and it was necessary for him  always to accomplish his
mistress from  his own- fancy.  I am  certain, also," she addl,
"that the woman whom he loved the most, and perhaps the only
woman whom he loved constantly, was his own Julie."
In the case of this particular passion, the effects of a romantic
imagination are obvious to the most careless observer; and they
have often led moralists to regret, that a temper of mind so
dangerous to happiness should have received so much encouragement from some writers of our own age, who might have employed their genius to better purposes.  These, however, are
not the only effects which such habits of study have on the
character.  Some others, which are not so apparent at first view,
have a tendency, not only to mislead us where our own happiness is at stake, but to defeat the operation of those active principles, which were intended to unite us to society.  The manner
in which imagination influences the mind, in the instances which
I allude to at present, is curious, and deserves a more particular
explanation.
On u'what our capacity of moral imnprovement is founded.-  I
shall have occasion afterwards to show,* in treating of our moral
@ The following reasoning was suggested to me by a passage in Butler's
Analogy. " Going over the theory of virtue in one's thoughts, talking well,
and drawing fine pictures of it, this is so far from necessarily or certainly
conducing to form a habit of it in him who thus employs himself, that it may
harden the mind in a contrary course, and render it gradually more insensible, i. e. form a habit of insensibility to all moral obligations. For, from
our very faculty of habits, passive impressions, by being repeated, grow
weaker. Thoughts, by often passing through the mnind, are felt less sensibly; being accustomed to danger, begets intrepidity, i. e. lessens fear; to
distress, lessens the passion of pity; to instances of others' mortality, lessens the sensible apprehension of our own. And from these two observations together, that practical hIabits are ormned ans st rengthened by repeatecl
acts; and that passive inzpressiotns grow rweaker by being repeated upon US; it
must follow, that active habits may be gradually forming and strengthening
by a course of acting upon such and such motives and excitements, while
these motives and excitements themselves are, by proportionable degrees,
growing less sensible, i. e. are continually less and less sensibly felt, even as
the active habits strengthen. And experience confirms this; for active principles, at the very time they are less lively in perception than they were,




IAGINATION.                         363
powers, that e.perience dimnmiishes the iluftence of passive'impressions on the miind, but strengthens our active principles.  A
course of debauchery deadens the sense of pleasure, but increases the desire of gratification.  An immoderate use of strong
liquors destroys the sensibility of the palate, but strengthens the
habits of intemperance.  The enjoyments we derive from  any
favoirite pursuit gradually decay as we advance in years; and
yet we continue to prosecute our favorite pursuits with increasing steadiness and vigor.
On these two laws of our nature is founded our capacity of
moral improvement.  In proportion as we are accustomed to
obey our sense of duty, the influence of the temptations to vice
is diminished; while, at the same time, our habit of virtuous
conduct is confirmed.  Iow many passive impressions, for instance, must be overcome, before the virtue of beneficence can
exert itself uniformly and habitually! How many circumstances
are there in the distresses of others, which have a tendency to
alienate our hearts from them, and which prompt us to withdraw
from the sight of the miserable!  The impressions we receive
from  these are unfavorable  to virtue; their force, however,
every day diminishes, and it may, perhaps, by perseverance, be
are found to be, somehow, wrought more thoroughly into the temper and
character, and become more effectual in influencing our practice. The
three things just mentioned may afford instances of it. Perception of
danger is a natural excitement of passive fear and active caution; and by
being inured to danger, habits of the latter are gradually wrought, at the
same time that the former gradually lessens. Perception of distress in
others, is a natural excitement passively to pity, and actively to relieve it;
but let a man set himself to attend to, inquire out, and relieve distressed
persons, and he cannot but grow less and less sensibly affected with the
various miseries of life with which he must become acquainted; when yet,
at the same tine, benevolence, considered not as a passion, but as a practical principle of action, will strengthen; and whilst he passively compassionates the distressed less, he will acquire a greater aptitude actively to
assist and befriend them. So, also, at the same time that the daily instances of men's dying around us, give us daily a less sensible passive
feeling or apprehension of our own mortality, such instances greatly contribute to the strengthening a practical regard of it in serious men; i. e. to
forming a habit o,? acting with a constant view to it."




36O4                   IMAG-INATION.
-wholly destroyed.  It is thus that the character of the beneficent
iman is formed.  The passive impressions which he felt originally, and which counteracted his sense of duty, have lost their
influence, and a habit of beneficence is become part of his
rnature.
Flabits of benevolence make up for the loss of quick sympaUties. - It nmust be owned, that this reasoning may, in part, be
retorted; for among those passive impressions, which are weakened by repetition, there are some which have a beneficial
tendency. The uneasiness, in particular, which the sight of
distress occasions, is a strong incentive to acts of humanity; and
it cannot be denied that it is lessened by experience.  This
might naturally lead us to expect, that the young and unpractised would be more disposed to perform  beneficent actions,
than those who are advanced in life, and who have been familiar
with scenes of misery.  And, in truth, the fact would be so,
were it not that the effect of custom on this passive impression
is counteracted by its effects on others; and, above all, by its
influence in strengt.hening the active habit of beneficence. An
old and experiencled physician is less affected by the sight of
bodily pain than a young practitioner; but he has acquired a
Inore confirmed habit of assisting the sick and helpless, and
would offer greater violence to his nature, if he should withhold
from them any relief that he has in his power -to bestow.  In
this case we see a beautiful provision made for our moral improvement, as the effects of experience on one part of our constitution are made to counteract its effects on another.
Familiarity with scenes of fictitious distress is hurtqfl. -  If
the foregoing observations be well founded, it will follow, that
habits of virtue are not to be formed in retirement, but by mingling in the scenes of active life, and that an habitual attention
to exhibitions of fictitious distress, is not merely useless to the
character, but positively hurtful.
Tt will not, I think, be disputed, that the frequent perusal of
pathetic compositions diminishes the uneasiness which they are
naturally fitted to excite.  A person who indulges habitually in
such studies, may feel a growing desire of his usual gratification,




IMAGINATION.                      365
but he is every day less and less affected by the scenes which
are presented to him.  I believe it would be difficult to find an
actor long hackneyed on the stage, who is capable of being completely interested by the distresses of a tragedy. The effect of
such compositions and representations, in rendering the mind
callous to actual distress, is still greater; fbr as the imagination
of the poet almost always carries him beyond truth and nature,
a familiarity with the tragic scenes which he exhibits, can hardly
fail to deaden the impression produced by the comparatively
trifling sufferings which the ordinary course of human affairs
presents to us. In real life, a provision is made for this gradual
decay of sensibility, by the proportional decay of other passive impressions, which have an opposite tendency, and by the
additional force which our active habits are daily acquiring.
Exhibitions of fictitious distress, while they produce the former
change on the character, have no influence in producing the
latter; on the contrary, they tend to strengthen those passive
impressions which counteract beneficence. The scenes into which
the novelist introduces us are, in general, perfectly unlike those
which occur in the world.  As his object is to please, he removes
fiom his descriptions every circumstance which is disgusting,
and presents us with the histories of elegant and dignified distress. It is not such scenes that human life exhibits.  We have
to act, not with refined and elevated characters, but with the
mean, the illiterate, the vulgar, and the profligate.  The perusal
of fictitious history has a tendency to increase that disgust which
we naturally feel at the concomitants of distress, and to cultivate
a false refinement of taste, inconsistent with our condition as
members of society.  Nay, it is possible for this refinement to
be carried so far as to withdraw a man from  the duties of life,
and even from  the sight of those distresses which he might
alleviate. And, accordingly, many are to be found, who, if the
situations of romance were realized, would not fail to display the
virtues of their favorite characters, whose sense of duty is not
sufficiently strong to engage them in the humble and private
scenes of human misery.
To these effects of ufictitious history we may add, that it gives
31 




~3(3                     lDIAGINAT'ION.
no exercise to our'o active habits.  In real life, we proceed from
the passive impression to those exertions which it was intended
-to produce.  In the contemplation of imaginary sufferings, we
stop short at the impression, and whatever benevolent dispositions we may feel, we have no opportunity of carrying them
into action.
Good and evil effects of iction. -  From  these reasonings it
appears, that an habitual attention to exhibitions of fictitious
distress is, in every view, calculated to check our moral improvement.  It diminishes that uneasiness which we feel at the sight
of distress, and which prompts us to relieve it. It strengthens
that disgust which the loathsome concomitants of distress excite
in the mind, and which prompts us to avoid the sight of misery;
while, at the same time, it has no tendency to confirm  those
habits of active beneficence, without which, the best dispositions
are useless. I would not, however, be understood to disapprove
entirely of fictitious narratives, or of pathetic compositions. On
the contrary, I think that the perusal of them  may be attended
with advantage, when the effects which I have mentioned are
corrected by habits of real business.  They soothe the mind
vwhen ruffled by the rude intercourse of society, and stealing the
attention insensibly fromn  our own cares, substitute, instead of
discontent and distress, a tender and pleasing melancholy.  By
exhibitions of characters a little elevated above the common
standard, they have a tendency to cultivate the taste in life; to
quicken our disgust at what is mean or offensive, and to form
the mind insensibly to elegance and dignity.  Their tendency
to cultivate the powers of moral perception has never been disluted; and when the influence, of such perceptions is powerfully
felt, and is united with an active and manly temper, they render
the character not only more amiable, but more happy in itself,
and more useful to others; for although a rectitude of judgment
with respect to conduct, and strong moral feelings, do, by no
means, alone constitute virtue; yet they are frequently necessary to direct our behaviour in the more critical situations of
life; and they increase the interest we take in the general prosperity of' virtue in the world.  I believe, likewise, that, by




IMAGINATION.                       3 67
means of fictitious history, displays of character may be most
successfully given, and the various weaknesses of the heart exposed.  I only mean to insinuate, that a taste for them may be
carried too far; that the sensibility which terminates in imagination, is but a refined and selfish luxury; and that nothing can
effectually advance our moral improvement, but an attention to
the active duties which belong to our stations.*
VI. Important uses to which the power of izmagination is subservient. -  The faculty of imagination is the great spring of human activity, and the principal source of human improvement.
As it delights in presenting to the mind scenes and characters
more perfect than those which we are acquainted with, it prevents us from ever being completely satisfied with our present
condition, or with our past attainments; and engages us continually in the pursuit of some untried enjoyment, or of some ideal
excellence.  Hence the ardor of the selfish to better their fortunes, and to add to their personal accomplishments; and hence
the zeal of the patriot and the philosopher to advance the virtue and the happiness of the human race. Destroy this faculty,
and the condition of man will become as stationary as that of
the brutes.
When the notions of enjoyment or of excellence which imagination has formed, are greatly raised above the ordinary standard, they interest the passions too deeply to leave us at all times
the cool exercise of reason, and produce that state of the mind
which is commonly known by the name of enthusiasm; a temper
a After all the concessions I have here made in favor of such fictitious
histories as our modern novels, I must acknowledge my own partiality for
those performances of an earlier date, which describe the advetzeures of imaginary orders of being. [The Arabian Nights' Entertainment, Fairy Tales,
etc.1 Many of them afford lessons of morality not less instructive than
those in our most unexceptionable novels; and they possess,,over and
above, the important advantage of giving to the imagination of young persons a much more vigorous exercise, while they have no such tendency
as novels have to mislead them in their views of human life. In most
cases, it may be laid down as a rule, that fictitious histories are dangerous,
in proportion as the manners they exhibit profess to approachl to those
which we expect to meet with in the world.




3 68                     IMAGINATION.
which is one of the most fruitful sources of error and disappointment; but which is a source, at the same time, of heroic actions
and of' exalted characters.  To the exaggerated conceptions of
eloquence which perpetually revolved in the mind of Cicero;
to that idea which haunted his thoughts of' aliquid inzmensuzm
infinitumque, we are indebted for some of the most splendid
displays of human genius; and it is probable that something of
the same kind has been felt by every man who has risen much
above the level of humanity, either in speculation or in action.
It is happy for the individual, when these enthusiastic desires
are directed to events which do not depend on the caprice of
fortune.
I'V/ky the higher kinds of poetry please.-  The pleasure we
receive from the higher kinds of poetry takes rise, in part, from
that dissatisfaction which the objects of imagination inspire us
with, for the scenes, the events, and the characters, with which
our senses are conversant.  Tired and disgusted with this world
of imperfection, we delight to escape to another of the poet's
creation, where the charms of nature wear an eternal bloom,
and where sources of enjoyment are opened to us, suited to the
vast capacities of the human mind.*  On this natural love of
poetical fiction, Lord Bacon has founded a very ingenious argument for the soul's immortality; and, indeed, one of the most
important purposes to which it is subservient, is to elevate the
mind above the pursuits of our present condition, and to direct
the views to higher objects.  In the mean time, it is rendered
* [Poetry, says Lord Bacon, "is nothing else but feigned history, which
may be styled [written] as well in prose as in verse. The use of this
feigned history hath been, to give some shadow of satisfaction to the mind
of maun in those points wherein the nature of things doth deny it, the
world being in proportion inferior to the soul; by reason whereof, there is
agreeable to the spirit of man a more ample greatness, a more exact goodness, and a more absolute variety, than can be found in the nature of things.
Therefbre, because the acts or events of true history have not that mnagnitude which satisfieth the mind of man, poesy feigneth acts and events
greater and more heroical: because true history propoundeth the successes
and issues of actions not so agreeable to the merits of virtue and vice,




I lAGI-NATION,.                     369
subservient also, in an eminent degree, to the improvement and
happiness of mankind, by the tendency which it has to accelerate the progress of society.
Good effects of a taste for poetry. -  As the pictures which
the poet presents to us are never (even in works of pure description) faithful copies from  nature, but are always meant to
be improvements on the original she affords, it cannot be
doubted that they must have some effect in refining and exalting our taste, both with respect to material beauty, and to the
objects of our pursuit in life.  It has been alleged, that the
works of our descriptive poets have contributed to diffuse that
taste for picturesque beauty which is so prevalent in Englhand,
and to recall the public admiration from  the fantastic decorations of art, to the more powerful and permanent charms of cultivated nature; and it is certain, that the first ardors of many an
illustrious character have been kindled by the compositions of
Homer and Virgil.  It is difficult to say, to what a degree, in
the earlier periods of society, the rude compositions of the bard
and the minstrel may have been instrumental in humanizing the
minds of savage warriors, and in accelerating the growth of cultivated manners.  Among the Scandinavians and the Celtc, we
know that this order of men was held in very peculiar veneration; and, accoi-dingly, it would appear, from  the monuments
which remain of these nations, that they were distinguished by
a delicacy in the passion of love, and by a humanity and generostherefore poesy feigneth them more just in retribution, and more according
to revealed providence: because true history representeth actions and
events more ordinary, and less interchanged, therefore poesy enduetli them
with more rareness, and more unexpected and alternative variations. so as
it appeareth, poesy serveth and conferreth to magnanimity, morality, and
to delectation. And therefore it was ever thought to have some participation of divineness, because it doth raise and erect the mind, by submnitting
the shows of things to the desires of the mind; whereas reason doth buckle
and bow the mind unto the nature of things. And we see, that by these
insinuations and congruities with man's nature and pleasure, joined also
with the agreement and consort it hath with music, it hath had access and
estimation in rude times and barbarous regions, where other learning
stood excluded."j - Advancement  of Learningy. Book ii.




387i0                  IMAGINATION.
ity to the vanquished in war, which seldom  appear among  barbarous tribes; and with which it is hardly possible to conceive
loom men in such a state of society could have been inspired,
but iby a separate class of individuals in the community, who
devoted themselves to the pacific profession of poetry, and to
~the cultivation of that creative power of' the mind, which anticipates the course of human affairs, and presents, in prophetic
vision, to the poet and the philosopher, the blessings which
accompany the progress of reason and refinement.
Imagination multiplies our innocent enjoyments. - Nor must
we omit to mention the important effects of imagination, in
multiplying the sources of innocent enjoyment beyond what this
limited scene affords. Not to insist on the noble efforts of genius, which have rendered this part of our constitution subservient to moral improvement, how much has the sphere of our
happiness been extended, by those agreeable fictions which
introduce us to new worlds, and make us acquainted with new
orders of being! What a fund of amusement, through life, is
prepared for one who reads in his childhood the fhbles of
ancient Greece! They dwell habitually on the memory, and
are ready, at all times, to fill up the intervals of business, or of
serious reflection; and in his hours of rural retirement and
leisure, they warm his mind with the fire of ancient genius, and
animate every scene he enters, with the offspring of' classical
fancy.
HIappy effect of ayreeable anticipations of the future. - It is,
however, chiefly in painting future scenes, that imagination
loves to indulge herself, and her prophetic dreams are almost
always favorable to happiness.  By an erroneous education,
indeed, it is possible to render this faculty an instrument of
constant and of' exquisite distress; but, in such cases, (abstracting from the influence of a constitutional melancholy,) the distresses of a gloomy imagination are to be ascribed, not to
nature, but to the force of early impressions.
The commonl bias of the mind undoubtedly is, (such is the
benevolent appointment of Providence,) to think favorably of
the future; to overvalue the chances of possible good, and to




IM:AGINATION.                   371
underrate the risk of possible evil; and, in the case of some
fortunate individuals, this disposition remains after a thousand
disappointments.  To what this bias of our nature is owing, it
is not material for us to inquire; the fact is certain, and it is
an important one to our happiness. It supports us under the
real distresses of life, and cheers and animates all our labors;
and although it is sometimes apt to produce, in a weak and
indolent mind, those deceitful suggestions of ambition and vanity, which lead us to sacrifice the duties and the comforts of the
present moment to romantic hopes and expectations; yet, it
must be acknowledged, when connected with habits of' activity,
and regulated by a solid judgment, to have a favorable effect
on the character, by inspiring that ardor and enthusiasm which
both prompt to great enterprises, and are necessary to insure
their success. When such a temper is united (as it commonly
is) with pleasing notions concerning the order of the universe,
and, in particular, concerning the condition and the prospects
of man, it places our happiness, in a great measure, beyond the
power of fortune.  While it adds a double relish to every enjoyment, it blunts the edge of all our suf.ferings; and, even
when human life presents to us no object on which our hopes
can rest, it invites the imagination beyond the dark and troubled
horizon, which terminates all our earthly prospects, to wander
unconfined in the regions of futurity. A man of benevolence,
whose mind is enlarged by philosophy, will indulge the same
agreeable anticipations with respect to society; will view all
the different improvements in arts, in commerce, and in the sciences, as cooperating to promote the union, the happiness, and
the virtue of mankind; and amidst the political disorders resulting from the prejudices and follies of his own times, will look
forward with transport to the blessings which are reserved for
posterity in a more enlightened age.




-3,7 2                   REASON.
CHAPTER VIII
OF REASON.
I. On the vagueness and ambiguity of the common philosophi.
cal language relative to this part of.our constitution. — The
power of Reason, of which I am now to treat, is unquestionably
the most important by far of those which are comprehended
under the general title of intellectual. It is on the right use of
this power, that our success in the pursuit both of knowledge
and of happiness depends; and it is by the exclusive possession
of it, that man is distinguished, in the most essential respects,
from the lower animals. It is, indeed, from their subserviency
to its operations, that the other faculties, which have been
hitherto under our consideration, derive their chief value.
Popular meaning of the word Reason. —Some remarkable
instances of vagueness and ambiguity in the employment of
words, occur in that branch of my subject of which I am now
to treat.  The word Reason, itself, is far from being precise in
its meaning. In common and popular discourse, it denotes that
power by which we distinguish truth from falsehood, and right
from wrong; and by which we are enabled to combine means for
the attainment of particular ends.  Whether these different
capacities are, with strict logical propriety, referred to the same
power, is a question which I shall examine in another part of
my work; but that they are all included in the idea which is
generally annexed to the word Reason, there can be no doubt;
and the case, so far as I know, is the same with the corresponding term in all languages whatever. The fact probably is, that
this word was first employed to comprehend the principles, whatever'they are, by which man is distinguished from  the brutes;
and afterwards came to be someir hat limited in its meaning, by




REASON.                          373
the more obvious conclusions concerning the nature of that distinction, which present themselves to the common sense of mankind. It is in this enlarged meaning that it is opposed to
instinct by Pope:"And reason raise o'er instinct as you can;
In this'tis God directs, in that'tis man."
It was thus, too, that Milton plainly understood the term,
when lie remarked, that smiles imply the exercise of Reason:" Smiles from Reason flow,
To brutes denied:"
and still more explicitly in these noble lines: —
"There wanted yet the master-work, the end
Of all yet done; a creature who, not prone
And brute as other creatures, but endued
With sanctity of Reason, might erect
His stature, and upright with front serene
Govern the rest, self-knowing; and from thence,
Magnanimous, to correspond with heaven;
But, grateful to acknowledge whence his good
Descends, thither with heart, and voice, and eyes,
Directed in devotion, to adore
And worship God Supreme, who made him chief
Of all his works."
Among the various characteristics of humanity, the power of
devising means to accomplish ends, together with the power
of distinguishing truth from  falsehood, and right from wrong,
are obviously the most conspicuous and important; and accordingly it is to these that the word Reason, even in its most
comprehensive acceptation, is now exclusively restricted.*' This, I think, is the meaning which most naturally presents itself to
common reacders, when the word Reason occurs in authors not affecting to
aim at any nice logical distinctions; and it is certainly the meaning which
must be annexed to it, in some of the most serious and important argumerits in which it has ever been employed. In the following passage, for
example, where Mr. Locke contrasts the light of Reason with that of
IRevelation, he plainly proceeds on the supposition, that it is competent to
appeal to the former, as affording a standard of right and vwrolg, not less
32




374                        nREASON.
More limited meaning of thle word. -  By some philosophers,
the meaning of the word has been of late restricted still further;
to the power by which we distingteis  truth from falsehood, ana
combine means for the accomplishment   of our purposes;-  the
capacity of distinguishing right and wrong being referred to a
separate principle or faculty, to which different names have
been assigned in different ethical theories.  The following passage from Mr. Hume contains one of the most explicit state.
ments of this limitation which I can recollect: " Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily
ascertained.  The former conveys the knowledge of truth and
falsehood; the latter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, -vice and virtue.  Reason, being cool and disengaged, is
no motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from
appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining
happiness or avoiding misery.  Taste, as it gives pleasure or
pain, and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes a
motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and
volition."
Reason distinguished from  reasoning. -  Another ambiguity
in the word Reason, it is of still greater consequence to point
out at present; an ambiguity which leads us to confound our
rational powers in general, with that particular branch of them
known among logicians by the name of t/he discursive faculty.
The affinity between the words reason and reasoning sufficiently
accounts for this inaccuracy in common and popular language;
than of speculative truth and falsehood; nor can there be a doubt that,
when he speaks of truth as the object of natural Reason, it was principally,
if not wholly, moral truth, which he had in his view; 1" Reason is natural
revelation, whereby the eternal Father of Light, and fountain of all knowledge, communicates to mankind that portion of truth which he has laid
within the reach of their natural faculties. Revelation is natural reason,
enlarged by a new set of discoveries, communicated by God immediately,
which reason vouches the truth of, by the testimony and proofs it gives
that they come from God. So that he who takes away reason to make
way for revelation, puts out the light of both, and does much the same
as if he would persuade a man to put out his eyes, the better to receive
the remote light of an invisible star by a telescope."




RBEASON.                         375
although it cannot fail to appear obvious, on the slightest reflection, that, in strict propriety, reasoning only expresses one of tzhe
various functions or operations of Reason; and that an extraordinary capacity for the former by no means affords a test, by
which the other constituent elements of the latter may be
measured."    Nor is it to common and popular language that
this inaccuracy is confined. It has extended itself to the systems of some of our most acute philosophers, and has, in various
instances, produced an apparent diversity of opinion, where there
was little or none in reality.
In the use which I make of the word Reason, in the title of
the following disquisitions, I employ it in a manner to which no
philosopher can object, -  to denote merely the power by which
qwe distinguish truth from falsehood, and combine means for the
attainment of our ends; omitting, for the present, all consideration of that function which many have ascribed to it, of distinguishing right from wrong; without, however, presuming to call
in question the accuracy of those by whom  the term  has been
thus explained.  Under the title of Reason, I shall consider also
whatever faculties and operations appear to be more immediately and essentially connected with the discovery of truth, or
the attainment of the objects of our pursuit, -  more particularly the power of reasoning or deduction; but distinguishing,
as carefully as I can, our capacity of carrying on this logical
* "The two most different things in the world," says Locke, " are, a logical chicaner, and a man of reason."  The adjective reasonable, as employed
in our language, is not liable to the same ambiguity with the substantive
firom which it is derived. It denotes a character in which Reason, (taking
that word in its largest acceptation,) possesses a decided ascendant over the
temper and the passions; and implies no particular propensity to a display
of the discursive power, if, indeed, it does not exclude the idea of such a
propensity. In the following stanza, Pope certainly had no view to the
logical talents of the lady whom he celebrates: -
"I know a thing that's most uncommon,
(Envy, be silent and attend!)
I know a reasonable woman,
Handsomne and witty, yet a friend,"




376                           REASONX
process, from those more comprehensive powers which Reason
is understood to imply.*
Various meanings of the word  Understanding. -  Anothei
instance of the vagueness and indistinctness of the common
language of logicians, in treating of this part of the Philosophy
of the Human Mind, occurs in the word Understanding.  In its
popular sense, it seems -to be very nearly synonymous with
[ IKant, and the later German metaphysicians, together with some of
the French school, assign very different functions to the Reason and the
Understanding. Indeed, the distinction between these two faculties is the
key-note of German transcendental philosophy.  According to Kant,
Reason is the faculty which evolves our ideas of all that transcends the
sphere of the senses and the limitations of experience, - of all which is
not subject to the conditions of space and time, but is infinite and absolute.
In one word, Reason is the faculty of the Unconditioned; it is the soul
itself, in the highest exercise of its activity, forming for itself ideas, to
which there are no corresponding realities in the world of sense or in
the cognitions of the understanding. " Reason," says Krug, one of the ablest
expounders of the Kanltian philosophy, " is the noblest jewel of humanity,
the true image of God, whereby alone man can raise himself from one
stage of perfection to another.  It rests, therefore, upon the perfectibility
of our race, so that we are always striving after the Ideal, without ever
obtaining it in all its fulness.  Consequently, Reason is the only cllaracteristic which distinguishes man from the other beasts of the earth; these
resemble him more or less in all other respects, they even surpass him in
some, but show no trace of Reason, because they neither strive after the
Ideal, nor are they able to perfect themselves by their own power."  But
it must be remembered, that no knowledge, properly sq called, can be constructed out of these Ideas which are evolved by Reason, since there is no
object corresponding to them in the whole circle of experience.  The
Reason ceaselessly strives after a knowledge of God, of the Universe, of
the Immortality and Freedom  of the Soul; and from these vain efforts,
constantly renewed and constantly defeated, have arisen all the doctrines
and systems of metaphysics.  We cannot either prove or disprove the
reality of the supersensual objects corresponding to these ideas of the
Reason. The arguments for and against any conclusion respecting them
are equally valid, and thus confute each other. Thus Kant is led to
affirm, that no metaphysical science is possible, and that the doctrines of
ontology and speculative theology are self-contradictory and absurd.
This account of the Reason coincides very nearly with a doctrine attributed by Cudworth to the iancient philosophers, when he says, " We have
all of us, by na ture, [avreve6 7it (as both Plato and Aristotle call it), a cer



REASON.                            377
Reason, when that word is used most comprehensively; and is
seldom or never applied to any of our faculties, but such as are
immediately subservient to the investigation of truth, or to the
regulation of our conduct.  In this sense, it is so far from being
understood to comprehend the powers of imagination, fancy, and
wit, that it is often stated in direct opposition to them; as in
the common maxim, that a sound understanding and a warm
tain divination, presage, and parturient vaticination in our minds, of some
higher good and perfection than either power or knowledge. Knowledge
is plainly to be preferred before power, as being that which guides and
directs its blind force and impetus; but Aristotle himself declares, that
there is 2liyov 7t lipELTrTO, which is y67ov &p:X, sonething better than rcason
and knowledge, which is the principle and original of all. For (saith he)
2L6Xov apyt ob X6yoc, &AA& ri KCpErTToV; the principle of reason is not reason,
but something better." - Cudworth's InZtellectual System, Am. ed. vol. 1,
p. 277.
The Uderstacdiig, on the other hand, according to Kant, is a lower
faculty of the mind, which corresponds very nearly to what we call understanding, or intellect. It is that faculty of the mind, by which the individual representations that come to us through the senses, are formed
into general conceptions and judcqgments, so as to become food for thought.
The intuitions oJ sence, as they are termed, are thus formed into conceptiwots, by being subsumed under the categories of the Understanding. An
intuition is thus subsumed under the categories of quantity, for instance,
by being necessarily conceived of as one, many, or all; under the categories of quality, because we must think of it as real, unreal, or limited, &c.
These categories are forms of the Understanding; they are not received
from experience, but are conditions imposed upon experience, as, without
them, experience would not be possible. The Understanding is like a
colored glass, which imposes its own hues upon all external objects. We
cannot see things as they are in themaselves, but only as they appear to us,
under the forms and conditions of the intellect; we cannot know them
as nozunena, but can only recognize them as phenomena.
Kant's system is certainly obscure, but it is by no means unintelligible.
From the faint and imperfect outline of it which is here given, and which
is designed only as an explanation of some of its technical termls, it is
easy to see, that it is a system of skepticism far more comprehensive
than that of Hume. It denies the possibility of our knowing any thing
which lies beyond the limits of the senses and experience; and even
within these limits, we can know things, not as they really are, but only
as they appear to us.]
no., 2




378                      REASON.
imagination are seldom united in the same person. But plhilosophers, without rejecting this use of the word, very generally
employ it, with far greater latitude, to comprehend. all the
powers which I have enumerated under the title of intellectual;
referring to it imagination, memory, and perception, as well as
the faculties to which it is appropriated in popular discourse,
and which it seems, indeed, most properly to denote. It is in
this manner that it is used by iMr. Locke, in his celebrated
Essay; and by all the logicians, who follow the common division
of our mental powers into those of the understanding and those
of the will.
As the word understanding, however, is one of those which
occur very frequently in philosophical arguments, it may be of
some use to disengage it from the ambiguity just remarked;
and it is on this account, that I have followed the example of
some late writers, in distinguishing the two classes of powers,
which were formerly referred to the understancding and to the
will, by calling the former intellectual, and the latter active.*
The terms cognitive and motive, were long ago proposed Ior
the same purpose by Uobbes; but they never appear to have
come into general -use, and are, indeed, liable to obvious objections.
Ambiguity of the wordjudgment. - The only other indefinite
word, which I shall take notice of in these introductory remarks,
is judgment; and, in doing so, I shall confine myself to such
of its ambiguities as are more peculiarly connected with our
present subject. In some cases, its meaning seems to approach
to that of understanding; as in the nearly synonymous phrases,
a sound understanding, and a sound judgment. If there be any
difference between these two modes of expression, it appears to
me to consist chiefly in this, that the former implies a greater
degree of positive ability than the latter; which indicates rather
an exemption from those biases which lead the mind astray,
than the possession of any uncommon reach of capacity. To
understanding, we apply the epithets strong, vigorous, compre* [See note to page 14.]




REASON.                        379
hensive, profound: to judgment, those of correct, cool, unprejudiced, impartial, solid. It was in this sense, that the word
seems to have been understood by Pope, in the following
couplet:"'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own."
For this meaning of the word, its primitive and literal application to the judicial decision of a tribunal accounts sufficiently.
Agreeably to the same fundamental idea, the name of judgment is given with peculiar propriety to those acquired powers
of discernment, which characterize a skilful critic in the fine
arts; powers which depend, in a very great degree, on a temper
of' mind free from the undue influence of authority and of
casual associations.  The power of taste itself is frequently
denote.d by the appellation of judlgment; and a person who
possesses a more than ordinary share of it, is said to be a
judge in those matters which fall under its cognizance.
In treatises of logic, judyment is commonly defined to be an
act of the mind, by which onze thing is carined or denied of
another; a definition which, though not unexceptionable, is,
perhaps, less so than most that have been given on similar
occasions. Its defect, as Dr. Reid has remarked, consists in
this, — that although it be by affirmation or denial that we
express our judgments to others, yet judgment is a solitary act
of the mind, to which this affirmation or denial is not essential;
and, therefore, if the definition be admitted, it must be understood of mental affirmation or denial only; in which case, we do
no more than substitute, instead of the thing defined, another
mode of speaking, perfectly synonymous.  The definition has,
however, notwithstanding this imperfection, the merit of a conciseness and perspicuity, not often to be found in the attempts
of logicians to explain our intellectual operations..Obscurity in metaphysics is always the fault of the writer. -
To the following observations of D'Alembert, (with some trifling verbal exceptions,) I give my most cordial assent; and,




0880                    ~REASON.
mortifying as they may appear to the pretensiols of bolder
theorists, I should be happy to see them generally recognized
as canons of philosophical criticism: "Truth in metaphysics
resembles truth in matters of taste. In both cases, the seeds
of it exist in every mind; though few think of attending to
this latent treasure, till it be pointed out to them by more curious inquirers. It should seem, that every tiing we learn from a
good metaphysical book, is only a sort of reminiscence of what
the mind previously knew. The obscurity of which we are apt
to complain in this science, may be always justly ascribed to
the author; because the information which he professes to communicate, requires no technical language appropriated to itself.
Accordingly, we may apply to good metaphysical authors, what
has been said of those who excel in the art of writing, that, in
reading them, everybody is apt to imagine, that he himself
could have written in the same manner.
" But, in this sort of speculation, if all are qualified to understand, all are not fitted to teach. The merit of accommodating
easily to the apprehension of others, notions which are at once
siimple and just, appears, from its extreme rarity, to be much
greater than is commonly imagined.  Sound metaphysical principles, are truths which every one is ready to seize, but which
few men have the talent of unfolding; so difficult is it in this,
as well as in other instances, to appropriate to one's self, what
seems to be the common inheritance of the human race."
I begin with a review of some of those primary truths, a
conviction of which is necessarily implied in all our thoughts,
and in all our actions; and which seem, on that account, rather
to form constituent and essential elements of reason, than
objects with which reason is conversant. The import of this
last remark will appear more clearly afterwards.
The primary truths to which I mean to confine my attention
at present are, 1. Mathematical axioms; 2. Truths, (or more
properly speaking, laws of belief,) inseparably connected with
the exercise of consciousness, perception, memory, and reasoning.
I. Of Mliathematical Axioms. - I have placed this class of




REASON.                       381
truths at the head of the enumeration, merely beulause they
seem likely, from the place which they hold in the elements of
geometry, to present to my readers a more interesting, and at
the same time an easier, subject of discussion, than some of the
more abstract and latent elements of our knowledge, afterwards
to be considered. In other respects, a different arrangement
might perhaps have possessed some advantages,. in point of' strict
logical method.
Axioms are not principles from whiich anrty knowlece can be
deduced. - It was long ago remarked by Locke, of the axioms
of geometry, as stated by Euclid, that, although the proposition
be at first enunciated in general terms, and afterwards appealed
to, in its particular applications, as a principle previously
examined and admitted, yet that the truth is not less evident in
the latter case than in the former.  lie observes further, that it
is in some of its particular applications, that the truth of every
axiom is originally perceived by the mind; and, therefore, that
the general proposition, so far from being the ground of our
assent to the truths which it comprehends, is only a verbal
generalization of what, in particular instances, has been already
acknowledged as true.
The same author remarks, that some of these axioms I" are
no more than bare verbal propositions, and teach us nothing but
the respect and import of names one to another.'The whole is
equal to all its parts'; what real truth, I beseech you, does it
teach us?  What more is contained in that' maxim, than what
the signification of the word totum, or the whole, does of itself
import?  And he that knows that the word whole stands for
what is made up of all its parts, knows very little less, than that
a"the whole is equal to all its parts."  And upon the same
ground, I think that this proposition,'A hill is higher than a
valley,' and several the like, may also pass fot maxims."
flow far axioms are utseful. - Notwithstanding these considerations,  Mr. Locke does not object to the form  which
Euclid has given to his axioms, or to the place which he has
assigned to them  in his, Elements.  On the contrary, he is of
opinion, that a collection of such maxims is not without reason




382                       REASON.
prefixed to a mathematical system; in order that learners,
"having in the beginning perfectly acquainted their thoughts
with these propositions made in general terms, may have them
ready to apply to all particular cases, as formed rules and sayings. Not that, if they be equally weighed, they are more
clear and evident than the instances they are brought to confirm; but that, being more familiar to the mind, the very naming of them is enough to satisfy the understanding." In further
illustration of this, he adds, very justly and ingeniously, that
"although our knowledge begins in particulars, and so spreads
itself, by degrees, to generals; yet, afterwards, the mind takes
quite the contrary course, and having drawn its knowledge into
as general propositions as it can, makes them familiar to its
thoughts, and accustoms itself to have recourse to them, as to
the standards of truth and falsehood."
But although in'mathematics some advantage may be gained,
without the risk of' any possible inconvenience, from this arrangement of axioms, it is a very dangerous example to be followed in other branches of knowledge, where our notions are
not equally clear and precise; and where the force of our pretended axioms, (to use Mr. Locke's words,) " reaching only to
the sound, and not to the signification, of the words, serves only
to lead us into confusion, mistakes, and error."  For the illustration of this remark, I must refer to Locke.
Axioms are not the foundations on which science rests.Another observation of this profound writer deserves our
attention, while examining the nature of axioms; "that they
are not the foundations on which any of the sciences is built;
nor at all useful in helping men forward to the discovery
of unknown truths." This observation I intend to illustrate
afterwards, in treating of the futility of the syllogistic art. At
present, I shall only add to what Mir. Locke has so well stated,
that, even in mathematics, it cannot with any propriety be said,
that the axioms are the foundation on which the science rests,
or the first principles from which its more recondite truths are
deduced.
6Of intuitive evidence," says Dr. Campbell, "that of the




REASON.                        383
following propositions may serve as an illustration:'One and
four make five.'   Things equal to the same thing, are equal to
one another.''The whole is greater than a part;' and, in
brief, all axioms in arithmetic and geometry.  These are, in
effect, but so many expositions of our own general notions,
taken in different views.  Some of them are no more than definitions, or equivalent to definitions.  To say, one and four make
five, is precisely the same thing as to say, we give the name of
five to one added to four.  In fact, they are all, in some respects, reducible to this axiom,'whatever is, is.' I do not say
they are deduced from  it, for they have, in like manner, that
original and intrinsic evidence which makes them, as soon as
the terms are understood, to be perceived intuitively.  And, if
they are not thus perceived, no deduction of reason will ever
confer on them any additional evidence. Nay, in point of time,
the discovery of the less general truths has the priority, not from
their superior evidence, but solely from this consideration, that
the less general are sooner objects of perception to us.  But I
affirm, that tl0hough not dedulced from that axiom, they may be
considered as particular exemnplijcations of it, and coincident
with it, inasmuch as they are all implied in this, that the properties of our clear and adequate ideas, can be no other than what
the mind clearly perceives them to be.
" Now, it is by the aid of such simple and elementary principles, that the arithmetician and algebraist proceed to the most
astonishing discoveries.  Nor are the operations of the geometri(cian essentially different."
The nature of mathematical investigations. - I have little to
object to these observations of Dr. Campbell, as far as they
relate to arithmetic and to algebra; for, in these sciences, all
our investigations amount to nothing more than to a comparison
of different expressions of the same thing. Our common lang..lage indeed frequently supposes the case to be otherwise; as
when an equation is defined to be, "A proposition asserting the
equality of two quantities."  It would, however, be much more
correct to define it, " A proposition asserting the equivalence of
two expressions of the same quantity;" for algebra is merely a




384                       REASON.
universal arithmetic; and the names of numbers are nothing
else than collectives, by which we are enabled to express. ourselves more concisely than could be done by enumerating all
the units that they contain.  Of this doctrine, the passage now
quoted from Dr. Campbell shows that he entertained a sufficiently just and precise idea.
But, if Dr. Campbell perceived that arithmetical equations,
such as " one and four make five," are no other than definitions,
why should he have classed them with the axioms he quotes
from Euclid, "That the whole is greater than a part," and that
"Things equal to the same thing are equal to one another?"propositions which, however clearly their truth be implied in
the meaning of the terms of which they consist, cannot certainly,
by any interpretation, be considered in the light of definitions at
all analogous to the former.  The former, indeed, are only explanations of the relative import of particular names; the latter
are universal propositions, applicable alike to an infinite variety
of instances.
Another very obvious consideration might have satisfied Dr.
Campbell, that the simple arithmetical equations which he mentions, do not hold the same place in that science which Euclid's
axioms hold in geometry.  What I allude to is, that the greater
part of these axioms are equally essential to all the different
branches of mathematics.  That " the whole is greater than a
part," and that "things equal to the same thing are equal to one
another," are propositions as essentially connected with our
arithmetical computations, as with our geometrical reasonings;
and therefore, to explain in what manner the mind makes a
transition, in the case of numbers, from the more simple to the
more complicated equations, throws no light whatever on the
question, how the transition is made, either in arithmetic or in
geometry, from what are properly called axioms, to the more
remote conclusions in these sciences.
The very fruitless attempt thus made by this acute writer to
illustrate the importance of axioms as the basis of mathematical
truth, was probably suggested to him by a doctrine which has
been repeatedly inculcated of late, concerning the grounds of




REASON.                        385
that peculiar evidence which is aliowed to accompany mathemlatical demonstration.  "All the sciences," it has been said,
"rest ultimately on first principles, which we must take for
granted without proof; and whose evidence determines, both in
kind and degree, the evidence which it is possible to attain in
our conclusions.  In some of the sciences, our first principles
are intuitively certain; in others, they are intuitively probable;
and such as the evidence of these principles is, such must that
of our conclusions be. If our first principles are intuitively
certain, and if we reason from  them  consequentially, our conclusions will be demonstratively certain; but if our principles
be only intuitively probable, our conclusions will be only demonstratively probable.  In mathematics, the first principles froml
which we reason are a set of axioms, which are not only intuitively certain, but of which we find it impossible to conceive the
contraries to be true; and hence the peculiar evidence which
belongs to all the conclusions that follow from  these principles
as necessary consequences."
Deftnitions, not axioms, are tlhe first princples of mcathematics. - That there is something fundamentally erroneous in
these very strong statements with respect to the relation which
Euclid's axioms bear to the geometrical theorems which follow,
appears sufficiently fiom  a consideration which was long ago
mentioned by Locke, that from these axioms it is not possible
for human ingenuity to deduce a single inference.  "It was not,"
says Locke, " the influence of those maxims which are taken for
principles in mathematics, that hath led the masters of that
science to those wonderful discoveries they have made.  Let a
man of good parts know all the maxims generally made use of
in mathematics never so perfectly, and contemplate their extent
and consequences as much as he pleases, he will, by their assistance, I suppose, scarce ever come to know, that'the sq.tare
of the hypothenuse in a right angled triangle, is equal to the
squares of the two other sides.' The knowledge that' the whole
is equal to all its parts,' and,'if you take equals from  equals,
the remainders will be equal,' helped him not, I presume, to this
demonstration; and a man may, I think, pore long enough on
33




O~U                          REAiR S 0IN.
these axioms, without ever seeing one jot the more of mathematical truths."  But surely, if this be granted, and if, at the
same time, by the first principles of a science be meant those
fundamental propositions from  which its remoter truths are
derived, the axioms cannot, with any consistency, be called the
first principles of mathematics.  They have not, it will be admitted, the most distant analogy to what are called the first
principles of natural philosophy;-  to those general facts, for
example, of the gravity and elasticity of the air, from  which
may be deduced, as consequences, the suspension of the mercury
in the Torricellian tube, and its fall when carried up to an
eminence.  According to this meaning of the word, the principles of mathematical science are, not the axioms, buit the dejfnitions; which definitions hold, in mathematics, precisely the same
place that is held in natural philosophy by such general fiacts
as have now been referred to.*
* In order to prevent cavil, it may be necessary for me to remark here,
that when I speak of mathematical axioms, I have in view only such as
are of the same description with the first nine of those which are prefixed
to the Elements of Euclid; for, in that list, it is well known, that there
are several which belong to a class of propositions altogether different from
the others.  That " all right angles (for example) are equal to one
another;" that " when one straight line falling on two other straight lines
makes the two interior angles on the same side less than two right angles,
these two straight lines, if produced, shall meet on the side, where are the
two angles less than two right angles;" are manifestly principles whictl
bear no analogy to such barren truisms as these, "Things that are equal
to one and the same thing, are equal to one another."  "If equals he
added to equals, the wholes are equal."  " If equals be taken from equals,
the remainders are equal."  Of these propositions, the two former (the
10th and 11th axioms, to wit, in Euclid's list) are evidently theorems
which, in point of strict logical accuracy, ought to be demonstrated; as
may be easily done, with respect to the first, in a single sentence. That
the second has not yet been proved in a simple and satisfactory manner,
has been long considered as a sort of reproach to mathematicians; and
I have little doubt that this reproach will continue to exist, till the basis
of the science be somewhat enlarged, by the introduction of one or two
new definitions, to serve as additional principles of geometrical reasoning.
[Dr. Whewell and Mr. J. S. Mill have engaged in this discussion




REASON.                             387
Fronm  what principle are the various properties of the circle
derived, but from the definition of a circle?  From  what prinrespecting the nature of axioms and the first principles of mathemamical
reasoning, the former controverting, and the latter supporting, the opinions
of Mr. Stewart.  Yet the admission made by Stewart in the former palrt
of this note seems to take away much of the ground of controversy
between him and Dr. Whewell.  It seems to be admitted on all hands, by
Mr. Mill as well as by Mr. Stewart, that what Dr. Whewell calls "the
peculiar geometrical axioms," such as the 10th and 11th of Euclid, are
among the first principles of geometry, - that, far from  being barren
trt dsms, like the first nine, proper inferences can be deduced. fiom  them,
and the whole structure of geometry could not be built up without their
aid.  The only doubt is, whether they are properly called axioms, whether
they should not be considered rather as theorems, or propositions which
ought to be demonstrated, though geometricians have not as yet succeeded
in proving' them.  On the other hand, Dr. Whellwell does not assert that
geometrical reasoning rests exclusi:ely upon axioms, but allows that definitions must be classed with them, both together constituting the first principles of the science.  He urges, " that no one has yet been able to constrect a system  of mathematical truths by the aid of definitions alone;
that a definition would not be admissible or applicable, except it agreed
with a distinct conception in the mind; that the definitions which we
employ in mathematics are not arbitrary or hypothetical, but necessary
definitions; and that the real foundation of the truths of mathematics is
the idea of space, which may be expressed, for purposes of demonstration,
partly by definitions and partly by axioms."
Mr. Mill answers, " Those who say that the premises of geometry are
hypotheses, are not bound to maintain them to be hypotheses which have
no relation whatever to fact.  Since an hypothesis framed for the purpose of scientific inquiry must relate to something which has real existence, (for there can be no science respecting nonentities,) it follows, that
any hypothesis which we make respecting an object, to facilitate our
study of it, must not involve any thing which is distinctly false, and repugnant to its real nature; we must not ascribe to the thing any propl
erty, which it has not; our liberty extends only to suppressing some of
those which it has, under the indispensable obligation of restoring thcn
whenever, and as far as, their presence or absence would make any
material difference in the truth of our conclusion.  Of this nature, accordingly, are the first principles involved in the definitions of geometry.
In their positive part, they are observed facts; it is only in their negactive
part that they are hypothetical."
It had been previously remarked by Mr. Mill, that " there exist no real




38 8                           REASON.
ciple the properties of the parabola or ellipse, but fiom  thle
definitions of these curves?  A  similar observation may be extended  to all the  other theorems which  the  mathematician
demonstrates; and it is this observation (which, obvious as it
may seem, does not appear to  have  occurred, in all its force,
things exactly conformable to the definitions. There exist no points without magnitude; no lines without breadth, nor perfectly straight; no circles
with all their radii exactly equal, nor squares with all their angles perfectly
right."  " To get rid of this difficulty, and, at the same time, to save the
credit of the supposed systems of necessary truth, it is customary to say
thlat the points, lines, circles, and squares which are the subject of geometry, exist in our conceptions merely, and are part of our minds; which
minds, by working on their own materials, construct an a priori science, the
ev idence of which is purely mental, and has nothing' whatever to do with
outward experience."  This doctrine, however, lie maintains to be psychologicanl, incorrect; for " we cannot conceive a line without breadth; we can
form no mental picture of such a line; all the lines which we have in our
minds are lines possessing breadth."  " A line, as defined by geometers, is
wholly inconceivable.  We can reason about a line," lie admits, " as if it
had no breadth; " but this is only because we have a power of attendingc to
a part of our perception or conception, instead of the whole.  The conclusion, therefore, in geometry, is Gnly so far an approxination to the truth, as
the points, lines, circles, etc., which are described in the definitions, are
approximations to the real lines, circles, etc., which actually exist.
"The peculiar accuracy," continues Mr. Mill, " supposed to be characteristic of the first principles of geometry, thus appears to be fictitious.
The assertions, on which the reasoninogs of the science are founded, do not,
any more than in other sciences, exactly correspond with the fact; but we
sup1pose that they do so, for the sake of tracing the consequences which follow from the supposition.  The opinion of Dugald Stewart respecting the
foundations of geometry, is, I conceive, substantially correct;- that it is
built upon hypotheses; that it owes to this alone the peculiar certainty
supposed to dcistinguish it; and that, in any science whatever, by reasoning
from a set of hypotheses, we may obtain a body of conclusions as certain
as those of geometry;- that is, as strictly in accordance with the hypotheses, and as irresistibly compelling assent on cozndition that those hypotheses
are true.  When, therefore, it is affirmed that the conclusions of geometry
are necessary truths, the necessity consists in reality only in this, that they
necessarily follow from  the suppositions fiom which they are deduced.
These suppositions are so far from being necessary, that they are not even
true; they purposely depart, more or less widely, from  the truth." —
Mill's Loqic, Amn. ed. pp. 148-151.




RHEASON.                       3t93
either to Locke, to Reid, or to Campbell,) that furnishllts, if I
mistake not, the true explanation of the peculiarity already
remarked in mathematical evidence.
But the truth of the axioms is presupposed or implied in all our
reasonings. —After what has been just stated, it is scarcely
necessary for me again to repeat, with regard to mathematical
axioms, that although they are not the principles of our reasoning, either in arithmetic or in geometry, their truth is supposed
or implied in all our reasonings in both; and, if it were called
in question, our further progress would be impossible. In both
of these respects, we shall find them  analogous to the other
classes of primary or elemental truths, which remain to be considered.
Nor let it be imagined, from this conces'on, that the dispute
turns merely on the meaning annexed to the word principle.
It turns upon an important question of fact; whether the
theorems of geometry rest on the axioms, il the same sense in
which they rest on the definitions? or (to rtate the question in'i manner still more obvious) whether:ioms hold a place;n geometry at all analogous to what is occupied in natural
Philosophy, by those sensible phenome1lo ~ hich form the basis
Qf that science?  Dr. Reid compares I'em  sometimes to the
ne set of propositions, and sormef'* ~s to the other.  If the
%oregoing observations be just O jv oear no analogy to either.
What are' first przi',c'l>r,' inscience. -   The difference
F opinion between L(YAke,,l?' Reid, of which I took notice in.le foregoing par' o#' tkLi, scr tion, appears greater than it really
s, in consequAvnc.e  f,1' ambiguity in the word principle, as
~,mployed by tale var;e-.  In its proper acceptation, it seems to,.e to denc'e an a'sumption, (whether resting on fact or on
rypothesis,) urJn which, as a datum, a train of reasoning proeeeds; and for the falsity or incorrectness of which, no logical
"figor in the subsequent process can compensate.  Thus the.gravity and the elasticity of the air, are principles of reasoning,n our speculations about the barometer. The equality of the
angles of incidence and reflection; the proportionality of the
sines of incidence and refraction; are principles of reasoning in
33 




390                       RiEASON.
catoptrics and in dioptrics.  In a sense perfectly analogous to
this, the definitions of geometry (all of which are merely hypothetical) are the first principles of reasoning in the subsequent demonstrations, and the basis on which the whole fabric
of the science rests.
I have called this the proper acceptation of the word, bet
cause it is that in which it is most fiequently used by the best
writers. It is also most agreeable to the literal meaning which
its etymology suggests, expressing the original point froml which
our reasoning sets out or commences.
Dr. Reid often uses the word in this sense, as, for example,
in the following sentence: " From three or four axioms, which
he calls reygule philosophandi, together with the phenomena
observed by the senses, which he likewise lays down as first
principles, Newton deduces, by strict reasoning, the propositions contained in the third book of his Principia, and in his
Optics."
Alnother significction of'first principles.' - On other occasions, he uses the same word to denote those elemental tr'utths (if
I may use the expression) which are virtually taken for granted
or assumed, in every step of our reasoning; and without which,
although no consequences can be directly inferred fiom them, a
train of reasoning would be impossible. Of this kind, in nmathematics, are the axioms, or (as Mr. Locke and others frequently
call them) the maxims; in physics, a belief of the continuance
of the Laws of  ~atture; in all our reasonings, without exception, a belief in our own identity, and in the evidence of imeemory.  Such truths are the last elements into which reasoning
resolves itself, when subjected to a metaphysical analysis, and
which no person but a metaphysician or a logician ever thinlks
of stating in the form  of propositions, or even of expressing_
verbally to himself.  It is to truths of this description, that
Locke seems, in general, to apply the name of maxims; and,
in this sense, it is unquestionably true, that no science (not even
geometry) is founded on maxims as its first principles.
Distinction between principles of reasoning and elements of
reasoning. - In one sense of the word principle, indeed, max




REASON.                          391
ims may be called principles of reasoning; for the words principles and elements are sometimes used as synonymous.  Nor
do I take upon me to say that this mode of speaking is exceptionable.  All that I assert is, that they cannot be called principles of reasoning, in the sense which has just now been defined;
and that accuracy requires, that the word, on which the whole
question hinges, should not be used in both senses, in the course
of the same argument.  It is for this reason, that I have employed the phrase principles of reasoning on the one occasion,
and elements of reasoning on the other.
It is difficult to find unexceptionable language, to mark distinctions so completely foreign  to the ordinary purposes of
speech; but, in the present instance, the line of separation is
strongly and clearly drawn by this criterion, -  that fromi principles of reasoning, consequences may be deduced; from  what I
have called elements of reasoning, none ever can.
A process of logical reasoning has often been likened to a
chain supporting a weight.  If this similitude be adopted, the
axioms, or elemental truths now mentioned, may be compared
to the successive concatenations which  connect the different
links immediately with each other; the principles of our reasoning resemble the hook, or rather the beam, from which the
whole is suspended.*, D'Alembert has defined the word principle exactly in the sense in
which I have used it; and has expressed himself (at least on one occasion) nearly as I have done, on the subject of axioms.
"What, then, are the truths which are entitled to have a place in the
elements of philosophy? They are of two kinds; those which form the
head of each part of the chain, and those which are to be found at the
points where different branches of the chain unite together.
" Truths of the first kind are distinguished by this, - that they do not
depend on any other truths, and that they possess within themselves the
whole grounds of their evidence. Some of my readers will be apt to
suppose, that I here mean to speak of axioms; but these are not the truths
which I have at present in view. With respect to this last class of principles, I must refer to what I have elsewhere said of them; that, notwithstanding their truth, they add nothing to our information; and that the
palpable evidence which accompanies them, amounts to nothing more




OJ),iS~~~            REAtsON.
IH1. Of certain laws of belief, insepacabbly connected with the
exercise of consciousness, memory, perception, and reasoning. —
1. It is by the immediate evidence of consciousness,* that we
are assured of the present existence of our various sensations,
whether pleasant or painful; of all our affections, passions,
hopes, fears, desires, and volitions. It is thus, too, we are assured
of the present existence of those thoughts which, during our
waking hours, are continually passing through the mind, and of
all the different effects which they produce in furnishing employment to our intellectual faculties.
How we come to a knowledge of our own existence. - According to the common doctrine of our best philosophers, it is by the
evidence of consciousness we are assured that we ourselves
exist.  The proposition, however, when thus stated, is not accurately true; for our own existence, as I have elsewhere observed,
is not a direct or immediate object of consciousness, in the strict
and logical meaning  of that term.  We are conscious of sensation, thought, desire, volition; but we are not conscious of the
existence of mind itse~l; nor would it be possible for us to
arrive at the knowledge of it, (supposing us to be created in the
full possession of all the intellectual capacities which belong to
human nature,) if no impressions were ever made on our external senses.  The moment that, in consequence of such an impression, a sensation'is excited, we learn two facts at once; -
the existence of the sensation, and our own existence as sentient
beings;- in other words, the very first exercise of consciousness necessarily implies a belief, not only of the present existence of what is felt, but of the present existence of that which
feels and thinks; or (to employ plainer language) the present
existence of that being which I denote by the words I and
myself.  Of these facts, however, it is the former alone of which
than to an expression of the same idea, by means of two different terms.
On such occasions, the mind only turns to no purpose about its own axis,
without adva.ncing forwvard a single step. Accordingly, axioms are so far
fiom holding the highest rank in philosophy, that they scarcely deserve
the distinction of being formally enunciated."
[H See note to page 3.]




EIAS;ON.                         u 830
iwe can properly be said to be conscious, agreeably to the
rigorous interpretation of the expression.  A conviction of th.e
latter, although it seems to be so insepartable fiom the exercise
of consciousness, that it can scarcely be considered as posterior
to it in the order of time, is yet (if I may be allowed to make
use of a scholastic distinction) posterior to it in the order of
nature; not only as it supposes consciousness to be already.awakened by some sensation, or some other mental affection;
but as it is evidently rather a judgment accompanying the exercise of that power, than one of its immediate intimations concerning its appropriate class of internal phenomena.  It appears
to me, therefore, more correct to call the belief of our own
existence a colncomitant, or accessory, of the exercise of consciousness, than to say, that our own existence is a fact falling
under tile immediate cognizance of consciousness, like the existence of the various agreeable or painful sensations which
external objects excite in our minds.
2. Not consciousness, but memory, proves our personal identity.
That we cannot, without a very blallable latitude in the use
of words, be said to be conscious of our personal identity, is a
proposition still more indisputable; inasmuch as the very idea
of personal identity involves the idea of time, and, consequently,
presupposes the exercise not only of consciousness, but of
nmemory.  The belief connected with this idea is implied in
every thought and every action of the mind, and may be justly
regarded as one of the simplest and most essential elements of
the understanding.  Indeed, it is impossible to conceive either
an intellectual or an active being to exist without it.  It is,
however, extremely worthy of remark, with respect to this
belief; that, universal as it is among our species, nobody but a
metaphysician ever thinks of expressing it in words, or of reducing into the shape of a proposition, the truth to which it relates.
To the rest of mankind, it forms, not an object of knowledlge,
but a condition or supposition, necessarily and unconsciously
involved in the exercise of all their faculties.  On a part of our
colnstitution, which is obviously one of the last or primordial
elements at Mwhich it is possible to arrive in analyzing our intel



~394d                   RJiFRASON.
lectual operations, it is plainly unphilosopbical to suppose, that
any new light can be thrown by metaphysical discussion. All
that can be done with propriety in such cases, is to state the
fac t.
3. Other elemental laws of thought. -The belief which all
inea entertain of the existence of the material world, (I mean
their belief of its existence independently of that of percipient
beings,) and their expectation of the continued uniformity of the
laws of natir e, belong to the same class of ultimate or elemental
laws of thouglht with those which have been just mentioned.
The truths which form their objects are of an order so radically
different from  what are commonly called truths, in the popular
acceptation of that word, that it might perhaps be useful for
logicians to distinguish them  by some appropriate appellation,
such, for example, as that of metaphysical or transcendental
truths.  They are not principles or data (as will afterwards
appear) from whlich any consequence can, be deduced; but fori
a part of those original stamina of human, reason, which are
equally essential to all the pursuits of science, and to all the
active concerns of life.
4. Confidence necessarily reposed on memory. - I shall only
take notice further, under this head, of the confidence which we
must necessarily repose in the evidence of memory, (and I may
add, in the continuance of our personal identity,) when we are
employed in carrying on any process of deduction or argumentation; - in following out for instance, the steps of a long mathematical demonstration.  In yielding our assent to the conclusion
to which such a demonstration leads, we evidently trust to the
fidelity with which our memory has connected the different links
of the chain together. The reference which is often made, in
the course of a demonstration, to propositions formerly proved,
places the same remark in.a light still stronger; and shows
plainly, that, in this branch of knowledge, which is justly considered as the most certain of any, the authority of the same
laws of belief which are recognized in the ordinary pursuits of
life, is tacitly acknowledged.  Deny the evidence of memory as a
ground of certain knowledge, and you destroy the foundations




REAS SOx'.                     3 9 3
of mathemmaical science as completely as if you were to deny
the truth of the axioms assumed by Euclid.
The foregoing examples sufficiently illustrate the nature of
that class of truths which I have called Fundamental Laws of
iontman Belief, or Primary Elements of Human ]eeason.  A
variety of others, not less important, might be added to the
list; * but these I shall not at present stop to enumerate, as my
chief object in introducing, the subject here, was to explain the
common relation in which they all stand to deductive evidence.
In this point of view, two analogies, or rather coincidences, between the truths which we have been last considering, and the
mathematical axioms which were treated of formerly, immediately present themselves to our notice.
Analogies between these elemental truths and mathematical
axioms. — 1. Fromn neither of these classes of truths can any
direct inference be drawn for the further enlargement of our
knowledge.  This remark has been already shown to hold universally withll respect to the axioms of geometry; and it applies
equally to what I have called Fundamental Laws of ZHueman
Belief.  From  such propositions as these, - I exist; I am thie
same person to-day, that I was yesterday; the material world has
an existence independent of my mind; the general laws of natzre
will continuze, in fiuture, to operate tun'zformly as in time past,no inference can be deduced, any more than from the intuitive
truths prefixed to the Elements of Euclid. Abstracted fioml
other data, they are perfectly barren in themselves; nor can
any possible combination of them  help the mind forward one
single step in its progress. It is for this reason, that instead of
calling them, with some other writers, first principles, I have distilnguished them by the title of fundamental laws of belief; the
former word seeming to me to denote, according to common
usage, some fact or some supposition, from which a series of
consequences may be deduced.
* Such, for example, as our belief of the existence of efficient causes;
our belief of the existence of other intelligent beings besides ourselves,
etc. etc.




ItEA VSON.
If the account now given of these laws of belief be just, the
great argument which has been commonly urged in support of
their authority, and which manifestly confounds them with what
are properly called principles of reasoning, is not at all applei
cable to the subject; or, at least, does not rest the point in dispute upon its right foundation.  If there were no first principles, (it has been said,) or, in other words, if a reason could be
given for every thing, no process of deduction could possibly be
brought to a conclusion.*
The remark is indisputably true; but it only proves (what
no logician of the present times will venture to deny) that the
mathematician could not demonstrate a single theorem, unless
he were first allowed to lay down his defnitions; nor the natural philosopher, explain or account for a single phenomenon,
unless he were allowed to assume, as acknowledged facts, certain general laws of nature.  What inference does this afford
in favor of that particular class of truths to which the preceding observations relate, and against which the ingenuity of mocl* Aristotle himself has more than once made this remark; more particularly in discussing the absurd question, Whether it be possible for the
same thing to be and not to be? Aftovait de aL Tovro a-Tro6elotvvvat TrVEF
ot' airat&evatav. East yap a7ratdevala, reo rl ytlvolaiev rtvOv 6et pn7etv a ITro6etitv,
ceat rtvtov ov Set.'O2tofu  ev yap a7ravrT  aedvvearov a-Trodtetriv etvat. Ere
a7retpov yap av Padtbot- fiG?~ u76d' oiV7Wf Etvat aTro&tltv. - Aristot. Metaphys. vol. ii. p. 873. Edit. du Val.
"But there are some who, through ignorance, make an attempt to
prove even this principle, (that it is ilnpossible for the same thing to be
and not to be). For it is a mark of ignorance not to be able to disting-uish
those things which ought to be demonstrated from  things of which no
demonstration should be attempted. In truth, it is altogether impossible
that every thing should be susceptible of demonstration; otherwise, the
process would extend to infinity, and, after all our labor, nothing would
be gained."  In the sentence immediately preceding this quotation, Aristotle calls the maxim in question, egFatowrar- rvrv apXov 7raotv, " the most
certain of all principles."
To the same purpose, Dr. Reid has said, "I hold it to be certain, and
even demonstrable, that all knowledge got by reasoning, must be built on
first principles. This," he adds, "is as certain as that every house must
have a foundation."




REASON.                       397
ern skeptics has been more particularly directed?  If I be not
deceived, these truths are still more intimately connected witih
the operations of the reasoning faculty than has been generally
imagined; not as the principles (apxat) from which our reasonings set out, and on which they ultimately depend; but as the necessary conditions on which every step of the deduction tacitly
proceeds; or rather (if I may use the expression) as essential
elements which enter into the composition of reason itsetf
2. In this last remark, I have anticipated, in some measure,
what I had to state with respect to the second coincidence
allhded to, between mathematical axioms and the other propositions which I comprehended under the general title of ifundamental laws of human belief.  As the truth of axioms is virtually presupposed, or implied, in the successive steps of every
demonstration, so, in every step of our reasonings concerning othe
order of nature, we proceed on the supposition, that the laws by
which it is regulated, will continue uniform  as in time past;
and that the material universe has an existence independent of
our perceptions. I need scarcely add, that, in all our reasonings
whatever, whether they relate to necessary or to contingent
truths, our own personal identity, and the evidence of memory,
are virtually taken for granted.  These different truths all agree
in this, that they are essentially involved in the exercise of our
rational powers; although, in themselves, they furnish no principles or data by which the sphere of our knowledge can, by an
ingenuity, be enlarged. They agree, further, in being tacitly
acknowledged by all men, learned or ignorant, without any formal
enunciation in words, or even any conscious exercise of reflection. It is only at that period of our intellectual progress, when
scientific arrangements and metaphysical refinements begin to
be introduced, that they become objects of attention to the
mind, and assume the form of propositions.
Objections to the phrase, principles of common sense. - To
the class of truths which I have here called laws of belief, or
elements of reason, the title of principles of common sense was
long ago given by Father Buffier, whose language and doctrine
34




9C8                      nREASO. a
colcerning them bear a very striking resemblance to those of
some of our later Scottish logicians.  This, at least, strikes me
as the meaning which these writers, in general, annex to the
phrase; although all of them have frequently employed it with
a far greater degree of latitude.  When thus limited in its
acceptation, it is obviously liable, in point of scientific accuracy,
to two very strong objections, both of which have been already
sufficiently illustrated. The first is, that it applies the appellation of principles to laws of belief from which no inference can
be deduced; the second, that it refers the origin of these laws
to common sense.  Nor is this phraseology more agreeable to
popular use than to logical precision.  If we were to suppose
an individual whose conduct betrayed a disbelief of his own
existence, or of his own identity, or of the reality of surrounding objects, it would, by no means, amount to an adequate
description of his condition, to say, that he was destitute of common sense.  We should at once pronounce him  to be destitute
of reason, and would no longer consider him as a fit subject of
discipline.or of punishment.  The former expression, indeed,
would only imply that he was apt to fall into absurdities and
improprieties in the common concerns of life.  To denominate,
therefore, such laws of belief as we have now been considering,
constitutent elements of Iunman reason, while it seems quite unexceptionable in point of technical distinctness, cannot be justly
censured as the slightest deviation from  our habitual forms of
speech.  On the same grounds, it may be fairly questioned,
whether the word Reason would not, on some occasions, be the
best substitute which our language affords for intuition, in that
enlarged acceptation which has been given to it of late. If
not quite so definite and precise as might be wished, it would
be at least employed in one of those significations in which it
is already familiar to every ear; whereas the meaning of intuition, when used for the same purpose, is stretched very fr
beyond its ordinary limits. And in cases of this sort, where we
have to choose between two terms, neither of which is altogether
unexceptionable, it will be found much safer to trust to the con



REASON.                             399
text for restricting, in the reader's mind, what is too general,
than for enlarging what use has accustomed us to interjlret in a
sense too nlarrow.'
[ In his " Account of the Life and Writings of Dr. Reid," Mr. Stewart
remarks, "that the question about the propriety of the phrase common
sense Inust be decided by an appeal to general practice; for, although it be
allowable, and even necessary, for a philosopher to limit the acceptation of
vwords which are employed vaguely in common discourse, it is always
dangerous to give to a word a scientific meaning essentially distinct from
thlat in which it is usually understood.  It has, at least, the effect of mlisleading those who do not enter deeply into the subject; and of giving a paradoxical appearance to doctrines, which, if expressed in more unexceptionable terms, would be readily admitted.
" It appears to me, that this has actually happened in the present instance.  The phrase comnsmoz sense, as it is generally understood, is nearly
synonymous with 7mother wit, denoting that degree of sagacity, depending
partly on original capacity, and partly on personal experience and observation, which qualifies an individual for those simple and essential occupations which all men are called on to exercise habitually by their common
nature.  In this acceptation, it is opposed to those mental acquiremnents
which are derived from a regular education and fiom the study of books; and
refers, not to the speculative convictions of the understanding, but to that
prudence and discretion which are the foundation of successful conduct.
Such is the idea which Pope annexes to the word, when, speaking of good
sense, which means only a more than ordinary share of commnion sense, he
calls it
"the gift of heaven,
And though no science, fairly worth the seven."
"To speak, accordingly, of appealing from the conclusions of philosop~hy
to commzon sense, had the appearance, to title-page readers, of appealing
from the verdict of the learned to the voice of the multitude; or of attenmpting to silence free discussion, by a reference to some arbitrary and
undefinable standard, distinct fiom any of the intellectual powers hitherto
enumerated by logicians. Whatever countenance may be supposed to
have been given by some writers to such an interpretation of this mode
of expression, I may venture to assert that none is afforded by the works
of Dr. Reid.  The standard to which he appeals, is neither the creed of
a particular sect, nor the inward light of enthusiastic presumption; but
that constitultion of haman nature, without which all the bumsiness of the wsorld
would immediately cease; and the substance of his doctrine amounts merely
to this, that those essential laws of belief; to awhich skeptics have objected whens
cuosidered inm connection with our scientific reasonings, are inmplied in every step




400                           REASON.
I must add, too, in opposition to the high authorities of Dr.
Johnson and Dr. Beattie, that, for many years past, Receson has
been very seldom used by philosophical writers, or, indeed, by
correct writers of any description, as synonymous with  the
power of reasoning.  To appeal to the light of human reason
fiom  the reasonings of the schools, is surely an  expression to
we take as active beings; and if called in question by any mzan in his practical
concerns, would expose him universally to the charge qf insanity."
Sir William  Hamilton adheres to the phrase Philosophy of Conmmon Sense,
and thus argues in favor of its strictly scientific and authoritative character. " IHow, it is asked, do these primary propositions - these cognitions
at first hand- these fundamental facts, feelings, beliefs, certify us of their
own veracity?  To this the only possible answer is - that as elements of
our mental constitution - as the essential conditions of our knowledge -
they must by us be accepted as true.  To suppose their falsehood, is to
suppose that we are created capable of intelligence, in order to be made
the victims of delusion; that God is a deceiver, and the root of our nature
a lie..But such a supposition, if gratuitous, is manifestly illegitimate.
For, on the contrary, the data of our original consciousness must, it is
evident, in the first instance, be presumed true. It is only if proved false,
that their authority can, in consequence of that proof, be, in the second instance, disallowed.  Speaking, therefore, generally, to argue fiom common
sense, is simply to show, that the denial of a given proposition would
involve the denial of some original datum of consciousness; but as every
original datum of consciousness is to be presumed true, that the proposition in question, as dependent on such a principle, must be admitted.
" Here, however, it is proper to take a distinction between the data or
deliverances of consciousness considered simply, in themselves, as apprehended facts or actual manifestations, and those deliverances considered ae
testimonies to the truth of facts beyond their own phenomenal reality.
"Viewed under the former limitation, they are beyond all skepticism.
For as doubt is itself only a manifestation of consciousness, it is impossible to doubt that, whlat consciousness manafests it does manizest, without, in
thus doubting, doubting that we actually doubt; that is, without the doubt
contradicting and therefore annihilating itself. Hence it is, that the facts
of consciousness, as mere phenomena, are, by the unanimous confession
of all Skeptics and Idealists, ancient and modern, placed high above the
reach of question.
" Though the argument from common sense is an appeal to the natural
convictions of mankind, it is not an appeal from philosophy to blind feeling.  It is only an appeal from  the heretical conclusions of particular




REASON.                            401
which no good objection can be made, on the score either of
vagueness or of novelty.  Nor has the etymoloyical %afnity between these two words, the slightest tendency to throw  any
obscurity on the foregoing expression.  On the contrary, this
affinity may be of use in some of our future arguments, by
philosophers, to the catholic principles of all philosophy.  The prejudice
which, on this supposition, has sometimes been excited against the argunment, is groundless.
"Nor is it true, that the argument from common sense denies the decision
to the judgment of philosophers, and accords it to the verdict of the vulgar. Nothing can be more erroneous.  We admit — nay, we maintain, as
I)'Alembert well expresses it, " that the truth in metaphysic, like the truth
in matters of taste, is a truth of which all minds have the germ within
themselves; to which, indeed, the greater number pay no attention, but
which they recognize the moment it is pointed out to them. But if, in this
sort, all are able to understand, all are not able to instruct.  The merit of
conveying easily to others true and simple notions, is much greater tllan
is commonly supposed; for experience proves how rarely this is to be
met with.  Sound metaphysical ideas are common truths which every one
apprehends, but which few have the talent to levelop.  So dificult is
it, o.n any subject, to make our own what belongs to every one."  Or, to
employ the words of the ingenious Lichtenberg- "PI'hilosophy, twist the
matter as we may, is always a sort of chemistry.  The peasant eImploys
all the principles of abstract philosophy, only enveloped, latent, engaged, as
the men of physical science express it; the philosopher exhibits the pure
principle."
" The first problem of Philosophy - and it is one of no easy accomplishment- being thus to seek out, purify, and establish, by intellectual
analyrsis and criticism, the elementary feelings or belief, in which are
given the elementary truths of which all are in possession; and the argument fiom common sense being the allegation of these feelings or beliefs
as explicated and ascertained, in proof of the relative truths and their
necessary consequences;-this argument is manifestly dependent on
philosophy, as an art, as an acquired dexterity, and cannot, notwithstanding the errors which they have so frequently committed, be taken out of
the hands of the philosophers.  Common Sense is like Common Law.
Each may be laid down as the general rule of decision; but in the one
case, it must be left to the jurist, in the other, to the philosopher, to
ascertain what are the contents of the rule; and though, in both instances,
the common man may be cited as a witness, for the custom or the fact,
in neither can he be allowed to officiate as advocate or as judge."'Se.pplementary Dissertations to Reid, pp. 743, 744, 751, 752.1
i'4*




402                       IEtASON.
keeping constantly in view, the close and inseparable connection
which will be afterwards shown to exist between the two different intellectual operations which are thus brought into immediate contrast.
Opinions of the ancients respecting the argument from universal consent. —" Those things are to be regarded as first
truths, [says Aristotle,] the credit of which is not derived from
other truths, but is inherent in themselves. As for probable
truths, they are such as are admitted by all men, or by the generality of men, or by wise men; and, among these last, either
by all the wise, or by the generality of the wise, or by such of
the wise as are of the highest authority."
The argument from  Universal Consent, on which so much
stress is laid by many of the ancients, is the same doctrine with
the foregoing, under a form  somewhat different.  It is stated
with great simplicity and force by a Platonic philosopher, [Maximus Tyrius,] in the following sentences:"In such a contest, and tuinult, and disagreement, (about
other matters of' opinion,) you may see this one law and language acknowledged by common accord. This the Greek says,
and this the barbarian says; and the inhabitant of the continent, and the islander; and the wise, and the unwise."
Objection to which the argument is liable. -  It cannot be
denied, that against this summary species of logic, when employed without any collateral lights, as an infallible touchstone
of philosophical truth, a strong objection immediately occurs.
By what test, it may be asked, is a principle of common sense
to be distinguished from  one of those prejudices to which the
whole human race are irresistibly led, in the first instance, by
the very constitution of their nature? If no test or criterion
of truth can be pointed out but universal consent, may not
all' those errors which Bacon has called idola tribus,* claim a
* [Idols of the Tribe, as they are called in the fanciful nomenclature of
Lord Bacon, are the errors and prejudices to which all men (the whole
trnibt) are liable, because they grow out of the natural imperfections and
biases of the human understanding. " For the light of the human intel



REAS ON.                         403
right to admission among the incontrovertible maxims of science?  And might not the popular cavils against the supposition of the earth's motion, which so long obstructed the progress of the Copernican system  have been legitimately opposed,
as a reply of paramount authority, to all the scientific reasonings by which it was supported?
Criteria of First Truths.-  It is much to be wished that this
objection, of which Dr. Reid could not fail to be fully aware,
had been more particularly examined and discussed in some of
his publications, than he seems to have thought necessary.
From different parts of his works, however, various important
hints towards a satisfactory answer to it might be easily collected.  At present, I shall only remark, that although universality of belief is one of the tests by which, according to him, a
principle of common sense is characterized, it is not the only
test which he represents as essential.  Long before his time,
Father Buffier, in his excellent treatise on First Truths, had
laid great stress on two other circumstances, as criteria to be
attended to on such occasions; and although I do not recollect
any passage in Reid where they are so explicitly stated, yet the
general spirit of his reasonings plainly shows, that he had them
constantly in view, in all the practical applications of his doe.
trine.  The first criterion mentioned by Buffier is, " That thd
truths assumed as maxims of common sense should be such, that
it is impossible for any disputant either to defend or to attack
them, but by means of propositions which are neither more manifest nor more certain than the propositions in question."  The
lect," says Lord Bacon, "is not dry light; but it receives diverse stains
and hues from the will and the affections, and thus creates such sciences
as it longs for; for it readily believes what it wishes to be true."  And
again, "It is wrong to say, that the senses are the proper measures of
things; for all our perceptions, whether of sense or of the intellect, conform
rather to the nature of the observer, than to the nature of the thing observed. The human mind is like a mirror imperfectly polished and inaccurately shaped, which imparts its own qualities to the objects reflected
in it, distorting and staining them." —NVov. Organzurn, Aph. XLI. and
XLIX. paraphrased.]




404                      REASON.
second criterion is, " That their practical influence should
extend even to those individuals who affect to dispute their
authorZty."
To these remarks of Buffier, it may not be altogether super-:fluous to add, that, wherever a prejudice is found to obtain universally among mankind in any stage of society, this prejudice
must have some foundation in the general principles of our
nature, and must proceed upon some truth or fact inaccurately
apprehended or erroneously applied.  The suspense of judgment, therefore, which is proper with respect to particular opinions, till they be once fairly examined, can never justify scepticism with respect to th.e general laws of the human mind. Our
belief of the sun's motion, is not a conclusion to which iwe are
necessarily led by any such la"w, but an inference rashly drawn
from the perceptions of sense, wlich do not warrant such an
inference. All that we see is, that a relative change of position
between us and the sun takes place; and this fact, which is
made known to us by our senses, no subsequent discovery of
philosophy pretenlds to disprove.  It is not, therefore, the evidence of perception which is overturned by the Copernican
system, but a judgment or inference of the understanding, of
the rashness of which every person must be fully sensible, the
moment he is made to reflect with due attention on the circumstances of the case; and the doctrine which this system substitutes, instead of our first crude apprehensions on the subject, is
founded, not on any process of reasoning a priori, but on tihe
demonstrable inconsistency of these apprehensions with the
various phenomena which our perceptions present to us.  Had
Copernicus not only asserted the stability of the sun, but, with
somen of the Sophists of old, denied that any such thing as motion exists in the universe, his theory would have been precisely
analogous to that of the non-existence of matter; and no answer
to it could have been thought of more pertinent and philosophical, than that which Plato is said to have given to the same
paradox in the mouth of Zeno, by rising up and walking before
his eyes.




RtEASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.              405
CHAPTER IXo
OF REASONING AND OF DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
I. Doubts withi respect to Locke's distinction between the powers
of intuition  and reasoning. - Although,  in treating of this
branch of the philosophy of the mind, I have followed the
example of preceding writers, so far as to speak of intuition
and reasoning as two different faculties of the understanding, I
am by no means satisfied that there exists between them that
radical distinction which is commonly apprehended.  Dr. Beattie,
in his Essay on Truth, has attempted to show, that, how closely
soever they may in general be connected, yet that this connection is not necessary; insomuch that a being may be conceived
endued with the one, and at the same time destitute of the other.
Something of this kind, he remarks, takes place in dreams and
in madness; in both of which states of the system, the power
of reasoning appears occasionally to be retained in no inconsiderable degree, while the power of intuition is suspended or lost.*
But this doctrine is liable to obvious and to insurmountable objections; and has plainly taken its rise from  the vagueness of
the phrase common sense, which the author employs, through the
whole of his argument, as synonymous with the power of intuition. Of the indissoluble connection between the last power
* [Locke very acutely observes, that the difference between an idiot and
a madman consists in this;- that a madman reasons correctly from wrong
premises, while an idiot does not reason at all. " Thus you shall find
a distracted man fancying himself a king, and, with a right inference,
requiring suitable attendance, respect, and obedience; others, who have
thought themselves made of glass, have used the caution necessary to
preserve such brittle bodies." Now the wrong premises that the madman
adopts are oftenfalse sensations, as the medical men call them; as when one




4046      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
and that of reasoning, no other proof is necessary than the following consideration, that, "in every step which reason makes
in demonstrative knowledge, there must be intuitive certainty;"
a proposition which Locke has excellently illustrated, and which,
since his time, has been acquiesced in, so far as I know, by
philosophers of all descriptions.  From this proposition (which,
when properly interpreted, appears to me to be perfectly just)
it obviously follows, that the power of reasoning presupposes the
powter of intuition; and, therefore, the only question about
which any doubt can be entertained is, whether the power of intuition (according to Locke's idea of it) does not also imply that
of reasoning?  31y own opinion is, decidedly, that it does; at
least, when combined with the faculty of memory.  In examining those processes of thought which conduct the mind by a
series of consequences fiom  premises to a conclusion, I can
detect no intellectual act whatever, which the joint operation of
intuiti on and of memory does not sufficiently explain.
Reasoning resolved into intuition and memory. - Before, however, proceeding further in this discussion, it is proper for me to
observe, by way of comment on the proposition just quoted firom
Locke, that, although "rin a complete demonstration, there must
be intuitive evidence at every step," it is not to be supposed
tllhat, in every demonstration, all the various intuitive judgments
leading to the conclusion are actually presented to our thoughts.
In by far the greater number of instances, we trust entirely to
judgments resting upon the evidence of memory; by the help
of which faculty, we are enabled to connect together the most
remote truths, with the very same confidence as if the one were
an immediate consequence of the other. Nor does this diminish,
fancies that lie hears voices in the air, or sees spectres, the voices and the
sights being alike unreal. These imaginary perceptions would be denominated by Kant false intuitions; and if this be a proper use of language,
Beattie properly distinguishes intuition from reasoni2g, when lie affirms that
we can conceive of a being endued with the one, and destitute of the other.
An insane person is such a being; he reasons rightly, but his intuitive
faculty is perverted. But Stewart here understands intuition to be, not a
perception, but an instantaneous judgment.]




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             407
in the smallest degree, the satisfaction we feel in following such
a train of reasoning.  On the contrary, nothing can be more
disgusting than a demonstration where even the simplest and
most obvious steps are brought forward to view; and where no
appeal is made to that stock of previous knowledge whidt
memory has identified with the operations of reason.  Still,
however, it is true, that it is by a continued chain of intuitive
judgments, that the whole science of geometry hangs together;
inasmuch as the demonstration of any one proposition virtually
includes all the previous demonstrations to which it refers.
Ilence it appears, that, in mathematical demonstrations, we
have not, at every step, the immediate evidence of intuition, but
only the evidence of memory.  Every demonstration, however,
may be resolved into a series of separate judgments, either
formed at the moment, or remembered as the results of judgments formed at some preceding periodl; and it is in the arran(gement and concatenation of these different judgments, or media
of proof, that the inventive and reasoning powers of' the nmathemratician find so noble a field for their exercise.
With respect to these powers of judgment and of reasoning,
as they are here combined, it appears to me, that the results of
the former may be compared to a collection of separate stones
prepared by the chisel for the purposes of the builder; upon
each of which stones, while lying on the ground, a person may
raise himself, as upon a pedestal, to a small elevation.  The
same judgments, when combined into a train of r6asoning, terminating in a remote conclusion, resemble the formerly unconnected blocks, when converted into the steps of a staircase
leading to the summit of a tower, which would be otherwise
inaccessible. In the design and execution of this staircase,
much skill and invention may be displayed by the architect;
but, in order to ascend it, nothing more is necessary than a
repetition of the act by which the first step was gained.  The
fact I conceive to be somewhat analogous, in the relation between
the power of judgment, and what logicians call the discursive
processes of the understanding.
Reasoning is a succession of intuitive judcygments. - Mr.




408       REASONTING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
Locke's language, in various parts of his Essay, seems to accord
with the same opinion.  6 Every step in reasoning," he observes,
"that produces knowledge, has intuitive certainty; which, when
the mind perceives, there is no more required but to remember
it, to make the agreement or disagreement of the ideas, concerning which we inquire, visible and certain.  This intuitive perception of the agreement or disagreement of the intermediate
ideas, in each step and progression of the demonstration, must
also be carried exactly in the mind, and a man must be sure that
no part is left out; which, in long deductions, and in the use of
many proofs, the memory does not always so readily and exactly
retain; therefore it comes to pass, that this is more imperfect
than intuitive knowledge, and men embrace often falsehood for
demonstrations."
The same doctrine is stated elsewhere by M3r. Locke, more
than once, in terms equally explicit; and yet his language
occasionally favors the supposition, that, in its deductive processes, the mind exhibits some modification of reason essentially
distinct from intuition.  The account, too, which he has given
of their respective provinces, affords evidence that his notions
concerning them  were not sufficiently precise and settled.
"'When the mind," says he, " perceives the agreement or disagreement of two ideas immediately by themselves, without the
intervention of any other, its knowledge may be called intuitive.  When it cannot so bring its ideas together as, by their
immediate comparison, and, as it were, juxtaposition, or application one to another, to perceive their agreement or disagreement, it is fain, by the intervention of other ideas, (one or
more as it happens,) to discover the agreement or disagreement
which it searches; and this is that which we call reasoning."
According to these definitions, supposing the equality of two
lines, A and B, to be perceived immediately, in consequence of
their coincidence, the judgment of the mind is intuitive. Supposing A to coincide with B, and B with C; the relation between A and C is perceived by reasoning.  Nor is this a hasty
inference from  Locke's accidental language.  That it is perfectly agreeable to the foregoing definitions, as understood by




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                 409
their author, appears from  the following passage, which occurs
afterwards: "The principal act of ratiocination is the finding
the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, one with another,
by the intervention of a third.  As a man, by a yard, finds two
houses to be of the same length, which could not be brought
together to measure their equality by juxtaposition."
This use of the words intuition and reasoning, is surely somewhat arbitrary. The truth of mathematical axioms has always
been supposed to be intuitively obvious; and the first of these,
according to Euclid's enumeration, affirms, that if A be equal to
B, and B  to C, A  and  C are equal.  Admitting, however,
Locke's definition to be just, it only tends to confirm what has
been already stated with respect to the near affinity, or rather
the radical identity, of intuition and of reasoning.  When the
relation of equality between A and B has once been perceived,
A and B are completely identified as the same mathematical
quantity; and the two letters may be regarded as synonymous,
wherever they occur. The faculty, therefore, which perceives
the relation between A  and C, is the same with the faculty
which perceives the relation between A and B, and between
B and C.*
* [Stewart's doctrine, that reasorning is nothing more than a series of intuitive judgments, seems to be true according to one signification of the word
reasoninq, and false according to another. The word reasoning is sometimes
used to denote a series of propositions, or syllogisms, properly arranged,
which constitute the proof of a particular doctrine; but it more firequently
denotes, that act or process of the mind, by which the proper syllogisms, or intermediate propositions, are discovered and rightly put together, so as to constitute such a proof. This effort of mind may be a
very laborious and difficult one, and would be improperly designated by
such a word as intuitionl, which implies ease and instantaneousness of
operation. Take the geometrical theorem, that the square described on
the hypothenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the
squares on the two other sides; it is proved by a series of propositions,
the connection of each one of which with its predecessor, is seen intuitively. But if the old story is true, Pythagoras was so overjoyed when,
after long study, he had succeeded in discovering these propositions, and
putting them together so as to constitute a proof of the theorem, that he
sacrificed a hecatomb of oxen to show his gratitude to the gods.]
35




410       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
In further confirmation of the same proposition, an appeal
might be made to the structure of syllogisms. Is it possible to
conceive an understanding so formed, as to-perceive the truth
of the major and of the minor propositions, and yet not to perceive the force of the conclusion?  The contrary must appear
evident to every person who knows what a syllogism  is; or,
rather, as in this mode of stating an argument, the mind is led
fiom universals to particulars, it must appear evident, that, in
the very statement of the major proposition, the truth of the
conclusion is presupposed; insomuch, that it was not without
good reason Dr. Campbell hazarded the epigrammatic, yet unanswerable remark, that " there is always some radical defect
in a syllogism, which is not chargeable with that species of
sophism, known among logicians by the name of petitio principii, or a begging of the question."
In what respect intuition differs from  reasoning. - The idea
which is commonly annexed to intuition, as opposed to reason-,
ing, turns, I suspect, entirely on the circumstance of time. The
former, we conceive to be instantaneous; whereas the latter
necessarily involves the notion of succession, or of progress.
This distinction is sufficiently precise for the ordinary purpolses
of discourse; nay, it supplies us, on many occasions, with a
convenient phraseology; but in the theory of the mind, it has
led to some mistaken conclusions, on which I intend to offer a
few remarks in the second part of this section.
2. Conclusions obtained by a process of deduction often mistaken for intuitive judgments. — It has been frequently remarked, that the justest and most efficient understandings are
often possessed by men'who are incapable of stating to others,
or even to themselves, the grounds on which they proceed in
forming their decisions. In some instances, I have been disposed to ascribe this to the faults of early education; but in
other cases, I am persuaded that it was the effect of active and
imperious habits in quickening the evanescent processes of
thought, so as to render them untraceable by the memory; and
to give the appearance of intuition to wlat was, in fact, the result of a train of reasoning so rapid as tD escape notice.  This




REASON1NG AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             411
I conceive to be the true theory of what is generally called
common sense, in opposition to book learning; and it serves to
account fobr the use which has been made of this phrase, by
various writers, as synonymous with intuition.
Instantaneous judgments more trustworthy than delibertely
formed conclusions. -  These seemingly instantaneous judgments have always appeared to me as entitled to a greater
share of our confidence, than many of our more deliberate conclusions; inasmuch as they have been forced, as it were, on the
mind by the lessons of long experience; and are as little liable
to be biased by temper or passion, as the estimates we form of
the distances of visible objects. They constitute, indeed, to
those who are habitually engaged in the busy scenes of life, a
sort of peculiar faculty, analogous, both in its origin and in its
use, to the coup d' ceil of the military engineer, or to the quick
and sure tact of the medical practitioner, in marking the diagnostics of disease.
For this reason, I look upon the distinction between our intuitive and deductive judgments as, in many cases, merely an
object of theoretical curiosity. In those simple conclusions
which all men are impelled to form, by the necessities of their
nature, and in which we find an uniformity not less constant
than in the acquired perceptions of sight, it is of as little consequence to the logician to spend his time in efforts to retrace the
first steps of the infant understanding, as it would be to the
sailor or the sportsman to study, with a view to the improvement of his eye, the Berkeleian theory of vision. In both
instances, the original faculty and the acquired judgment are
equally entitled to be considered as the work of nature; and in
both instances, we find it equally impossible to shakes off her
authority. It is no wonder, therefore, that, in popular language,
such words as common sense and reason should be used with a
considerable degree of latitude; nor is it of much importance
to the philosopher to aim at extreme nicety in defining their
province, where all mankind, whether wise or ignorant, think
and speak alike.
In some rare and anomalous cases, a rapidity of judgment in




4 12     REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
the more complicated concerns of life, appears in individuals
who have had so few opportunities of profiting by experience,
that it seems, on a superficial view, to be the immediate gift of
heaven. But, in all such instances, (although a great deal must
undoubtedly be ascribed to an inexplicable aptitude or predisposition of the intellectual powers,) we may be perfectly
assured, that every judgment of the understanding is preceded
by a process of reasoning or deduction, whether the individual
himself be able to recollect it or not. Of this I can no more
doubt, than I could bring myself to believe that the arithmetical prodigy who has, of late, so justly attracted the attention
of the curious, is able to extract square and cube roots by an
instinctive and instantaneous perception, because the process
of mental calculation, by which he is led to the result, eludes
all his efforts to recover it.
We may often judye rightly, while we reason ill. —It is
remarked by Mr. Hume, with respect to the elocution of
Qliver Cromwell, that "it was always confused, embarrassed,
and unintelligible."  " The great defect, however," he adds, "in
Oliver's speeches consisted, not in his want of elocution, but in
his want of ideas; the sagacity of his actions, and the absurdity
of his discourse, forming the most prodigious contrast that ever
was known."  "In the great variety of human geniuses," says
the same historian, upon a different occasion, " there are some
which, though they see their object clearly and distinctly in
general, yet when they come to unfold its parts by discourse
or writing, lose that luminous conception which they have before
attained. All accounts agree in ascribing to Cromwell a tiresome, dark, unintelligible elocution, even when he had no intention to disguise his meaning; yet no man's actions were ever, in
such a variety of difficult incidents, more decisive and judicious."
The case here described may be considered as an extreme
one; but every person of common observation must recollect
facts somewhat analogous, which have fallen under his own
notice. Indeed, it is no more than we should expect,'a priori,
to meet with, in every individual whose early habits have trained
him more to the active business of the world, than to those pur



REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.            413
suits which prepare the mind for communicating to others its
ideas and feelings with clearness and effect.
An anecdote which I heard many years ago, of a late very
eminent Judge, (Lord Mansfield,) has often recurred to my
memory, while reflecting on these apparent inconsistencies of
intellectual character. A friend of his, who possessed excellent
natural talents, but who had been prevented, by his professional
duties as a naval officer, from bestowing on them all the cultivation of which they were susceptible, having been recently appointed to the government of Jamaica, happened to express
some doubts of his competency to preside in the Court of
Chancery.  Lord Mansfield assured him that he would find the
difficulty not so great as he apprehended.  "Trust'," he said,
" to your own good sense in forming your opinions; but beware
of attempting to state the grounds of your judgments.  The
judgment will probably be right - the argument will infallibly
be wrong."
From what has been said, it seems to follow, that although a
man should happen to reason ill in support of a sound conclusion, we are by no means entitled to infer with confidence, that
he juldged right merely by accident. It is far from  being impossible, that he may have committed some mistake in stating to
others (perhaps in retracing to hilnself) the grounds upon which
his judgment was really founded. Indeed, this must be the
case, wherever a shrewd understanding in business is united
with an incapacity for clear and luminous reasonings; and something of the same sort is incident, more or less, to all men (more
particularly to men of quick parts) when they make an attempt,
in discussions concerning human affairs, to remount to first principles. It may be added, that in the old, this correctness of
judgment often remains, in a surprising degree, long after the
discursive or argumentative power would seem, from some decay
of attention, or confusion in the succession of ideas, to have
been sensibly impaired by age or by disease.
II. OF GCENERAL REASONING.  Of langucage consicdered as an
instrutment of thought. - in treating of abstraction, I endeavw
35 *




414      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
ored to show  that we think, as well as speak, by means
of words, and that, without the use of language, our reasoning
faculty, if it could have been at all exercised, must necessarily
have been limited to particular conclusions alone. The effects,
therefore, of ambiguous and indefinite terms are not confined to
our communications with others, but extend to our private and
solitary speculations. Dr. Campbell, in his Philosophy of Rhetoric, has made some judicious and important observations on
this subject; and, at a much earlier period, it drew the attention
of Des Cartes; who, in the course of a very valuable discussion with respect to the sources of our errors, has laid particular
stress on those to which we are exposed from  the employment
of language as an instrument of thought. " And, lastly, in consequence of the habitual use of speech, all our ideas become
associated with the words in which we express them; nor do we
ever commit these ideas to memory, without their accustomed
signs. Hence it is, that there is hardly any one subject, of
which we have so distinct a notion as to be able to think of it
abstracted from all use of language; and, indeed, as we remember words more easily than things, our thoughts are much more
conversant with the former than with the latter. Hence, too, it
is, that we often yield our assent to propositions, the meaning
of' which we do not understand; imagining that we have either
examined formerly the import of all the terms involved in them,
or that we have adopted these terms on the authority of others
upon whose judgment we can rely."
To these important considerations, it may be worth while to
add, that whatever improvements may yet be made in language
by philosophers, they can never relieve the student fiom the
indispensable task of analyzing with accuracy the complex ideas
he annexes to the terms employed in his reasonings.  The use
of general terms, as Locke has remarked, is learned, in many
cases, before it is possible for us to comprehend their meaning;
and the greater part of mankind continue to use them through
life, without ever being at the trouble to examine accurately
the notions they convey. This is a study which every individual




REASONING AN'D DEDUCTIVE EViDENCE.            415
must carry on for himself; and of which no rules of logic (how
useful soever they may be in directing our labors) can supersede the necessity.
Necessity of a cautious use of words. — Of the essential
utility of a cautious employment of words, both as a medium
of communication, and as an instrument of thought, many striking illustrations might be produced from the history of science
during the time that the scholastic jargon was current among
the learned; a technical phraseology, which was not only illcalculated for the discovery of truth, but which was dexterously contrived for the propagation of error; and which gave
to those who were habituated to the use of it, great advantages
in controversy, at least in the judgment of the multitude, over
their more enlightened and candid opponents.  "A blind wrestler, by fighting in a dark chamber," to adopt an allusion of Des
Cartes, "may not only conceal his defect, but may enjoy some
advantages over those who see. It is the light of clay only
that can discover his inferiority."  The imperfections of this
philosophy, accordingly, have been exposed by Des Cartes and
his followers, less by the force of their reasonings, than by their
teaching men to make use of their own faculties, instead of
groping in the artificial darkness of the schools; and to perceive
the folly of expecting to advance science, by ringing changes on
words to which they annexed no clear or precise ideas.
In consequence of the influence of these views, the attention
of our soundest philosophers was more and more turned, during the course of the last century, to the cultivation of that
branch of logic which relates to the use of words. M3r. Locke's
observations on this subject form, perhaps, the most valuable
part of his writings; and, since his time, much additional light
has been thrown upon it by Condillac and his successors.
The art of reasoning requires something besides a langueage
well contrived.- Important, however, as this branch of logic is
in its practical applications; and highly interesting, firom  its
intimate connection with the theory of the human mind, there
is a possibility of pushing to an erroneous and dangerous extremne the conclusions to which it has led.  Condillac himself




416       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
falls, in no inconsiderable a degree, under this censure; having,
upon more than one occasion, expressed himself as if he conceived it to be possible, by means of precise and definite terms,
to reduce reasoning in all the sciences to a sort of mechanical
operation, analogous in its nature to those which are practised
by the algebraist on letters of the alphabet.  "The art of
reasoning (he repeats over and over) is nothing more than a
language well arranged."
One of the first persons, as far as I know, who objected to
the vagueness and incorrectness of this proposition, was M. De
Gerando; to whom we are further indebted for a clear and satisfactory exposition of the very important fact to which it
relates.
"It is the distinguishing characteristic of a lively and vigorous conception," he remarks, "to push its speculative conclusions somewhat beyond their just limits.  Hence, in the logical
discussions of' this estimable writer, these maxims, (stated without any explanation or restriction,)'That the study of a science
is nothing more than the acquisition of a language;' and,' that
al science properly treated, is only a language well contrived.'
Hence the rash assertion,' That mathematics possess no advantage over other sciences, but what they derive from a better
phraseology; and that all of these might attain to the same
characters of simplicity and of certainty, if we knew how to
give them signs equally perfect.' "
6The same task which must have been executed by those
who contributed to the first formation of a language, and which
is executed by every child when he learns to speak it, is repeated over in the mind of every adult, when he makes use of
his mother tongue; for it is only by the decomposition of his
thoughts, that he can learn to select the signs which he ought
to employ, and to dispose them in a suitable order. Accordingly, those external actions which we call speaking or writing,
are always accompanied with a philosophical process of the understanding, unless we content ourselves, as too often happens,
with repeating over mechanically what has been said by others.
It is in this respect that languages, with their forms and rules,




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.            417
conducting (so to speak) those who use them into the path of a
regular analysis; tracing out to them, in a well-ordered discourse, the model of a perfect decomposition, may be regarded
in a certain sense as analytical methods.  But I stop short:
Condillac, to whom this idea belongs, has developed it too well
to leave any hope of improving upon his statement."
In a note upon this passage, however, M. De Gerando has
certainly improved not a little on the statement of Concldillac.
"In asserting," says he, "that languages may be regarded as
analytical methods, I have added the qualifying phrase, in a
certain sense, for the word method cannot be employed here with
exact propriety.  Languages furnish the occasions and the
means of analysis; that is to say, they afford us assistance in
following that method; but they are not the method itsef.  They
resemble signals or finger-posts placed on a road, to enable us
to discover our way; and if they help us to analyze, it is because they are themselves the results, and, as it were, the monuments, of an analysis which has been previously made; nor do
they contribute to keep us in the right path, but in proportion
to the degree of judgment with which that analysis has been
conducted."
Visionary theories of some logicians, occasioned by their inattention to the essential distinction between mathematics anzd other
sciences.- In a passage already quoted from  De Gerando, he
takes notice of what he justly calls a rash assertion of Condillac,
"That mathematics possess no advantage over other sciences,
but what they derive from a better phraseology; and that all
of these might attain to the same characters of simplicity and of
certainty, if we knew how to give them signs equally perfect."
Leibnitz seems to point at an idea of the same sort, in those
obscure and enigmatical hints (not altogether worthy, in my
opinion, of his powerful and comprehensive genius) which he
has thrown out, about the miracles to be effected by a new art
of his own invention; to which art he sometimes gives the name
of Ars Combinatoria C(haracteristica, and sometimes of Ars
Combinatoria Generalis ac Vera. In one of his letters to Mr.
Oldenburgh, he speaks of a plan he had long been meditating,




418      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
of treating of the science of mind by means of mathematical
demonstrations.  "Many wonderful things," he adds, "of this
kind have occurred to me; which, at some future period, I shall
explain to the public with that logical precision which the subject requires."  In the same letter, he intimates his belief in
the possibility of inventing an art, "which, with an exactitude
resembling that of mechanism, may render the operations of
reason steady and visible, and, in their effects on the minds of
others, irresistible."  After which he proceeds thus:"Our common algebra, which we justly value so highly, is no
nmore than a branch of that general art which I have here in
view. But such as it is, it puts it out of our power to commit
an error, even although we should wish to do so; while it exhibits truth to our eyes like a picture stamped on paper by
means of a machine. It must at the same time be recollected,
that algebra is indebted for whatever it accomplishes in the
demonstration of general theorems to the suggestions of a higher
science; a science which I have been accustomed to call c/haracteristiccal combination; very different, however, in its nature,
from that which these words are likely at first to suggest to the
hearer, The marvellous utility of this art I hope to illustrate,
both by precepts and examples, if I shall be so fortunate as to
enjoy health and leisure.
" It is impossible for me to convey an adequate idea of it in
a short description.  But this I may venture to assert, that no
instrument (or organ) could easily be imagined of more powerful efficacy for promoting the improvement of the human understanding; and that, supposing it to be adopted, as the common
method of philosophizing, the time would very soon arrive,
when we should be able to form conclusions concerning God and
the mind, with not less certainty than we do at present concerning figures and numbers."
Low the phraseology of mathematics differs from  that of the
other sciences. - In these extracts from  Leibnitz, as well as in
that quoted from Condillac, in the beginning of this article, the
essential distinction between mathematics and the other sciences,
in point of phraseology, is entirely overlooked.  In the formner




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             419
science, where the use of an ambiguous word is impossible, it may
1-e easily conceived how the solution of a problem  may be
reduced to something resembling the operation of a mill - the
conditions of the problem, when once translated from the common language into that of algebra, disappearing entirely from
the view; and the subsequent process being almost mechanically
regulated by general rules, till the final result is obtained. In
the latter, the whole of the words about which our reasonings
are conversant, admit, more or less, of defferent shades of meaninug; and it is only by considering attentively the relation in
which they stand to the immediate context, that the precise idea
of the author in any particular instance is to be ascertained.
It these sciences, accordingly, the constant and unremitting exercise of the attention is indispensably necessary, to prevent us, at
every step of our progress, from  going astray.  In following
any train of reasoning, beyond the circle of the mathematical
sciences, the mind must necessarily carry on, along with the
logical deduction expressed in words, another logical process of
a far nicer and more difficult nature;- t]hat of fxiny, with a
rapidity which escapes our memory, the precise sense of every
word which is ambiguous, by the relation in which it stands to
the general scope of the argument.  In proportion as the language of science becomes more and more exact, the difficulty
of this task will be gradually diminished; but let the improvement be carried to any conceivable extent, not one step will have
been gained in accelerating that era, so sanguinely anticipated
by Leibnitz and Condillac, when our reasonings in morals and
politics shall resemble, in their mechanical regularity, and in
their demonstrative certainty, the investigations of algebra. The
improvements which language receives, in consequence of the
progress of knowledge, consisting rather in a more precise distinction and classification of the various meanings of words,
than in a reduction of these meanings in point of number, the
task of mental induction and interpretation may be rendered
more easy and unerring; but the necessity of this task can never
be superseded, till every word which we employ shall be as




420       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
fixed and invariable in its signification as an algebraical character or as the name of a geometrical figure..uccessful study of the moral sciences depends on the right interpretation of words. —In the mean time, the intellectual
superiority of one man above another, in all the different
branches of moral and political philosophy, will be found to
depend chiefly on the success with which he has cultivated these
silent habits of inductive interpretation - much more, in my
opinion, than on his acquaintance with those rules which form
the great objects of study to the professed logician. In proof
of this, it is sufficient for me to remind my readers, that the
whole th.eory of syllogism proceeds on the supposition that the
same word is always to be employed precisely in the same sense,
(for otherwise, the syllogism would be vitiated by consisting of
more than three terms); and, consequently, it takes for granted,
in every rule which it furnishes for the guidance of our reasoning powers,'that the nicest and by far the most difficult part of
the logical process has been previously brought to a successful
termination.
In treating of a different question, I have elsewhere remarked,
that althou.gh many authors have spoken of the wonderful
mechanism of speech, no one has hitherto attended to the far
more wonderful mechanism which it puts into action behind the
scene. A similar observation will be found to apply to what is
commonly called the art of reasonins.  The scholastic precepts
which profess to teach it, reach no deeper than the very surface
of the subject; being all of them confined to that part of the intellectual process which is embodied in the form of verbal propositions.  On the most favorable supposition which can be
formed with respect to them, they are superfluous and nugatory;
but in many cases, it is to be apprehended, that they interfere
with the right conduct of the understanding, by withdrawing the
attention from the cultivation of that mental logic on which the
soundness of our conclusions essentially depends, and in the
study of which, although some general rules may be of use,
every man must be, in a great measure, his own master.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.              421
JW7iy general speculation seems intricate. —In tile practical
application of the foregoing conclusions, it cannot fii to occur,
as a consideration equally obvious and important, that, in proportion as the objects of our reasoning are removed from the
particular details with which our senses are conversant, the
difficulty of these latent inductive processes must be increased.
This is the real source of that incapacity for general speculation, which Mir. Hume has so well described as a distinguishing
characteristic of uncultivated minds.  " General reasonings
seeml intricate, merely because they are general; nor is it easy'or the bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of
particulars, that common circumstance in which they all agree,
or to extract it, pure and unmixed, from the other superfluous
circumstances.  Every judgment or conclusion with them  is
particular.  They cannot enlarge their views to those universal
propositions, which comprehend under them an infinite number
of individuals, and include a whole science in a single theorem.
Their eye is confounded with such an extensive prospect, and
the conclusions deduced from it, even though clearly expressed,
seem intricate and obscure."
Difficult, however, and even impossible, as the task of general
speculation is to the bulk of mankind, it is nevertheless true,
that it is the path which leads the cautious and skilful reasoner
to all his most certain, as well as most valuable, conclusions in
morals and in politics.  If a theorist, indeed, should expect,
that these conclusions are in every particular instance to be
realized, he would totally misapprehend their nature and application; inasmuch as they are only to be brouglht to an experimenltal test, by viewing them  on an extensive scale, and continuing our observations during a long period of time. " When
a man deliberates," says Mr. Hume, " concerning his conduct in
any particular ctffair, and forms schemes in politics, trade,
economy, or any business in life, he never ought to draw his
arguments too fine, or connect too lonog a chain of consequences
together.  Something is sure to happen that will disconcert his
reasoning, and produce an event different from  what lie expected. But when we reason upaon general subjects, one may
36




4 2 2:REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
justly affirm, that our speculations can scarcely ever be too
fine, provided they be just; and that the difference between a
common man and a man of genius, is chiefly seen in the shallowness or depth of the principles on which they proceed."
The same author afterwards excellently observes, " That general principles, however intricate they may seem, must always
prevail, if they be just and sound, in the general course of
things, though they may fail in particular cases; and that it is
the chief business of philosophers to regard the general course
of things." -" I may add," continues Mir. Hume, G" that it is also
the chief business of politicians, especially in the domestic
government of the state, where the public good, which is, or
ought to be, their object, depends on the concurrence of a multitude of causes; not, as in foreign politics, on accidents and
chances, and the caprices of a few persons."
Why general rules sometimes mislead us. - To these profound
reflections of MIr. Hlume, it may be added, although the remark
does not bear directly on our present argument, that, in the
systematical application of general and refined rules to their
private concerns, men firequently err from  calculating their
measures on a scale disproportionate to the ordinary duration of
human life. This is one of the many mistakes into which projectors are apt to fall: and hence the ruin which so often overtakes them, while sowing the seeds of a harvest which others
are to reap. A few years more might have secured to themselves the prize which they had in view; and changed the
opinion of the world, (which is always regulated by the accidental circumstances of failure or of success,) from contempt
of their folly, into admiration of their sagacity and perseverance.
It is observed by the Comte de Bussi, that " time remedies
all mischances; and that men die unfortunate, only because they
did not live long enough. Mareschal d'Estree, who died rich
at a hundred, would have died a beggar, had he lived only to
ei,hty." The maxim, like most other apophthegms, is stated in
terms much too unqualified; but it may furnish matter for
many interesting reflections, to those who have surveyed with




REASONING- AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.            423
attention the characters which have passed before them on the
stage of life; or who amuse themselves with marking the trifling and fortuitous circumstances by which the multitude are
decided, in pronouncing their verdicts of foresight or of improvidence.
III. OF 5MATHEIMATICAL DEMONSTRATION.  Of the circuanstance on which demonstrative evidence essentially depends. —
The peculiarity of that species of evidence which is called demnonstrative, and which so remarkably distinguishes our mathematical conclusions from those to which we are led in other
branches of science, is a fact which must have arrested the
attention of every person who possesses the slightest acquaintance with the elements of geometry.  And yet I am  doubtful
if a satisfactory account has been hithlerto given of the circumstance from which it arises. MAr. Locke tells us, that " what
constitutes a demonstration is intuitive evidence at every step;"
and I readily grant, that if in a single step such evidence should
fail, the other parts of the demonstration would be of no value.
it does not, however, seem to me that it is on this consideration
that the demonstrative evidence of the conclusion depends, —
not even when we add to it another which is much insisted on
by Dr. Reid, - that, " in demonstrative evidence, our frst prinples must be intuitively certain."  The inaccuracy of this remark
I formerly pointed out, when treating of the evidence of axioms;
on which occasion I also observed, that the first principles of
our reasonings in mathematics are not axioms, but definitions.
It is in this last circumstance (I mean the peculiarity of reasoning from definitions) that the true theory of mathematical demonstration is to be found; and I shall accordingly endeavor to
explain it at considerable length, and to state some of the more
important consequences to which it leads.
It was already remarked in the eighth chapter, that whereas,
in all other sciences, the propositions which we attempt to
establish, express facts real or supposed, - in mathematics,
the propositions which we demonstrate only assert a connection
between certain suppositions and certain consequences.  Our
reasonings, therefore, in mathematics, are directed to an object




424       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
essentially different from what we have in view, in any otlhe
employment of our intellectual faculties; - not to ascertinz
truths with respect to actual existences, but to trace the logical
ficiation of consequences which follow from an assumed hypothesis. If from this hypothesis we reason with correctness, nothing, it is manifest, can be wanting to complete the evidence of
the result; as this result only asserts a necessary connection
between the supposition and the conclusion.  In the other
sciences, admitting that every ambiguity of language were
removed, and that every step of our deductions were rigorously
accurate, our conclusions would still be attended with more or
less of uncertainty; being ultimately founded on principles
which may, or may not, correspond exactly with the fact.
Demonstrative reasoning might be employed in the moral
sciences. - Hence, it appears, that it might be possible, by devising a set of arbitrary definitions, to form  a science which,
although conversant about moral, political, or physical ideas,
should yet be as certain as geometry.  It is of no moment,
whether tihe defnitions assumed correspond with facts or not,
provided they do not express impossibilities, and be not inconsistent with each other. From these principles a series of consequences may be deduced, by the most unexceptionable reasoning; and the results obtained will be perfectly analogous to
mathematical propositions.  The terms true and false cannot
be applied to them; at least, in the sense in which they are applicable to propositions relative to facts.  All that can be said
is, that they are, or are not, connected with the definitions which
form the principles of the science; and, therefore, if we choose
to call our conclusions true in the one case, and false in the
other, these epithets must be understood merely to refer to their
connection with the data, and not to their correspondence with
things actually existing, or with events which we expect to be
realized in future. An example of such a science as that which
I have now been describing, occurs in what has been called by
some writers theoretical mechanics; in which, from  arbitrary
hypotheses concerning physical laws, the consequences are
traced which would follow, if such was really the order of
nature.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EvIDENCE.             425
In those branches of study which are conversant about moral
and political propositions, the nearest approach which I call
imagine to a hzypothetical science, analogous to mathematics, is to
be found in a code of municipal jurisprudence; or rather, might
be conceived to exist in such a code, if systematically carried into
execution, agreeably to certain general or fundamental principles. Whether these principles should, or should not, be
founded in justice and expediency, it is evidently possible, by
reasoning from them consequentially, to create an artificial or
conventional body of knowledge, more systematical, and, at the
same time, more complete in all its parts, than, in the present
state of our information, any science can be rendered, which
ultimately appeals to the eternal and immutable standards of
truth and falsehood, of right and wrong. This consideration
seems to me to throw some light on the following very curious
parallel which Leibnitz has drawn, with what justness I presume not to decide, between the works of the Roman civilians
and those of the Greek geometers.  Few writers certainly have
been so fully qualified as he was, to pronounce on the characteristical merits of both.
"I have often said, that, after the writing of geometricians,
there exists nothing which, in point of force and of subtilty, can
be compared to the works of the Roman lawyers. And, as it
would be scarcely possible, from mere intrinsic evidence, to
distinguish a demonstration of Euclid's from  one of Archimedes or of Apollonius, (the style of all of them appearing no
less uniform than if reason herself was speaking through their
organs,) so also the Roman lawyers all resemble each other
like twin-brothers; insomuch that, from the style alone of any
particular opinion or argument, hardly any conjecture could be
formed with respect to the author.  Nor are the traces of a
refined and deeply meditated system of natural jurisprudence
anywhere to be found more visible, or in greater abundance.
And, even in those cases where its principles are departed from,
either in compliance with the language consecrated by technical
forms, or in consequence of new statutes, or of ancient traditions. the conclusions which the assumed hypothesis renders it
36*




426       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
necessary to incorporate with the external dictates of right
reason, are deduced with the soundest logic, and with an ingenuity which excites admiration. Nor are these deviations
from the law of' nature so frequent as is commonly imagined."
I have quoted this passage merely as an illustration of the
analogy already alluded to, between the systematical unity of
mathematical science, and that which is conceivable in a system
of municipal law. How far this unity is exemplified in the
Rloman code, I leave to be determined by more competent
judges.
T'e evidence of the senses not applicable in mathematics. -
As something analogous to the hypothetical or conditional conclusions of mathematics may thus be fancied to take place in
speculations concerning moral or political subjects, and actually
does take place in theoretical mechanics; so, on the other hand,
if a mathematician should affirm, of a general property of the
circle, that it applies to a particular figure described on paper,
he would at once degrade a geometrical theoremn to the level of
a fact resting' ultimately on the evidence of our imperfect
senses.  The accuracy of his reasoningl could never bestow on
his proposition that peculiar evidence which is properly called
mathematical, as long as the fact remained uncertain, whether
all the stra-ight lines drawn from the centre to the circumference
of' the figure were mathematically equal.
Precision in the use of words is not the sole characteristic of
decmonstrative reasoning. - These observations lead me to remark
a very common misconception concerning mathematical definitions; which are of a nature essentially different from  the
defillnitions employed in any of the other sciences. It is usual
fer writers on logic, after taking notice of the errors to which
we are liable in consequence of the ambiguity of words, to appeal to the example of mathematicians, as a proof of the infinite
advantage of using, in our reasonings, such expressions only as
have been carefully defined.  Various remarks to this purpose
occur in the writings both of Mr. Locke and of Dr. Reid. But the
example of mathematicians is by no means applicable to the
science il which these eminent philosophers propose that it




REASON1ING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.               427
sllhould be followed; and, indeed, if it were copied as a mlodel
in any other branch of human knoNwledge, it would lead to errors
fully as dangerous as any which result from  the imperfections
of language.  The real fact is, that it has been copied much
more than it ought to have been, or than would have been
attempted, if the peculiarities of mathematical evidence had
been attentively considered.
That in mathematics there is no such thing as an ambiguous
word, and that it is to the proper use of definitions we are indebted for this advantage, must unquestionably be granted.
But this is an advantage easily secured, in consequence of the
very limited vocabulary of mathematicians, and the distinctness
of the ideas about which their reasonings are employed.  The
difference, besides, in this respect, between mathematics and the
other sciences, however great, is yet only a difference in degree;
and is by no means sufficient to account for the essential distinction, which every person must perceive between the irresistible cogency of a mathematical demonstration and that of any
other process of reasoning.
Proper use of definzitions. -From  the foregoing considerations it appears, that in mathematics, definitions answer two
purposes; first, to prevent ambiguities of language; and, secondly, to serve as the principles of outr reasoning.  It appears
further, that it is to the latter of these circumstances, (I mean
to the employmnent of hypotheses instead of facts, as the data on
which we proceed,) that the peculiar force of demonstrative evidence is to be ascribed.* It is, however, only in the former
* [Mr. Stewart shows with sufficient clearness, that the definitions are
the true premises of mathematical reasoning, and that it is only upon the
supposition or hypothesis of these definitions being granted, that the
reasoning holds good. But he does not show very clearly whiy the employment of definitions and hypotheses should give to a mathematical
demonstration the irresistible cogency which distinguishes it from every
other species of reasoning. In another work, the editor of this volume
has endeavored to supply this defect by the following considerations.
Demonstrative reasoning is employed exclusively about the relations of
ideas, or abstract ideas, and its conclusions are always abstract; the induc



428;REASONING AND  DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCEo
use of definitions, that any parallel can be drawn  between
mathematics and those branches of knowledge which relate to
facts; and, therefore, it is not a fair argument in proof of their
general utility, to appeal to the unrivalled certainty of mathematical science, —a preeminence which that science derives
from a source altogether different, though comprehended under
the same name, and which she will forever claim  as her own
exclusive prerogative.
tive sciences relate exclusively to nmatters of fct. The relations of ideas,that is, of abstractions, or pure ideas, are made known to us by intuition
or reflection. They are pure creations of the intellect; in their uncompounded or abstract character, they are not derived from observation, and
are therefore not perverted by that great source of error, the imperfection
of the senses, or the limitations of our power of perception.  When we
entertain these ideas, or reason about them, the mind is closed to all outward impressions, and fr'eed even from tile memory of their former occurrence. The ideas that are contemplated then, are contemplated in their
entireness; for, being uncompounded, if they are apprehended at all, they
must be perfectly apprehended, and, consequently, the relations between
them are discerned at once, or by intuition. The office of the definition
is to shut out the consideration of those qualities which are not included
in the definition, because they are imperfectly known.  Our attention
being thus confined to wthat we kcnow perfectly, the reasoning proceeds
without any possibility of error. All the conclusions of pure mathematics, pure logic, and pure reason, are metaphysical truths, and we can no
more doubt them than we can question the accuracy of the multiplication
table.
When we come to investigate matters ofJfct, or to reason about them,
we enter upon totally different ground. Instead of abstractions, we have
realities; instead of shutting out sensible evidence altogether, we are
obliged to rely upon it exclusively; instead of intuitions, we have observations and experiments; instead of demonstration, we have induction;
instead of the objects of inquiry being perfectly simple and uncompounded, they are made up of an unknown and unknowable number of
elements and qualities. The imperfections of the senses come in here, to
their full extent, as causes of possible error. The objects of physical science must always be impefectly knowznv; we never can be sure that our
analysis of them is perfect, or that our observation has taken in all their
outward qualities. The attractive power of the loadstone was known for
centuries before its polarity was discovered. Down to the times of Watt
and Cavendish, water was supposed to be a simple element, and it figures




REASONING AND  DEDUCTIVE  EVIDENCE.                    423
iNor ought it to be forgotten, that it is in pure  mathemnatics
alone, that definitions can be attempted with propriety at the
outset of our investigations.  In most other instances, some previous discussion is necessary to show, that tfhe definitions which
we lay down correspond with facts; and, in many  cases, the
as such in some of the ancient theories of cosmogony; these chemists,
about a century ago, discovered that it was compounded of two gases.
The chemist will tell you that it is not impossible, that it is even probable,
that every one of the sixty substances now counted as elementary, will
ultimately be decomposed.  Of course, the vast number of compounded
olljects of which natural history takes cognizance, are still more imperfectly known in their qualities and relations, than those substances vwhich as
yet are reckoned elementary.  This limited acquaintance with the subjects
of investigation must lead only to qualified, and, in the logical meaning
of the term, uncertain, conclusions respecting them.
Pure logic and pure mathematics are not so much sciences, as methods
of scientific inquiry, or orgyna, of investigation and proof.  They are
modes of reasoning, irrespective of the subjects or facts about which we
reason, and therefore applicable to all subjects. In the syllogism, for
instance, the conclusion follows with absolute certainty from tile premises,
the truth of the premises being presupposed; whether this truth rests
upon sensible evidence, or intuition, or a previous demonstration, is of no'consequence.  The principles of the syllogism, then, are pure abstractions; and the letters of the alphabet, or purely arbitrary marlks, taken
as signs of any ideas or facts whatsoever, are the most convenient notation for expressing them. If the premises are matters of fact, or contingent trlth, the conclusion will also be a matter of fact, or contingent
truth; only the relation between the premises and conclusion is a metaphysical trut.h, and as such is made known by intuition.
The case is perfectly similar with mathematics, in which we employ a
notation of the same sort. In its pure form, this science proceeds from
abstraction to abstraction, the truth developed by it havingl no foundation
in frtct, and never being exemplified in the external world. If an event
in the physical world, or a proposition founded on experience, be taken
as a dcttutz, or point of departure for the inquiry, however long the chain
of mathematical reasoning may be which proceeds from it, the result at
which we arrive, is a truth of the same order with the one which formed
the basis of the investigation.  It has lost nothing, and it has gained
nothing, in point of logical certainty, through the process to which it has
been subjected.  Lowell Lectures on Mlletaphysical and Ethical Science.
Lecture I.I




4310      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
formation of a just definition is the end to which our inquiries
are directed. It is very judiciously observed by Mir. Burke, in
his Essay on Taste, that'" when we define, we are in danger of
circumscribing nature within the bounds of our own notions,
which we often take up by hazard, or embrace on trust, or form
out of a limited and partial consideration of the object before
us, instead of extending our ideas to take in all that nature
comprehends, according to her manner of combining.  We are
limited in our inquiry by the strict laws to which we have submitted at our setting out."
The same author adds, that 6 "a definition may be very exact,
and yet go but a very little way towards informing us of the
nature of the thing defined;" and that, " in the order of things,
a definition, let its virtue be what it will, ought rather to follow
than to precede our inquiries, of which it ought to be considered
as the result."
From a wlant of attention to these circumstances, aund from a
blind imitation of the mathematical arrangement in speculations where facts are involved among the principles of our
reasonings, numberless errors in the writings of philosophers
might be easily traced.  The subject is of too great extent to
be pursued any further here; but it is well entitled to the'
examination of all who may turn their thoughts to the reformation of logic. That the ideas of Aristotle himself; with respect
to it, were not very precise, must, I think, be granted, if the
following statement of his ingenious commentator be admitted
as correct.
Definiti'ons in geometry are not founded on observation."Every general term," says Dr. Gillies, "is considered by Aristotle, as the abridgment of a definition; and every definition
is denominated by him a collection, because it is the result
always of observation and comparison, and often of many
observations and of many comparisons."
These two propositions will be found, upon examination, not
very consistent with each other. The first, "I That every general
term is the abridgment of a definition," applies, indeed, admirably
to mathematics; and touches with singular precision on the




REASONING AND DEI'DUC'TIVE EVIDENCE.             431L
very circumstance which constitutes, in. my opinion, the peculiar
cogency of mathematical reasoning.  But it is to mathematics
that it applies exclusively.  If adopted as a logical maxim  in
other branches of knowledge, it would prove an endless source
of sophistry and error. - The second proposition, on the other
hand, " That every definition is the result of observation and
comparison, and often of many observations and many comparisons," however applicable to the definitions of natural history,
and of other sciences which relate to facts, cannot, in one single
instance, apply to the definitions of geometry; inasmuch as
these definitions are the result neither of observations nor of
comparisons, but are the hypotheses, or first principles, on which
the whole science rests.
If the foregoing account of demonstrative evidence be just,
it follows, that no chain of reasoning whatever can deserve the
name of a demonstration, (at least in the mathematical sense of
that word) which is not ultimately resolvable into hypotheses or
deJinitiozs.*  It has been already shown, that this is the case
with geometry.  And it is also manifestly the case with arithmetic, another science to which, in common with geometry, we
apply the word mathematical.  The simple arithmetical equations 2 add 2 - 4; 2 add 3- 5, and other elementary propositipns of the samie sort, are, as was formerly observed, mere
definitions, perfectly analogous, in this respect, to those at the
beginning of Euclid; and it is from a few fundamental princi- Although the account given by Locke of what constitutes a demonstration, be different from that which I have here proposed, lie admits the
converse of this doctrine as manifest; viz. That if we reason accurately
fiom our own definitions, our conclusions will possess demonstrative evidence; and "hence" he observes with great truth, "it comes to pass,
that one may often meet with very clear and coherent discourses, that
amount yet to nothing."  He afterwards remarks, that, " one may make
demonstrations and undoubted propositions in words, and yet thereby
advance not one jot in the knowledge of the truth of things."  " Of this
sort," he adds, "a man may find an infinite number of propositions, reasonings, and conclusions, in books of metaphysics, school-divinity, and
some sort of natural philosophy; and, after all, know as little of God
spirits or bodies, as he did before he set out."




4-32      REASONIN G- AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDUENCE.
ples which are essentially of the same description, that all the
more complicated results in the science are derived.
Tihe problems of geometry are as hytpothet/cal as its theoremEs.
— To this general conclusion, with respect to the nature of
mathematical demonstration,. an exception may perhaps be, at
first sight, apprehended to occur, in our reasonings concerning
geometrical problems; all of these reasonings, as is well known,
resting ultimately upon a particular class of' principles called
postulates, which are commonly understood to be so very nearly
akin to axioms, that both might, without impropriety, be comprehended under the same name.  "The definition of a postulate," says the learned and ingenious Dr. Hutton,' "will nearly
agree also to an axiom, which is a self-evident theorem, as a
postulate is a self-evident problem."   The same author, in
another part of his work, quotes a remark from Dr. Barrow,
that "there is the same affinity between postulates and problems,
as between axioms and theorems."
In opposition to these very high authorities, I have no hesitation to assert, that it is with the def)ition.s of Euclid, and not
wvith the axiorms, that the postulates ought to be compared, in
respect of their logical character and importance;- inasmuch
as all the demonstrations in plane geometry are ultimately
founded on the former, and all the constructions which it recognizes as legitimate, may be resolved ultimately into the latter.
To this remark it may be added, that, according to Euclid's
view of the subject, the problems of geometry are not less hypothetical and speculative, (or, to adopt the phraseology of some
late writers, not less objects of pure reason,) than the theorems;
the possibility of drawing a mathematical straight line, and of
describing a mathematical circle, being assumed in the construction of every problem, in a way quite analogous to that in
which the enunciation of a theorem assumes the existence of
straight lines, and of circles corresponding to their mathematical
definitions. The reasoning, therefore, on which the solution of a
problem rests, is not less demonstrative than that which is employed in proof of a theorem. Grant the possibility of the three
operations described in the postulates, and the correctness of




nRESOTING AND )DEIUCTIVE EVTIDENCNE.          433
the solution is as mathematically certain, as the truth of any
property of the triangle or of the circle.  The three postulates
of Euclid are, indeed, nothing more than the definition of a
circle and a straight line thrown into a form somewhat different;
and a similar remark may be extended to the corresponding
distribution of propositions into theorems and problems.  Notwithstanding the many conveniences with which this distribution
is attended, it was evidently a matter of choice rather than
of necessity; all.the truths of geometry easily admitting of
being moulded into either shape, according to the fancy of the
nmathematician.  As to the axioms, there cannot be a doubt,
whatever opinion may be entertained of their utility or of their
insignificance, that they stand precisely in the same relation to
both classes of propositions.
iow far it is true that all mathematical evidence is resolvable
into identical propositions. -I had occasion to take notice, in
the first section of the preceding chapter, of a theory with respect to the nature of mathematical evidence, very different
from that which I have been now attempting to explain. According to this theory (originally, I believe, proposed by Leibnitz) we are taught, that all mathematical evidence ultimately
resolves into the perception of identity; the innumerable variety
of propositions which have been discovered, or which remain
to be discovered in the science, being only diversified expressions of the simple formula, a — a.
As this account of mathematical evidence is quite irreconcilable with the scope of the foregoing observations, it is necessary,
before proceeding further, to examine its real import and
amount; and what the circumstances are from which it derives
that plausibility which it has been so generally supposed to
possess.
Ideal superposition is the only way of proving that one space
is equal to another. - That all mathematical evidence resolves
ultimately into the perception of identity, has been considered
by some as a consequence of the commonly received doctrine,
which represents the axioms of Euclid as the first principles of
all our subsequent reasonings in geometry.  Upon this view of
37




4-34      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE  EVIDENCE.
the subject, I have nothing to offer in addition to what I have
already stated.  The argument which I mean to combat at
present, is of a more subtile and refined nature; and, at the
same time, involves an admixture of important truth, which
contributes not a little to the specious verisimilitude of the conclusion.  It is founded on this simple consideration, that the
geometrical notions of equality and of coincidence are the same;
and that, even in comparing together spaces of different figures,
all our conclusions ultimately lean with their whole weight on
the imaginary application of one triangle to another; —the
object of which imaginary application is merely to identify the
two triangles together in every circumstance connected both
with magnitude and figure.'
Of' the justness of the assumption on which this argument
proceeds, I do not entertain the slightest doubt.  Whoever has
the curiosity to examine any one theorem  in the elements of
plane geometry, in which different spaces are compared together, will easily perceive, that the demonstration, when traced
back to its first principles, terminates in the fourth proposition
of Euclid's first book; a proposition of which the proof rests
entirely on a supposed application of the one triangle to the
other.  In the case of equal triangles which differ in figure,
this expedient of ideal superposition cannot be directly and immediately employed to evince their equality; but the demonstration will nevertheless be found to rest at bottom on the same
species of evidence.  In illustration of this doctrine, I shall
only appeal to the thirty-seventh proposition of the first book,
in which it is proved that triangles on the same base, and between
*' It was probably with a view to the establishment of this doctrine, that
some foreign elementary writers have lately given the name of identical
triangles to such as agree with each other both in sides, in angles, and in
area. The differences which may exist between them in respect of place,
and of relative position (differences which do -rot at all enter into the reasonings of the geometer) seem to have been considered as of so little
account in discriminating them as separate objects of thought, that it has
been concluded they only form one and the same triangle, in the contemplhation of the logician.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.               435
the same parallels, are equal; a theorem which appears, fivom  a
very simple construction, to be only a few steps removed fiom
the fburth of the same book, in which the supposed application
of' the one triangle to the other, is the only medium  of comparison from which their quality is inferred.
In general, it seems to be almost self-evident, that the equality
of two spaces can be demonstrated only by showing, either that
the one might be applied to the other, so that their boundaries
should exactly coincide; or that it is possible, by a geometrical
construction, to divide them into compartments, in such a manner,
that the sum  of parts in the one may be proved to be equal to
the sum of'parts in the other, upon the principle of superposition.
To devise the easiest and simplest constructions for attaining
this end, is the object to which the skill and invention of the
geometer is chiefly directed.
Nor is it the geometer alone who reasons upon this principle.
If you wish to convince a person of plain understanding, who
is quite unacquainted with mathematics, of the truth of one of'
Euclic's theorems, it can only be done by exhibiling to his eye
operations exactly analogous to those which the geometer presents to the understanding. A good example of this occurs in
the sensible or experimental illustration which is sometimes
given of the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid's first book.
For this purpose, a card is cut into the form of a right angled
triangle, and square pieces of card are adapted to the different
sides; after whichi, by a simple and ingenious- contrivance, the
diffirent squares are so dissected, that those of the two sides
are made to cover the same space with the square of the
hypothenuse.  In truth, this 2mode of comparison by a superposition, actual or ideal, is the only test of equtality which it is
possible to appeal to; and it is firom this, as seems friom  a passage in Proclus to have been the opinion of Apollonius, that, in
point of logical rigor, the definition of geometrical equality
should have been taken.*  The subject is discussed at great
* I do not think, however, that it would be fair, on this account, to censure E1aclld for the arrangement which he has adopted, as he has thereby




L436       i'REASONINrG AND DEDUCTIVE EYITDENCE.
length and with much acuteness, as well as' learning, in one of
the mathematical lectures of Dr. Barrow; to which I must
refer those readers who may wish to see it more fully illustrated.
%lentit y# atnd equalfity are not convertible terms. -  I am strongly
inclined  to suspect, that most of the writers who have maintained that all mathematical evidence resolves ultimately into
the perception of identity, have had a secret reference in their
own minds to the doctrine just stated; and that they have imposed on themselves, by using the words identity and equality
as literally synonymous and convertible terms.  This does not
seem to be at all consistent, either in point of expression or of
fhct, with sound logic.  When it is affirmed, for instance, that
"6if two straight lines in a circle intersect each other, the rectangle contained by the segments of the one is equal to the
rectangle contained by the segments of the other;" can it with
any propriety be said, that the relation between these rectangles
may be expressed by the formula a - a?  Or, to take a case yet
most ingeniously and dexterously tried to keep out of the view of the
student some very puzzling questions, to which it is not possible to give a
satisfactory answer till a considerable progress has been made in the elements. When it is stated in the form of a self-evident truth, that magnitudes which coincide, or which exactly fill the same space, are equal to one
another, the beginner readily yields his assent to the proposition; and
this assent, without going any further, is all that is required in any of the
demonstrations of the first six books; whereas, if the proposition were
converted into a definition, by saying, "Equal magnitudes are those which
coincide, or which exactly fill the same space;" the question would immediately occur, Are no magnitudes equal but those to which this test of
equality can be applied. Can the relation of equality not subsist between
magnitudes which differ from each other in figure? In reply to this question, it would be necessary to explain the definition, by adding, That those
magnitudes likewise are said to be equal, which are capable of being
divided or dissected in such a manner, that the parts of the one may severally coincide with the parts of the other; a conception much too refined
and complicated for the generality of students at their first outset; and
which, if it were fully and clearly apprehended, would plunge them at once
into the profound speculation concerning the comparison of rectilinear
with?urvilinear figures,.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             437
stronger, when it-is affirmed, that " the area of a circle is equal
to that of a triangle hlaving the circumference for its base, and
the r1adius for its altitude;" would it not be an obvious paralogism to infer from this proposition, that the triangle and the circle
are one and the same thing? In this last instance, Dr. Barrow
himself has thought it necessary, in order to reconcile the language of Archimedes with that of Euclid, to have recourse to
a scholastic distinction between actual and potential coincidence;
and, therefore, if we are to avail ourselves of the principle of
superposition, in defence of the fashionable theory concerning
mathematical evidence, we must, I apprehend, introduce a correspondent distinction between actual and potential identity.
That I may not be accused, however, of misrepresenting the
opinion which I am  anxious to refute, I shall state it in the
words of an author, who has made it the subject of a particular
dissertation; and who appears to me to have done as much justice to his argument as any of its other defenders.
[" All mathematical propositions are identical, and may be
l epresented by this formula, a - ca. They are identical truths,
expressed in various forms, or rather they are what'is called
the principle of contradiction itself,* variously enunciated and
involved; as, indeed, all propositions of this sort are really involved in this principle.  According to our way of understanding, such propositions differ from  each other only in this, that
some of them are reduced to the principle of contradiction, and
resolved into it, by a long train of reasoning, others by a shorter
one.  Thus, for example, the proposition 2 + 2 - 4 is resolved
immediately into this, 1 + 1 + 1 + — 1- 1 + 1 + 1 + 1; that is,
the same is the same; and, properly speaking, it ought to be
thus enunciated, - if four things exist, then four things exist.
For geometricians do not treat of existence directly, but it is
introduced only by way of hypothesis. Hence the highest
degree of certainty results to one who examines such reasoning;
for he observes the identity of two ideas; and this is the evi[ Th/e principle of contradiction is the axiom, that "it is impossible for
the same thiny to be and not to be at the same moment."]
37 *




438       REASONING AND 1)EDUCTIVE EYIDENCE.
dence compelling our immediate assent, whIch we call mathematical or geometrical evidence.  Yet such evidence is not
peculiar to mathematical science alone, for it arises from the
perception of identity, and the identity of two ideas may be
recognized, though they do not represent extension."]
Truths must be distinguished from the evidence by which they
are supported. - With respect to this passage I have only to
remark, (and the same thing is observable of every other attempt which has been made to support the opinion in question,)
that the author confounds two things essentially different; -  the
nature of the truths which are the objects of a science, and the
nature of the'evidence by which these truths are established.
Granting, for the sake of argument, that all mathematical propositions may be represented by the formula a - a, it would not,
therefore, follow, that every step of the reasoning leading to these
conclusions, was a proposition of the same nature; and that, to
feel the full force of a mathematical demonstration, it is sufficient
to be convinced of this maxim, that every thing may be truly
predicated of itself; or, in plain English, that the same is the
same. A paper written in cipher, and the interpretation of that
paper by a skilful decipherer, may, in like manner, be considered
as, to all intents and purposes, one and the same thing. They
are so, in fact, just as much as one side of an algebraical equation is the same thing with the other.  But does it therefore
follow, that the whole evidence upon which the art of deciphering proceeds, resolves into the perception of identity?
It may be fairly questioned, too, whether it can, with strict
correctness, be said even of the simple' arithmetical equation
2 + — 2   4, that it; may be represented by tile formula a -a.
The one is a proposition asserting the equivalence of two difrerent expressions;-to ascertain which equivalence may, in
numberless cases, be an object of the highest importance.  The
other is altogether unmeaning and nugatory, and cannot, by any
possible supposition, admit of the slightest application of a practical nature.  What opinion, then, shall we form of the proposition a — a, when considered as the representative of such a
formula as the binomial theorem of Sir Isaac Newton?  When




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             439
applied to the equation 2 + 2 =-4, (which, from its extreme
simplicity and familiarity, is apt to be regarded in the light of
an axiom,) the paradox does not appear to be so manifestly
extravagant; but, in the other case, it seems quite impossible to
annex to it any meaning whatever.
Thlze doctrine of Condillac respecting all sorts of evidence
controverted. - I should scarcely have been induced to dwell so
long on this theory of Leibnitz concerning mathematical evidence, if I had not observed among some late logicians, (particularly among the followers of Condillac), a growing disposition
to extend it to all the different sorts of evidence resulting from
the various employments of our reasoning powers.  Condillac
himself states his own opinion on this point with the most perfect confidence. [" The evidence of reason consists altogether
in identity, as we have demonstrated.  This truth must be very
simple to have escaped the notice of all the philosophers, who
are so much interested in establishing the grounds of the evidence which they are incessantly talking about."]
The demonstration here alluded to, is extremely concise; and
if we grant the two data on which it proceeds, must be universally acknowledged to be irresistible.  The first is, " That the
evidence of every mathematical equation is that of identity:"
the second, " That what are called, in the other sciences, propositions or judgments, are, at bottom, precisely of the same
nature with equations." - But it is proper, on this occasion, to
let our author speak for himself.
[" But it will be said, that we reason in this way in mathematics, where the reasoning is expressed in equations; but will
it be so in the other sciences, where the reasoning is stated in
propositions? I answer, that equations, propositions, and judgments are at bottom the same thing, and consequently, that we
reason in the same manner in all the sciences."]
Upon this demonstration I have no comment to offer. The
truth of the first assumption has been already examined at sufficient length; and the second (which is only Locke's very erroneous account of judgment, stated in terms incomparably more
exceptionable,) is too puerile to admit of refutation. It is mel



440      -REA SONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
ancholy to reflect, that a writer, who, in his earlier years, had
so admirably unfolded the mighty influence of language upon
our speculative conclusions, should have left behind him, in one
of his latest pub[;cations, so memorable an illustration of his
own favorite doctrine.
It was manifestly with a view to the more complete establishment of the same theory, that Condillac undertook a work,
which has appeared since his death, under the title of La Lang ue des C'alculs; and which, we are told by the editors, was
only meant as a prelude to other labors, more interesting and
more difficult. From the circumstances which they have stated,
it would seema that the intention of the author was to extend to
all the other branches of knowledge, inferences similar to those
whicl lie has here endeavored to establish with respect to mathematical calculations; and much regret is expressed by his
firiends, that he had not lived to accomplish a design of such
incalculable importance to human happiness.  I believe I may
safely venture to assert, that it was fbrtunate for his reputation
lie proceeded no further; as the sequel must, from  the nature
of the subject, have afforded, to every competent judge, an experimental and palpable proof of the vagueness and fallaciousness of those views by which the undertaking was suggested.
In his posthumous volume, the mathematical precision and
perspicuity of his details appear to a superficial reader to reflect
some part of' their own light on the general reasonings with
which they are blended; while to better judges, these reasonings come recommended with many advantages and with much
additional authority, from their coincidence with the doctrines
of the Leibnitzian school.
Condillac's doctr ine anticipated by Hobbes. - It would probably have been not a little mortifying to this most ingenious and
respectable philosopher, to have discovered, that, in attempting
to generalize a very celebrated theory of Leibnitz, he had
stumbled upon an obsolete conceit, started in this island upwards of a century before.  "VWhen a man reasoneth," says
Hobbes, "he does nothing else but conceive a sum total, from
addition of parcels; or conceive a remainder from subtraction




REIASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.          441
ofl one sum from another; which, if it be done by words, is conceiving of the consequence of. the names of all the parts to the
name of the whole; or from the name of the whole and one
part, to the name of the other part. These operations are not
incident to number only, but to all manner of things that can
be added together, and taken one out of another. In sum, in
what matter soever there is place for addition and substraction,
there also is place for reason; and where these have no place,
there reason has nothing at all to do.
"Out of all which we may define what that is which is meant
)by the word reason, when we reckon it amongst the faculties of
the mind. For reason, in this sense, is nothing but reckoning
(that is, adding and substracting), of the consequences of general names agreed upon for the marking and signifying of our
thoughts; — I say marking them, when we reckon by ourselves;
and signifying, when we demonstrate or approve our reckonings
to other men."  (Leviathan, chap. 5.)
Agreeably to this definition, H-Iobbes has given to the first
part of his elements of philosophy, the title of C(omputatio, sive
Logica; evidently employing these two words as precisely
synonymous.
I-low wonderfully does this jargon agree with the assertion
of Condillac, that all equations are propositions, and all propositions equations 
These speculations, however, of Condillac and of Hobbes,
relate to reasoning in general; and it is with mathematical reasoning alone that we are immediately concerned at present.
That the peculiar evidence with which this is accompanied, is
not resolvable into the perception of identity, has, I flatter myself, been sufficiently proved in the beginning of this article;
and the plausible extension by Condillac of the very same theory to our reasonings in all the different branches of moral science, affords a strong additional presumption in favor of our
conclusion.
Evidence of the mechanical philosophy not to be confotznded
with that which is properly called demonstrative or mathernatical. -Next to geometry and arithmetic, in point of evidence




442       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
and certainty, is that branch of general physics which is now
called mechanical philosophy [or nechanics, simply]; a science
in which the progress of discovery has been astonishingly
rapid, during the course of the last century; and which, in the
systematical concatenation and filiation of its elementary principles, exhibits every day more and more of that logical simplicity and elegance which we admire in the works of the Greek
mathema'ticians. It may> I think, be fairly questioned, whether,
in this department of knowledge, the affectation of mathematical method has not been already carried to an excess; the
essential distinction  between  mechanical and mathematical
truths being, in many of the physical systems which have lately
appeared on the Continent, studiously kept out of the reader's
view, by exhibiting both, as nearly as possible, in the same
form.  A variety of circumstances, indeed, conspire to identify
in the imagination, and, of consequence, to assimilate in the
mode of their statement, these two very different classes of
propositions; but as this assimilation, besides its obvious tendency to involve experimental facts in metaphysical mystery, is
apt occasionally to lead to very erroneous logical conclusions, it
becomes the more necessary, in proportion as it arises from a
natural bias, to point out the causes in which it has originated,
and the limitations with which it ought to be understood.
The following slight remarks will sufficiently explain my
general ideas on this important article of logic.
1. As the study of the mechanical philosophy is, in a great
measure, inaccessible to those who have not received a regular
mathematical education, it commonly happens, that a taste for
it is, in the first instance, grafted on a previous attachment to
the researches of pure or abstract mathematics.  Hence a natural and insensible transference to physical pursuits, of mathematical habits of thinking; and hence an almost unavoidable
propensity to give to the former science that systematical connection in all its various conclusions which, from the nature of
its first principles, is essential to the latter, but which can never
belong to any science which has its foundations laid in facts, collected firom experience and observation.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             443
2. Another circumstance which has cooperated powerfully
with the former in producing the same effect, is that proneness
to simplification which has misled the mind, more or less, in all
its researches, and which, in natural philosophy, is peculiarly
encouraged by those beautiful analogies which are observable
among different physical phenomena, - analogies, at the same
time, which, however pleasing to the fancy, cannot always be
resolved by our reason into one general law. In a remarkable
analogy, for example, which presents itself between the equality
of action and reaction in the collision of bodies, and what obtains in their mutual attractions, the coincidence is so perfect,
as to enable us to comprehend all the various facts in the same
theorem; and it is difficult to resist the temptation which it
seems to offer to our ingenuity, of attempting to trace it, in both
cases, to some common principle.  Such trials of theoretical
skill, I would not be understood to censure indiscriminately;
but in the present instance, I am fully persuaded, that it is at
once more unexceptionable in point of sound logic, and more
satisfactory to the learner, to establish the fact, in particular
cases, by an appeal to experiment; and to state the law of
action and reaction in the collision of bodies, as well as that
which regulates the mutual tendencies of bodies towards each
other, merely as general rules which have been obtained by
induction, and rwhich are found to hold invariably as far as our
knowledge of nature extends.
3. To these remarks it may be added, that even when one
proposition in natural philosophy is logically deducible firom
another, it may frequently be expedient, in communicating the
elements of the science, to illustrate and confirm the consequence,
as well as the principle, by experiment.  This I should apprehiend to be proper wherever a consequence is inferred firom a
principle less familiar and intelligible than itself; a thing which
murst occasionally happen in physics, from  the complete incorporation, if I may use the expression, which, in modern times,
has taken place between physical truths, and the discoveries of
mathematicians.  The necessary efiect of this incorporation was,
to give to natural philosophy a mathematical form, and to sys



- 141r t REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
tenmatize its conclusions, as far as possible, agreeably to rules
suggested by mathematical method.
Arbitrary selection of the prenmises in mathematical reasoning.
In pure mathematics, where the truths which we investigate
are all coexistent in point of' time, it is universally allowed,
that one proposition is said to be a consequence of another, only
with a reference to our established arrangements.  Thus, all the
properties of the circle might be as rigorously deduced from any
one general property of the curve, as from  the equality of the
radii.  But it does not therefore follow, that all these arrangements would be equally convenient; on the contrary, it is evidently useful, and indeed necessary, to lead the mind, as far as
the thing is practicable, from  what is simple to what is more
complex.  The misfortune is, that it seems impossible to carry
this rule universally into execution; and accordingly, in the
most elegant geometrical treatises which have yet appeared,
instances occur, in which consequences are deduced from principles more complicated than themselves.
Such inversions, however, of what may justly be regarded as
the natural order, must always be felt by the author as a sulbject
of regret; and, in proportion to their frequency, they detract
both from the beauty and from  the didactic simplicity of his
general design.
Abstract conclusions in mechanics should be verified by experiment. — The same thing often happens irn the elementary
doctrines of natural philosophy.  A  very obvious example
occurs, in the different demonstrations given by writers on
mechanics, from  the resolution of forces, of the fundamental
proposition concerning the lever; demonstrations in which the
proposition, even in the simple case when the directions of the
forces are supposed to be parallel, is inferred from a process of
reasoning involving one of the most refined principles employed
in the mechanical philosophy. I do not object to this arrangement as illogical; nor do I presume to say that it is injudicious.
I would only suggest the propriety, in such instances, of confirming and illustrating the conclusion by an appeal to experiment; an appeal which, in natural philosophy, possesses an




REASONINIG AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.          445
authority equal to that which is generally, but very improperly,
considered as a mathematical demonstration of physical truths.
In pure geometry, no reference to the senses can be admitted,
but in the way of illustration; and any such reference, in the
most trifling step of a demonstration, vitiates the whole. But
in natural philosophy, all our reasonings must be grounded on
principles for which no evidence but that of sense can be ob.
tained; and the propositions which we establish, differ from
each other only as they are deduced from such principles im.
mediately, or by the intervention of a mathematical demonstration. An experimental proof, therefore, of any particular
physical truth, when it can be conveniently obtained, although it
may not always be the most elegant or the most expedient way
of introducing it to the knowledge of the student, is as rigorous
and as satisfactory as any other; for the intervention of a process of mathematical reasoning can never bestow on our conclusions a greater degree of certainty than our principles possessed.
Excessive use of mathematical reasoning in physics. - I have
been led to enlarge on these topics by that unqualified application of mathematical method to physics, which has been fashionable for many years past among foreign writers, and which
seems to have originated chiefly in the commanding influence
which the genius and learning of Leibnitz has so long maintained over the scientific taste of most European nations. In
an account, lately published, of the Life and Writings of Dr.
Reid, I have taken notice of some other inconveniences resulting fiom it, still more important than the introduction of an
unsound logic into the elements of natural philosophy; in particular, of the obvious tendency which it has to withdraw the
attention from that unity of design which is the noblest employment of philosophy to illustrate, by disguising it under the
semblance of an eternal and necessary order, similar to what
the mathematician delights to trace among the mutual relations
of' quantities and figures. The consequence has been, (in too
many physical systems,) to level the study of nature, in point
of moral interest, with the investigations of the algebraist; — an
effect, too, which has taken place most remarkably, where, from
38




446       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
the sublimity of the subject, it was least to be expected, — in
the application of the mechanical philosophy to the phenomena
of the heavens. But on this very extensive and important
topic I must not enter at present.
The opposite error, of ranking mathematics among the sciences
of experiment and observation, confuted. - In the opposite extreme to the error which I have now been endeavoring to correct, is a paradox, which was broached about twenty years ago
by the late ingenious Dr. Beddoes; and which has since been
adopted by some writers whose names are better entitled, on a
question of this sort, to give weight to their opinions. By the
partizans of this new doctrine, it seems to be imagined that, so
far from physics being a branch of mathematics, mathematics, and
more particularly geometry, is, in reality, only a branch of physics.
" The mathematical sciences," says Dr. Beddoes, " are sciences
of experiment and observation, founded solely on the induction
of particular facts; as much so as mechanics, astronomy, optics,
or chemistry.  In the kind of' evidence, there is no diffberence;
for it originates from  perception in all these cases alike; but
mathematical experiments are more simple, and more perfectly
within the grasp of our senses, and our perceptions of mathematical objects are clearer."
A doctrine essentially the same, though expressed in terms
tiot quite so revolting, has been lately sanctioned by Mr. Leslie;
and it is to his view of the argument that I mean to confine my
attention at present.'"lThe whole structure of geometry," he
remarks, "is grounded on the simple comparison of triangles;
and all the fundamental theorems which relate to this compari.
son, derive their evidence from the mere superposition of the
triangles themselves; a mode of proof which, in reality, is nothing but an ultimate appeal, though of the easiest and most
familiar kind, to external observation."@   And, in another pas* Elements of Geometry and of Geometrical Analysis, etc. By Mr.
Leslie. Edinburgh, 1809. The assertion that the whole structure of
geometry is founded on the comparison of triangles, is expressed in terms
too unqualified. D'Alembert has mentioned another principle as not less




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                  447
sage: "6 Geometry, like the other sciences which are not concerned about the operations of mind, rests ultimately on external observations.  But those ultimate facts are so few, so
distinct and obvious, that the subsequent train of reasoning is
safely pursued to an unlimited extent, without ever appealing
again to the evidence of the senses."
The two arguments adduced to support this doctrine. -  Before
proceeding to make any remarks on this theory, it is proper to
premise, that it involves two separate considerations, which it is
of material consequence to distinguish from each other.  The
first is, that extension and figure, the subjects of geometry, are
qualities of body which are made known to us by our external
senses alone, and which actually fall under the consideration of
the natural-philosopher, as well as of the mathematician.  The
second, that the whole fabric of geometrical science rests on the
coinparison of triangles, in forming which comparison, we are
ultimately obliged to appeal (in the same manner as in establishing the first principles of physics) to a sensible and experimental
proof.
1. The mathematical affections of matter are necessary and
eternal, and therefore not dependent on the evidence of the senses.
-  In answer to the first of these allegations, it might perhaps
be sufficient to observe, that in order to identify two sciences, it
is not enough to state, that they are both conversant about the
same objects; it is necessary further to show, that in both cases,
these: objects are considered in the same point of view, and give
fundamental, the measurement of aingles by circular arches. " Theftindamental propositions )f' geometry may be reduced to two; the measure o/' angles by
circular arcs, and the principle of superposition."  The same writer, however,
justly observes, in another part of his works, that the measure of angles
by circular arches, is itself dependent on the principle of superposition:
and that, consequently, however extensive and important in its application, it is entitled only to rank with what he calls principles of a second
order.
Instead, therefore, of saying that the whole structure of geometry is
grounded on the comparison of triangles, it would be more correct to say,
that it is grounded on the principle of superposition.




4-18      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
employment to the samne faculties of the mind.  The poet, the
painter, the gardener, and the botanist, are all occupied, in various degrees and modes, with the study of the vegetable kingdom; yet who has ever thought of confounding their several
pursuits under one common name?  The natural historian, the
civil historian, the moralist, the logician, the dramatist, and the
statesman, are all engaged in the study of man, and of the principles of human nature; yet how widely discriminated are these
various departments of science and of art! how different are
the kinds of evidence on which they respectively rest! how
different the intellectual habits which they have a tendency to
form! Indeed, if this mode of generalization were to be admitted as legitimate, it would lead us to blend all the objects of
science into one and the same mass; inasmuch as it is by the
same impressions on our external senses, that our intellectual
faculties are, in the first instance, roused to action, and all the
first elements of our knowledge unfolded.
In the instance, however, before us, there is a very remarkable
specialty, or rather singularity, which renders the attempt to identify the objects of geometrical and physical science inconmparably more illogical than it would be to classify poetry with botany,
or the natural history of man with the political history of nations.
This specialty arises from certain peculiarities in the metaphysical nature of those sensible qualities which fall under the consideration of the geometer; and which led me, in a different work, to
distinguish them from other sensible qualities (both primary and
secondary,) by bestowing on them the title of mathematical cifections of matter. Of these mathematical affections (magnitude
and figure) our first notions are, no doubt, derived (as well as of
hardness, softness, roughness, and smoothness) from the exercise
of our external senses; but it is equally certain, that when the
notions of magnitude and figure have once been acquired, the
mind is immediately led to consider them as attributes of space
no less than of body: and (abstracting them entirely firom the
other sensible qualities perceived in conjunction with them-)
becomes impressed with an irresistible conviction, that their
existence is necessary and eternal, and that it would remain un



REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                449
changed if all the bodies in the universe were annihilated.  It
is not our business here to inquire into the origin and grounds
of this conviction. It is with the fact alone that we are concerned at present; and this I conceive to be one of the most
obviously incontrovertible which the circle of our knowledge
embraces. Let those explain it as they best can, who are of
opinion, that all the judgments of the human understanding
rest ultimately on observation and experience.
Nor is this the only case in which the mind forms conclusions
concerning space, to which those of the natural philosopher do
not bear the remotest analogy.  Is it from experience we learn
that space is infinite? or, to express myself in more unexceptionable terms, that no limits can be assigned to its immensity?
HIere is a fact, extending not only beyond the reach of our personal observation, but beyond the observation of all created
beings; and a fact on which we pronounce with no less confidence, when in imagination we transport ourselves to the utmost
verge of the material universe, than when we confine our
thoughts to those regions of the globe which have been explored
by travellers.  How unlike those general laws which we investigate in physics, and which, how far soever we may find them
to reach, may still, fbr any thing we are able to discover to the
contrary, be only contingent, local, and temiporary.*
* [Mr. J. S. Mill is the latest writer of authority who has maintained
the doctrine of Beddoes and Leslie, that even pure mathematics is an
inductive science, and depends ultimately on external observation. The
following is a summary of his argument upon this point, though it deserves
notice only as the attempt of a very acute reasoner to support a thesis
which is wholly indefensible. Only a love of paradox, or the bias of a
previously conceived theory, could induce any one to controvert the doctrine of Mr. Stewart in the text, which expresses the almost unanimous
opinion of the scientific world.
B-ut Mr. Mill avers that geometrical axioms "are experimental axioms
- generalizations from observation. The proposition,'Two straight lines
cannot inclose a space' -or in other words,' Two straight lines which
have once met, do not meet again, but continue to diverge' — is an induction from the evidence of our senses."
When it is urged that actual observation is not needed to convince us
38 "




450        REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
It must indeed be owned, with respect to the conclusions
hitherto mentioned on the subject of space, that they are rather
of a metaphysical, than of a mathematical nature; but they
are net, on that account, the less applicable to our purpose; for
if the theory of Beddoes had any foundation, it would lead us
to identify with physics the former of these sciences as well as
the latter; at least, all that part of the former which is employed about space or extension, —a favorite object of metaphysical as well as of mathematical speculation.  The truth,
however, is, that some of our metaphysical conclusions concernof the truth of this axiom, but that our assent is given merely by thinking
of it, or as soon as we understand the meaning of the words, he answers,
" one of the characteristic properties of geometrical forms is their capacity
of being painted in the imagination with a distinctness equal to reality."
These mental pictures are "just as fit subjects of geometrical experimentation as the realities themselves."  " The foundations of geometry would
therefore be laid in diiect experience, even if the experiments, (which in
this case consist merely in attentive contemplation) were practised solely
upon what we call our ideas, — that is, upon the diagrams in our minds,
and not upon outward objects."
But we declare that the lines could not meet even if they were prolonged
to infinity,- a fact which cannot be proved by actual observation, because we cannot follow them to infinity. Mr. Mill replies, that, without
so following them, "we may know that, if they ever do meet, or indeed
if, after diverging from one another, they begin again to approach, this
must take place, not at an infinite,. but at a finite distance. Supposing,
therefore, such to be the case, we can transport ourselves thither in imagination, and can firame a mental image of the appearance which one or
both of the lines must present at that point, which we may rely upon as
being precisely similar to the reality. Now, whether we fix our contemplation upon this imaginary picture, or call to mind the generalizations we
have had occasion to make from former ocular observation, we shall either
way be equally satisfied, that a line which, after diverging from another
straight line, begins to approach to it, produces the impression on our
senses which we describe by the expression'a bent line,' not by the expression,'a straight line.'"
The first argument being thus disposed of, we proceed to the second.
"Axioms (it is asserted) are conceived by us not only as true, but as universally and necessarily true. Now experience cannot possibly give to
any proposition this character. I may have seen snow a hundred times,
and may have seen that it was white; but this cannot give me entire




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                    451
ing space are more nearly allied to geometrical theorems thlan we
might be disposed at first to apprehend; being involved or implied in the most simple and fundamental propositions which
occur in Euclid's Elements.  When it is asserted, for example,
that "if one straight line falls on two other straight lines, so
as to make the two interior angles on the same side together
equal to two right angles, these two straight lines, though indefinitely produced, will never meet; " —is not the boundless immensity of' space tacitly assumed as a thing unquestionable?
assurance even that all snow is white; much less, that snow mast be
white."
The answer to this argument is really curious, as showing the writer's
incapacity of perceiving the distinction, which is a fundamental one, between necessary and contingent truths. " I cannot but wonder," says Mr.
Mill, " that so much stress should be laid upon the circumstance of inconceivableness, when there is such ample experience to show, that our capacity or incapacity of conceiving a thing has very little to do with the possibility of the thing in itself; but is in truth very much an affair of accident,
and depends upon the past history and habits of our own minds. There
is no more generally acknowledged fact in human nature, than the extreme
difficulty at first felt in conceiving any thing as possible, which is in contradiction to long established and familiar experience, or even to old and
familiar habits of thought." "There are remarkable instances of this
in the history of science; instances in which the wisest men rejected as
impossible, because inconceivable, things which their posterity, by earlier
practice and longer perseverance in the attempt, found it quite easy to
conceive, and which everybody now knows to be true."  Mr. Mill proceeds to adduce, as such instances, the fact that there was a time when
men of the most cultivated intellects could not credit the existence of antipodes; could not conceive the force of gravity acting upwards; or that a
body could act upon the earth at the distance of the sun or moon.
The inference fiom this reasoning seems to be, that there is no proposition now regarded as a necessary truth, which may not, at some future
time, come to be generally disbelieved. In the future progress of knowledge, he seems to think it may be ascertained that the three angles of a
plane triangle are not equal to two right angles! It is certainly not impossible that the sun may not rise to-morrow; we can easily conceive that it
may not; though it is a fact attested by universal experience, that, to
every place in the torrid and temperate zones, the sun has risen once
in every twenty-four houras. Yet who does not perceive the difference,
in point of logical certainty, between the proposition that the sun will rise
to-morrow, and the axiom that two straight lines cannot inclose a space  




452       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
And is not a universal affirmation made with respect to a fact
which experience is equally incompetent to disprove or to confirm?
In like manner, when it is said, that "triangles on the same
base, and between the same parallels are equal," do we feel ourselves the less ready to give our assent to the demonstration, if
it should be supposed, that the one triangle is confined within
the limits of the paper before us, and that the other, standing
on the same base, has its vertex placed beyond the sphere of
the fixed stars?  In various instances, we are led, with a force
equally imperious, to acquiesce in conclusions, which not only
admit of' no illustration or proof from the perceptions of sense,
but which, at first sight, are apt to stagger and confound the
faculty of imagination. It is sufficient to mention, as examples
of this, the relation between the hyperbola and its asymptotes,
[which are constantly approaching each other, and yet will not
meet till they are extended to infinity]; and the still more obvious truth of the infinite divisibility of extension. What analogy is there between such propositions as these, and that which
announces, that the mercury in the Torricellian tube will fall,
if carried up to the top of a mountain; or that the vibrations
of a pendulum of a given length will be performed in the same
time, while it remains in the same latitude?  Were there, in
reality, that analogy between mathematical and physical propositions, which Beddoes and his followers have fancied, the
equality of the square of the hypothenuse of a right angled triangle to the squares described on the two other sides, and the
proportion of 1, 2, 3, between the cone and its circumscribed
hemisphere and cylinder, might, with fully as great propriety,
be considered in the light of physical phenomena, as of geometrical theorems. Nor would it have been at all inconsistent with
the logical unity of his work, if Mr. Leslie had annexed to his
Elements of Geometry, a scholium concerning the final causes
of circles and of straight lines, similar to that which, with such
sublime effect, closes the Principia of Sir Isaac Newton.*
* In the course of my own experience, I have met with one person, of
no common ingenuity, who seemed seriously disposed to consider the
truths of geometry very nearly in this light. The person I allude to was




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                  453
2. The geometer's sutperposition of triangles is ideal, and not
actual. -- It yet remains for me to say a few words upon that
superposition of triangles, which is the groundwork of all our
geometrical reasonings concerning the relations which different
species bear to one another in respect of magnitude. And here
I must take the liberty to remark, in the first place, that the
fact in question has been stated in terms much too loose and
incorrect for a logical argument. When it is said, that " all the
James Ferguson, author of the justly popular works on Astronomy and
Mechanics. In the year 1768, he paid a visit to Edinburgh, when I had
not only an opportunity of attending his public course of lectures, but of
fiequently enjoying, in private, the pleasure of his very interesting conversation. I remember distinctly to have heard him say, that he had more
than once attempted to study the Elements of Euclid; but found himself
quite unable to enter into that species of reasoning. The second proposition of the first book he mentioned particularly, as one of his stumbling.
blocks at the very outset; - the circuitous process by which Euclid sets
about an operation which never could puzzle, for a single moment, any
man who had seen a pair of compasses, appearing to him altogether capricious and ludicrous. He added, at the same time, that as there were various geometrical theorems of which he had daily occasion tfo make use, he
had satisfied himself of their truth, either by means of his compasses and
scale, or by some mechanical contrivances of his own invention. Of one
of these I have still a perfect recollection; -his mechanical or experimental demonstration of the 47th proposition of Euclid's first book, by
cutting a card so as to afford an ocular proof, that the squares of the two
sides actually filled the same space with the square of the hypothenuse.
To those who reflect on the disadvantages under which Mr. Ferguson
had labored in point of education, and on the early and exclusive hold
which experimental science had taken of his mind, it will not perhaps
seem altogether unaccountable, that the refined and scrupulous logic of
Euclid should have struck him as tedious, and even unsatisfactory, in
comparison of that more summary and palpable evidence on which his
judgment was accustomed to rest.
"Mr. Ferguson's general mathematical knowledge," says Dr. Hutton,
"was little or nothing. Of algebra, he understood little more than the
notation; and he has often told me he could never demonstrate one proposition in Euclid's Elements; his constant method being to satisfy himself, as to the truth of any problem, with a measurement by scale and
compasses." - Hutton's Mllathematical and Philosophical Dictionary, article
[.tsore.




45a4      REASONING  AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
fundamental theorems which relate to the comparison of triangles, derive their evidence from the mere superposition of the
triangles themselves," it seems difficult, or rather impossible, to
annex to the adjective mere, an idea at all different from what
would be conveyed, if the word actual were to be substituted in
its place; more especially, when we attend to the assertion
which immediately follows, that " this mode of proof is, in reality, nothing but an ultimate appeal, though of the easiest and
most familiar kind, to external observation."  But if this be, in
truth, the sense in which we are to interpret the statement
quoted above, (and I cannot conceive any other interpretation
of which it admits,) it must appear obvious, upon the slightest
reflection, that the statement proceeds upon a total misapprehension of the principle of superposition; inasmuch as it is not
to an actual or mere sutpeposition, but to an imaginary or ideal
one, that any appeal is ever made by the geometer.  Between
these two modes of proof the difference is not only wide, but
radical and essential. The one would, indeed, level geometry
with physics, in point of evidence, by building the whole of its
reasoning on a fact ascertained by mechanical measurement;
the other is addressed to the understanding, and to the understanding alone, and is as rigorously conclusive as it is possible
for demonstration to be.*
* The same remark was, more than fifty years ago, made by D'Alembert, in reply to some mathematicians on the Continent, who, it would
appear, had then adopted a paradox very nearly approaching to that
which I am now combating. "Le principe de la superposition n'cst point,
cornme lont prdtendu plusieurs gdometres, une mdthode de ddmontrer
peu exacte et purement mecanique. La superposition, telle que les mathematiciens la congoivent, ne consiste pas a appliquer grossierement une
figure sur une autre, pour juger par les yeux de leur jgalite ou de leur
difference, comme un ouvrier applique son pie sur une ligne pour la
mesurer; elle consiste a imaginer une figure transportde sur une autre, et
a conclure de' e'galit6 supposee de certaines parties de deux figures, la
coincidence de ces parties entr'elles, et de leur coincidence la coincidence
du reste: d'ohu resulte l'egalitd et la similitude parfaites des figures entieres."
I" The principle of superposition is not, as many geometers have sup.




REASONING AND  DEDUCTIVEl  EVIDENCE.               4{55
That the reasoning employed by Euclid in proof of the fourth
proposition of his first boolk is completely demonstrative, will
be readily granted by those who compare its different steps
with the conclusions to which we were formerly led, when treating of the nature of mathematical demonstration.  In none of
these steps is any appeal made to facts resting on the evidence
of sense, nor, indeed, to any facts whatever.  The constant appeal is to the definition of equality*' Let the triangle A  B
C," says Euclid, " be applied to the triangle D E F; the point
A to the point D, and the straight line A B to the straight line
D E; the point B will coincide with the point E, because A B
is equal to D E.  And A  B coinciding with D  E, A  C will
coincide with D F, because the angle B A C is equal to the
angle E D F." A similar remark will be found to apply to
every remaining step of the reasoning; and, therefore, this
reasoning possesses the peculiar characteristic which distinguisiLes mathematical evidence from  that of all the other sciposed, an inexact and purely mechanical mode of demonstration. Superposition in mathematics does not consist in applying one figure to the
other, in order to judge by the eye whether they differ or coincide, just as
a workman applies his foot-rule to a line in order to measure it; it consists in imagining one figure placed over the other, and concluding, from
the supposed equality of certain parts of the two figures, the coincidence
of these parts with each other, and from their coincidence inferring the
coincidence of the other parts; whence results the perfect equality and
similitude of the whole figures."]
About a century before the time when D'Alembert wrote these observations, a similar view of the subject was taken by Dr. Barrow; a writer
who, like D'Alembert, added to the skill and originality of an inventive
mathematician, the most refined, and, at the same time, the justest ideas
concerning the theory of those intellectual processes which are subservient
to mathematical reasoning.
It was before observed, that Euclid's eighth axiom (magnitultdes which
coincide with each other are equal) ought, in point of logical rigor, to
have been stated in the form of a definition. In our present arilment,
however, It is not of material consequence whether this criticism  be
adopted or not. Whether we consider the proposition in question in the
light of an axiom or of a definition, it is equally evident, that it does not
express a fact ascertained by observation or by experiment.




456       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCEa
ences, - that it rests wholly on hypotheses and definitions, and
in no respect upon any statement of facts, true or false. The
ideas, indeed, of extension, of a triangle, and of equality, presuppose the exercise of our senses.  Nay, the very idea of
superposition involves that of motion, and consequently (as the
parts of space are immovable) of a material triangle.  But
where is there any thing analogous, in all this, to those sensible
facts, which are the principles of our reasoning in physics;
and which, according as they have been accurately or inaccurately ascertained, determine the accuracy or inaccuracy of our
conclusions? The material triangle itself, as conceived by the
mathematician, is the object, not of sense, but of intellect.  It is
not an actual measure, liable to expansion or contraction, from
the influence of heat or of cold; nor does it require, in the ideal
zuse which is made of it by the student, the slightest address of
hand or nicety of eye. Even in explaining this demonstration
for the first time to a pupil, how slender soever his capacity
might be, I do not believe that any teacher ever thought of
illustrating its meaning by the actual application of the one triangle to the other.  No teacher, at least, would do so, who had
formed correct notions of the nature of mathematical science.
If the justness of these remarks be admitted, the demonstration in question must be allowed to be as well entitled to the
name, as any other which the mathematician can produce; for
as our conclusions relative to the properties of the circle, considered in the light of hypothetical theorems, are not the less
rigorously and necessarily true, that no material circle may anywhere exists corresponding exactly to the definition of that
figure, so the proof-given by Euclid of the fourth proposition
would not be the less demonstrative, although our senses were
incomnparably less acute than they are, and although no material
triangle continued of the same magnitude for a single instant.
Indeed, when we have once acquired the ideas of equality and
of a common measure, our mathematical conclusions would not
be in the least affected, if all the bodies in the universe should
vanish into nothing.
IV. OF OUR  REASONINGS  CONCERNING  PROBABLE  OR




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             457
CONTINGENT TRIJTHS.  1. VNarrow field of demonstrative evidence. - If the account which has been given of the nature of
demonstrative evidence be admitted, the province over which it
extends must be limited almost entirely to the objects of pure
mathematics.  A  science perfectly analogous to this, in point
of evidence, may, indeed, be conceived, as I have already remarked, to consist of a series of propositions relating to moral,
to political, or to physical subjects; but as it could answer no
other purpose than to display the ingenuity of the inventor,
haidly any thing of the kind has been hitherto attempted.
The only exception which I can think of, occurs in the speculations formerly mentioned under the title of theoretical mechanrcs.
On the application of mat/hematics in practical geometry and
physics. - But if the field of mathematical demonstration be
limited entirely to hypothetical or conditional truths, whence, it
may be asked, arises the extensive and the various utility of
mathematical knowledge in our physical researches, and in the
arts of life?  The answer, I apprehend, is to be found in certain peculiarities of those objects to which the suppositions of
the mathematician are confined; in consequence of which peculiarities, real combbinations of circuzmstances may fall under the
examination of our senses, approximating far more nearly to
what his definitions describe, than is to be expected in any other
theoretical process of the human mind.  Hence a corresponding coincidence between his abstract conclnsions, and those facts
in practical geometry and in physics which they help him to
ascertain.
For the more complete illustration of this subject, it may be
observed in the first place, that although the peculiar force of
that reasoning which is properly called mathematical, depends
on the circumstance of its principles being hypothetical, yet if,
in any instance, the supposition could be ascertained as actually
existing, the conclusion might, with the very same certainty, be
applied. If I were satisfied, for example, that in a particular
circle drawn on paper, all the radii were exactly equal, every
property which Euclid has demonstrated of that curve, might
39




458       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
be confidently affirmed to belong to this diagram. As the thing,
however, here supposed, is rendered impossible by the imperfection of our senses, the truths of geometry can never, in their
practical apptications, possess demonstrative evidence; but only
that kind of evidence which our organs of perception enable us
to obtain.
But although, in the practical applications of mathematics, the
evidence of our conclusions differs essentially from that which
belongs to the truths investigated in the theory, it does not
therefore follow that these conclusions are the less important.
In proportion to the accuracy of our data will be that of all our
subsequent deductions; and it fortunately happens, that the same
imperfections of sense which limit what is physically attainable
in the former, limit also, to the very same extent, what is practically useful in the latter. The astonishing precision which
the mechanical ingenuity of modern times has given to mathematical instruments, has, in fact, communicated a nicety to the
results of practical geometry, beyond the ordinary demands of
human life, and far beyond the most sanguine anticipations of
our forefathers.*
* See a very interesting and able article, in the fifth volume of the
Edinburgh Review, on Colonel Mudge's account of the operations carried on for accomplishing a trigonometrical survey'of England and Wales.
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting a few sentences.
"In two distances that were deduced from sets of triangles, the one
measured by General Roy in 1787, the, other by Major Mudge in 1794,
one of 24,133 miles, and the other of 38,688, the two measures agreed
within a foot as to the first distance, and sixteen inches as to the second.
Such an agreement, where the observers and the instruments were both
different, where the lines measured were of such extent, and deduced
firom such a variety of data, is probably without any other example.
Coincidences of this sort are fiequent in the trigonometrical survey, and
prove how much more good instruments, used by skilful and attentive
observers, are capable of performing, than the most sanguine theorist
could have ever ventured to foretell.
" It is curious to compare the early essays of practical geometry with
the perfections to which its operations have now reached, and to consider
that, while the artist had made so little progress, the theorist had reached




RPEASON'ING  AND I)EDUCTIVE  EVIDENCE,               459
This remarkable, and indeed singular coincidence of propositions purely  hypothetical, with facts which fall under the
examination of our senses, is owing, as I already hinted, to the
peculiar nature of the objects about which mathematics is conversant; and to the opportunity which we have (in consequence
of that mensurability,* which belongs to all of them) of adjusting, with a degree of accuracy approximating nearly to the
truth, the data from which we are to reason in our practical
operations, to those which are assumed in our theory.  The
only affections of matter which these objects comprehend are
extension and figure; affections which matter possesses in common with space, and which may therefore be separated in fact,
as well as abstracted in thought, from all its other sensible qualities.  In examining, accordingly, the relations of quantity conmany of the sublimest heights of mathematical speculation; that the lat
ter had found out the area of the circle, and calculated its circumference
to more than a hundred places of decimals, when the former could hardly
divide an arc into minutes of a degree; and that many excellent treatises
had been written on the properties of curve lines, before a straight line
of considerable length had ever been carefully drawn, or exactly mcasured on the surface of the earth."
* In an Essay on Quantity, by Dr. Reid, published in the transactions
of the Royal Society of London, for the year 1748, mathematics is very
correctly defined to be "the doctrine of measure."  " The object of this
science," the author observes, " is commonly said to be quantity; in which
case, quantity ought to be defined, what may be measured. Those who
have defined quantity to be whatever is capable of more or less, have given
too wide a notion of it, which has led some persons to apply mathematical
reasoning to subjects that do not admit of it."  The appropriate objects of
this science are therefore such things alone as admit, not only of being increased and diminished, but of being multiplied and divided. In other
words, the common quality which characterizes all of them is their msensumrability.
In the same essay, Dr. Reid has illustrated, with much ingenuity, a dis.
tinction (hinted at by Aristotle) of quantity into proper and improper.
"I call that," says he, " proper quzantity, which is measured by its owzn kind;
or which, of its own nature, is capable of being doubled or trebled, without taking in any quantity of a different kind as a measure of it. Thus a
line is measured by known lines, as inches, feet, or miles; and the length
of a foot being known, there can be no question about the length of two




460       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE  EVIDENCE.
nected with these affections, we are not liable to be disturbed
by those physical accidents, which, in the other applications of
mathematical science, necessarily render the result more or
less at variance with the theory. In measuring the height of a
mountain, or in the survey of a country, if we are at due pains
in ascertaining our data, and if we reason from them with mathematical strictness, the result may be depended on as accurate
within very narrow limits; and as there is nothing but the incorrectness of our data by which the result can be vitiated, the
limits of possible error may themselves be assigned. But in
the simplest applications of mathematics to mechanics or to
physics, the abstractions which are necessary in the theory, must
always leave out circumstances which are essentially connected
with the effect.  In demonstrating, for example, the property
of the lever, we abstract entirely fiom its own weight, and consider it as an inflexible mathematical line; -  suppositions with
which the fact cannot possibly correspond; and for which, of
course, allowances (which nothing but physical experience can
enable us to judge of) must be made in practice.
Next to practical geometry, properly so called, one of the
feet, or of any part or multiple of a foot. This known length, by being
multiplied or divided, is sufficient to give us a distinct idea of any length
whatsoever.
" Izeproper quantity is that which cannot be nmeaslured by its oznel kind, but to
which we assign a measure in some proper quantity that is related to it.
Thus velocity of motion, when we consider it by itself, cannot be measured.
~We may perceive one body to move faster, another slower, but we can perceive no proportion or ratio between their velocities, without taking in
some quantity of another kind to measure them by. Having therefore
observed, that by a greater velocity, a greater space is passed over in the
same time, by a less velocity a less space, and by an equal velocity an
equal space; we hence learn to measure velocity by the space passed over in
a given time, and to reckon it to be in exact proportion to that; and having once assigned this measure to it, we can then, and not till then, conceive one velocity exactly double, or triple, or in any proportion to another.
We can then introduce it into mathematical reasoning, without danger of
error or confusion; and may use it as a measure of other improper
quantities."




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE  EVIDENCE.           461
easiest applications of mathematical theory occurs in those
branches of optics which are distinguished by the name of
catoptrics and dioptrics. In these, the physical principles from
which we reason are few and precisely definite, and the rest
of the process is as purely geometrical as the Elements of
Euclid.
In that part of astronomy, too, which relates solely to the
phenomena, without any consideration of physical causes, our
reasonings are purely geometrical. The data, indeed, on which
we proceed, must have been previously ascertained by observation; but the inferences we draw from these are connected with
them by mathematical demonstration, and are accessible to all
who are acquainted with the theory of spherics.
In physical astronomy, the law of gravitation becomes also a
principle or datum in our reasonings; but, as in the celestial
phenomena it is disengaged from  the effects of the various
other causes which are combined with it near the surface of our
planet, this branch of physics, as it is of all the most sublime
and comprehensive in its objects, so it seems, in a greater
degree than any other, to open a fair and advantageous field for
mathematical ingenuity.
On the fundamental law of belief involved in all our reasonings about contingent trutbs. - In the instances which have
been last mentioned, the evidence of our conclusions resolves
ultimately not only into that of sense, but into another law of
belief formerly mentioned; that which leads us to expect the
continuance, in future, of the established order of physical pheIlomena. A very striking illustration of this presents itself in
the computations of the astronomer; on the faith of which he
predicts, with the most perfect assurance, many centuries before
they happen, the appearances which the heavenly bodies are to
exhibit. The same fact is assumed in all our conclusions in
natural philosophy; and something extremely analogous to it
in all our conclusions concerning human affairs.  They relate,
in both cases, not to necessary connections, but to probable or
contingent events; of which, how confidently soever we may
expect them to take place, the failure is by no means perceived
39 *




4G2       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
to be impossible.  Such conclusions, therefore, differ essentially
from those to which we are led by the demonstrations of pure
mathematics, which not only command our assent to the theorems they establish, but satisfy us that the contrary suppositions
are absurd.
These examples may suffice to convey a general idea of the
distinction between demonstrative and probable evidence; and
I purposely borrowed them from sciences where the two are
brought into immediate contrast with each other, and where the
authority of both has hitherto been equally undisputed.
Before prosecuting any further the subject of probable evidence, some attention seems to be due, in the first place, to the
grounds of that fundamental supposition on which it proceeds, -
the stability of the order of nature.  Of this important subject, accordingly, I propose to treat at some length.
2. Of the permanence or stability in the order of nature,
which is presupposed in our reasonings concerning contingent
truths.- In the language of modern science, the established
order in the succession of physical events, is commonly referred
(by a sort of figure or metaphor) to the general laws of
natture.  It is a mode of speaking extremely convenient fiom
its conciseness, but is apt to suggest to the fancy a groundless,
and, indeed, absurd analogy between the material and the
moral worlds.  As the order of society results from the laws
prescribed by the legislator, so the order of the universe is
conceived to result from certain laws established by the Deity.
Thus, it is customary to say, that the fall of heavy bodies towards the earth's surface, the ebbing and flowing of the sea,
and the motions of the planets in their orbits, are consequences
of the law of gravitation.  But although, in one sense, this
may be abundantly accurate, it ought always to be kept in
view, that it is not a literal, but a metaphorical, statement of the
truth; a statement somewhat analogous to that poetical expression in the sacred writings, in which God is said "to have
given his decree to the seas, that they should not. pass his com.: [See -ote to page 6.J




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                463
mandment."  In those political associations from  which the
metaphor is borrowed, the laws are addressed to ratiQnal and
voluntary agents, who are able to comprehend their meaning,
and to regulate their conduct accordingly; whereas, in the
material universe, the subjects of our observation are understood by all men to be unconscious and passive, (that is, are understood to be unchangeable in their state; without the influence
of some foreign and external force;) and consequently, the
order so admirably maintatained, amidst all the various changes
which they actually undergo, not only implies intelligence in
its first conception, but implies, in its continued existence, the
incessant acgency of power, executing the purposes of wise
design.  If the word law, therefore, be, in such instances, literally interpreted, it must mean a uniform  mode of operation
prescribed by the Deity to himself; and it has accordingly
been explained in this sense by some of our best philosophical
writers, particularly by Dr. Clarke.  In employing, however,
the word with an exclusive reference to experimental philosophlly, it is more correctly logical to consider it as merely a statement of some general fact with respect to the order of nature;
a fact which has been found to hold uniformly in our past experience, and on the continuance of which, in future, the constitution of our mind determines us confidently to rely.
The laws of nature are not effcient causes. -  After what has
been already said, it is hardly necessary to take notice of the
absurdity of that opinion, or rather of that mode of' speaking,
which seems to refer the order of the universe to general laws
operating as efficient causes.*  Absurd, however, as it is, there
* [Those who have not reflected much upon the subject, are apt to
imagine that a phenomenon is accounted for, or in other words, that its
ca'use is discovered, when we have succeeded in referring it to some Law of
Nature that was previously known, and with the operation of which we
have become familiar. Thus, as Franklin discovered that the lightning is
an electrical phenomenon, —that is, that it manifests the same appearances, and is followed by the same results, that attend the electricity which
is developed by rubbing a glass tube, -he is popularly said to have discovered the cause of the lightning. But it should be remembered that the




464        REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVnII)NCEo
is reason to suspect, that it has, with many, had the effect of
keeping the Deity out of view, while they were studying his
works.  To an  incautious use  of the  same very  equivocal
phrase, may be traced the bewildering obscurity in the speculations of some eminent French writers, concerning its metaphysical import.  Even the great Montesquieu, in the very first
chapter of his principal work, has lost himself in a fruitless
attempt to explain its meaning, when, by a simple statement of
cause of electricity still remains to be ascertained. All that Franklin accomplished was to refer certain phenomena, which had hitherto been isolated, or had formed a class by themselves, to a class of other phenomena,
which seem to be better known only because they are more familiar to us,
and can be reproduced at pleasure.
" What is called explaining one law of natu.re by another," says Mr.
Mill, "is but substituting one mystery for another; and does nothing to
render the general course of nature other than mysterious; we can ino
more assign a zcli for the more extensive laws than for the partial ones.
The explanation may substitute a mystery which has become familiar, and
has grown to seeSm not mysterious, for one which is still strange. And
this is the meaning of explanation, in common parlance. But the process
with which we are here concerned, often does the very contrary; it resolves
a phenomenon with which we are familiar, into one of which we previously
knew little or nothing; as where the common fact of the fall of heavy
bodies is resolved into a tendency of all particles of matter towards one
another. It must be kept constantly in view, therefore, that when philosophers speak of explaining any of the phenomena of nature, they always
mean, pointing out, not some more familiar, but merely some more general, phenomenon of which it is a partial exemplification."
"The laws thus explained or resolved, are sometimes said to be accounted for; but the expression is incorrect, if taken to mean any thing
more than what has been already stated. In minds not habituated to
accurate thinking, there is often a confused notion that the general laws
are the causes of the partial ones; that the law of general gravitation, for
example, causes the phenomena of the fall of bodies to the earth. But
to assert this, would be a misuse of the word canse; terrestrial gravitv is
not an effect of general gravitation, but a case of it; that is, one kind of
the particular instances in which that general law obtains. To account
for a law of nature means, and can mean, no more than to assign other
laws more general, together with collocations, whfich laws and collocations
being supposed, tile partial law follows without any additional supposition."-Mill's Logic, pp. 276, 277.]




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.              460
the essential distinction between its literal and its mefcaplhorical
acceptations, he might have at once cleared up the mystery.
After telling us that "1laws, in their most extensive signification, are the necessary relations (les rapports nizcessaires) which
arise from the nature of things, and that, in this sense, all
beings have their laws; —that the Deity has his laws; the
material world its laws; intelligences superior to man their
laws; the brutes their laws; man his laws;"  he proceeds to
remark, " That the moral world is far from being so well governed as the material; for the former, although it has its laws,
which are invariable, does not observe these laws so constantly
as the latter." It is evident that this remark derives whatever
plausibility it possesses from a play upon words; from confounding moral laws with physical; or, in plainer terms, from confounding laws which are addressed by a legislator to intelligent
beings, with those general conclusions concerlning the established
order of the universe, to which, when legitimately inferred from
an induction sufficiently extensive, philosophers have metaphorically applied the title of Laws of N-ature.  In the one case,
the conformity of the law with the nature of things does not
at all depend on its being observed or not, but on the reasonableness and moral obligation of the law.  In the other case, the
very definition of the word laiw supposes that it applies universally; insomuch that, if it failed in one single instance, it
would cease to be a law. It is, therefore, a mere quibble to say,
that the laws of the material world are better observed than
those of the moral; the meaning of the word law, in the two
cases to which it is here applied, being so totally different, as to
render the comparison or contrast, in the statement of which it
is involved, altogether illusory and sophistical. Indeed, nothing
more is necessary to strip the proposition of every semblance
of plausibility, but an attention to this verbal ambiguity.
This metaphorical employment of the word law, to express a
general fact, although it does not appear to have been adopted
in the technical phraseology of ancient philosophy, is not unusual among the classical writers, when speaking of those phys.




466          REASONING ANND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE,
ical arrangem ents, whether on  the  earth  or in  the  heavens,
which continue to exhibit the same appearance from  age to age.
"' ic seoetes, illic veniunt felicius uva:
Arborei fetus alibi, atque injussa virescunt
Gramina.  Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolos odores,
India mittit ebur, molles sua thura Sabmi?
At Clhalybes nudi ferrum, virosaque Pontus
Castorea, Eliadum palmas Epiros equarua?
Continuo has leges, ceternaquefcedera certis
Imposuit natura locis."
Virg. Georg. i. 60.The same metaphor occurs in another passage of the Georgics, where the poet describes the regularity which is exhibited
in the economy of the bees:"Solse communes natos, consortia tecta
Urbis habent, magnisque agitant sub legibus serum."
Georg. iv. 153.t
The following lines from  Ovid's account of the Pythagorean
philosophy, are still more in point: —
"  t rerum  causas, et quid natura docebat;
Quid Dens: Unde nives: qum fulminis esset origo 
Jupiter, an venti, discussa nube tonarent:
Quid quateret terras, quad sidera lege mearent,
Et quodcunque latet."
Ovid. Met. xv. 68.t
* [" Here golden corn, there luscious grapes abound,
There grass spontaneous, or rich fruits are foamdu
See'st thou not Tmolus saffron sweets dispense,
Her ivory Ind, Arabia frankincense,
The naked Chalybes their iron ore?
To Castor Pontus gives its fetid power;
While, for Olympic games, Epirus breeds,
To whirl the circling car, the swiftest steeds.
Nature these lZats anzd these eternal bands
First fixed on certain climes and certain lands."
Warton's translation.]
t [" They, they alone a general interest share,
Their young committing to the public care,
And all concurring in the common cause,
Live in fixed cities sncder common olaws."
Warton.]
$[" While he discoursed of heaven's mysterious laws,
The worlds original and nature's cause;




REASONING  AND  DEDUCTIVE   EVIDENI'CE.                      467
Sagacity and foresight de]pendent on  the  un'iformc ty  of the
laws of nature. -  I have quoted  these different passages from
ancient authors, chiefly as an  illustration  of the  strength  and
of the  similarity of the  impression which  the  order of nature
has made  on  the  minds of reflecting  men, in all ages of the
And what was God, and why the fleecy snows
In silence fell, and rattling winds arose
That shook the steadfast earth, and whence began,
The dance of planets round the radiant sun;
If thunder was the angry voice of Jove,
Or clouds with nitre fragrant burst above; —
Of these, and things beyond the common reach,
He spoke, and charmed his audience with his speech."'
Dryden's translation.]
I shall only add to these quotations the epigram of Claudian on the
instrument said to be invented by Archimedes for representing the movements of the heavenly bodies, in which various expressions occur coinciding remarkably with the scope of the foregoing observations.
"Jupiter in parvo crnm cerneret aethera vitro
Risit, et ad superos talia dicat dedit.
Huccine mortalis progressa potentia cure;
Jam meus in fragili luditur orde labor.
Jura Poli, rerumque fidem, legesque Deorum
Ecce Syracusius transtulit arte senex.
Inclusus variis famulatur spiritus astris,
Et vivum certis motibus urget opus.
Percurrit proprium mentitus signifer annum,
Et simulata novo Cynthia mense redit.
Jamque suum volvens audax industria mundum
Gaudet, et humana sidera mente regit.
Quid falso insontem tonitru Salmomea miror?
ZEmula naturse parva reperta manus."
r When Jove beheld a crystal globe display
The world, he thus addressed Olympus' train. -
Can mortals o'er the sphere possess such sway,
And such a toy my power deride as vain?
Great Heaven's decrees, th' unerring course of things,
Laws of the gods, expounds Sicilia's sage;
The flight of stars imprisoned air here wings,
Its simple powers their varying movements guage;
The Zodiac here revolves its little year,
The mimic moons succeeding months restore;
The spheres by human art attuned are here,
Impelled by it the stars in ether soar.
Instructed hence, no longer view with wonder
Salmoneus' chariot and his bridge of thunder.
\Wrigl t's translation.]




4G68     REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
world.  Nidor is this wonderful; for, were things differently constituted, it would be impossible for man to derive benefit from
experience; and the powers of observation and memory would
be subservient only to the gratification of an idle curiosity.* Inl
consequence of those uniform  laws by which the succession of
events is actually regulated, every fact collected with respect to
the past is a foundation of sagacity and of skill with respect to
the future; and, in truth, it is chiefly this application of experience to anticipate what is yet to happen, which forms the intellectual superiority of one individual over another.  The
remark holds equally in all the various pursuits of mankind,
whether speculative or active. As an astronomer is able, by
reasonings founded on past observations, to predict those phenomena of the heavens which astonish or terrify the savage;as the chemist, from his previous familiarity with the changes
operated upon bodies by heat or by mixture, can predict the
result of innumerable experiments, which to others furnish only
matter of amusement and wonder; — so a studious observer of
human afailrs acquires a prophetic foresight (still more incomprehensible to the multitude) with respect to the future fortunes
of mankind; -  a foresight which, if it does not reach, like our
anticipations in physical science, to particular and definite
events, amply compensates for what it wants in precision, by
the extent and variety of the prospects which it opens. It is
from this apprehended analogy between the f2ture and the past,
that historical knowledge derives the whole of its value; and were
the analogy completely to fail, the records of former ages would,
in point of utility, rank with the fictions of poetry.  Nor is the
case different in the business of common life. Upon what does
the success of men in their private concerns so essentially depend as on their own prudence; and what else does this word
mean, than a wise regard, in every step of their conduct, to the
lessons which experience has taught them?
Ullustrations of the uniformity of natural laws. - The departE[See note to page 214.]




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             4G9
ments of the universe in which we have an opportunity of seeing this regular order displayed, are the three following: — 1.
The phenomena of inacnimate matter; 2. The phenomena of
the lower animcals; and, 3. The phenomena exhibited by the
]human race.
1. On the first of these heads, I have only to repeat what
was before remarked, That in all the phenomena of the material
world, the uniformity in the order of events is conceived by us to
be complete and infallible; insomuch that, to be assured of the
same result upon a repetition of the same experiment, we require only to be satisfied, that both have been made in circumstances precisely similar. A single experiment, accordingly, if
conducted with due attention, is considered, by the most cautious
inquirers, as sufficient to establish a general physical fact; and
if, on any occasion, it should be repeated a second time, for the
sake of greater certainty in the conclusion, it is merely with a
view of guarding against the effects of the accidental concomitants which may have escaped notice, when the first result was
obtained.
2. The case is nearly similar in the phenomena exhibited by
the brutes, the various tribes of which furnish a subject of examination so steady, that the remarks made on afew individuals
may be extended, with little risk of error, to the whole species.'To this uniformity in their instincts it is owing, that man can so
easily maintain his empire over them, and employ them  as
agents or instruments for accomplishing his purposes; advantages which would be wholly lost to him, if the operations of
instinct were as much diversified as those of human reason.
Here, therefore, we may plainly trace a purpose or design, perfectly analogous to that already remarked, with respect to the
laws which regulate the material world; and the difference in
point of exact uniformity, which distinguishes the two classes
of events, obviously arises from  a certain latitude of action,
which enables the brutes to accommodate themselves, in some
measure, to their accidental situations; — rendering them, in
consequence of this power of accommodation, incomparably
more serviceable to our race than they would have been, if alto40




470       REASONINKG AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENC'E.
gether subjected, like mere matter, to the influence of regular
and assignable causes. It is, moreover, extremely worthy of
observation, concerning these two departments of the universe,
that the unifformity in the phenomena of the latter [the brutes]
presupposes a corresponding regularity in the phenomena of the
former [inanimate matter]; insomuch that, if the established
order of the material world were to be essentially disturbed
(the instincts of the brutes remaining the same) all their various
tribes would inevitably perish. The uniformity of animal instinct, therefore, bears a reference to the constancy and immutability of physical laws, not less manifest, than that of the fin
of the fish to the properties of the water, or of the wing of the
bird to those of the atmosphere.
3. When fiom the phenomena of inanimate matter and those
of the lower animals, we turn our attention to the history of our
own species, innnuerable lessons present themselves for the
instruction of all who reflect seriously on the great concerns of
human life. These lessons require, indeed, an uncommon degree of acuteness and good sense to collect them, and a still
more uncommon degree of caution to apply them  to practice;
not only because it is difficult to find cases in which the combinations of circumstances are exactly the same, but because the
peculiarities of individual character are infinite, and the real
springs of action in our fellow-creatures are objects only of
vague and doubtful conjecture.  It is, however, a curious fict,
and one which opens a wide field of interesting speculation,
that, in proportion as we extend our views from  particulars to
generals, and from  individuals to communities, human caffairs
exhibit more and more, a steady subject of philosophical examination, and furnish a greater number of general conclzsions to
guide our conjectures concerning future contingencies.  To
speculate concerning the character or talents of the individual
who shall possess the throne of a particular kingdom a hundred
years hence, would be absurd in the extreme: but to indulge
imagination in anticipating, at the same distance of time, the
condition and character of any great nation, with whose manners and political situation we are well acquainted, (although




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                    471
e, -n here our conclusions may be widely erroneous,) could not
be justly censured as a mnisapplication of our faculties equally
vain and irrational with the former. On this subject Mr. Ilumle
has made some very ingenious and important remarks in the
beginning of his Essay on the Rise and Progress of the Arts
and Sciences.*
Uniformity in the general result preserved amidst unbounded
variety in the particulars. -The same observation is applicable
* [The following is the passage referred to.
"'Nothing requires greater nicety, in our inquiries concerning human
anffairs, than to distinguish exactly what is owing to chance, and what proceeds from causes; nor is there any subject in which an author is more liable to deceive himself by false subtilties and refinements.  To say that
any event is derived from chance, cuts short all further inquiry concerning
it, and leaves the writer in the same state of ignorance with the rest of
mankind. But when the event is supposed to proceed fiom certain and
stable causes, he may then display his ingenuity in assigning these causes;
and as a man of any subtilty can never be at any loss in this particular, he
has thereby an opportunity of swelling his volumes, and discovering his
profound knowledge in observing what escapes the vulgar and ignorant.
"The distinguishing between chance and causes must depend upon every
particular man's sagacity in considering every particular incident. But if
I were to assign any general rule to help us in applying this distinction, it
would be the following: TIlhat depends upon a few persons is, int a great mneasure, to be ascribed to chance; what arises friom a great nenzber mcna often be accounted.for by determinate and known causes.
" Two natural reasons may be assigned for this rule. First, if you suppose a die to have any bias, however small, to a particular side, this bias,
though perhaps it may not appear in a few throws, will certainly prevail in
a great number, and will cast the balance entirely to that side. In like
manner, when any causes beget a particular inclination oi passion, at a
certain time, and among a certain people, though many individuals may
escape the contagion, and be ruled by passions peculiar to themselves, yet
the multitude will certainly be seized by the common affection, and be
governed by it in all their actions.
"Secondly, those principles or causes which are fitted to operate on a
multitude, are always of a grosser and more stubborn nature, less subject
to accidents, and less influenced by whim and private fancy, than those
which operate on a few only. The latter are commonly so delicate and
refined, that the smallest incident in the health, education, or fortune of a
particular person, is sufficient to divert their course and retard their opera;




i472      REASONING AND DEDUCT'IE EVIDENCE.o
to all other cases in which events depend on a multiplicity of
circumstances.  How accidental soever these circumstances may
appear, and how much soever they may be placed, when individually considered, beyond the reach of our calculations, experience shows, that they are somehow or other mutually adjusted,
so as to produce a certain degree of uniformity in the result,
and this uniformity is the more complete, the greater is the
number of circumstances combined. What can appear more uncertain than the proportion between the sexes among the children of any one family? and yet how wonderfully is the baltion; nor is it possible to reduce them to any general maxims or observations. Their influence at one time will never assure us concerning their
influence at another, even though all the general circumstances should be
the same in both cases.
" To judge by this rule, the domestic and the gradual revolutions of a
state must be a more proper subject of reasoning and observation than the
foreign and the violent, which are commonly produced by single persons,
and are more influenced by whim, folly, or caprice, than by general passions and interests. The depression of the Lords, and the rise of the
Commons in England, after the statutes of alienation and the increase of
trade and industry, are more easily accounted for by general principles,
than the depression of the Spanish and rise of the French monarchy after
the death of Charles Quint. Had Harry IV., Cardinal Richelieu, and
Louis XIV. been Spaniards, and Philip II., Philip III., Philip IV., and
Charles II. been Frenchmen, the history of these two nations had been
entirely reversed.
"For the same reason, it is more easy to account for the rise and progress of commerce in any kingdom, than for that of learning; and a state,
which should apply itself to the encouragement of one, would be more
assured of success than one which should cultivate the other. Avarice,
or the desire of gain, is an universal passion, which operates at all times,
in all places, and upon all persons; but curiosity, or the love of knowledge,
has a very limited influence, and requires youth, leisure, education, genius,
and example to make it govern any person. You will never want booksellers, while there are buyers of books; but there may frequently be
readers, where there are no authors. Multitudes of people, necessity, and
liberty have begotten commerce in Holland; but study and application
have scarcely produced any eminent writers." - Hlume's Works, III. 119121.
As society is composed only of individuals, the movements and aspects
of society could not be predicted, if the actions of the individual members




REASONING AND  DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                   473
ance preserved in the case of a numerous society!  What more
precarious than the duration of life in an individual? and yet,
in a long list of persons of the same age, and placed in the
same circumstances, the mean duration of life is found to vary
within very narrow limits. In an extensive district, too, a considerable degree of regularity may sometimes be traced for a
course of years, in the proportion of births and of deaths to the
number of the whole inhabitants.  Thus, in  France, Necker
infdrms us, that " the number of births is in proportion to that
of the inhabitants as one to twenty-three and twenty-four, in
the districts that are not favored by nature, nor by moral circumstances; this proportion is as one to twenty-five, twentywere not, at least in certain respects, subject to law. The reality and tle
possibility of such sciences as politics and political economy, depend on
the known facts, that the actions of men are influenced by motives, that
there are certain leading motives, such as the desire of life, health, free.
dom, and property, which are common to all men, and therefore that the
conduct of men on certain occasions, and to a certain extent, can be anticipated with full confidence that the prediction will be justified by the
result. Were it not so, no general maxims could be established in political
or social science, and no lessons could be derived from history. The conduct of men offers the same combination of uniformity with variety, of
unity of principle underlying innumerable differences of detail, which is
seen in the works of God in the external universe. According as the observer stands nearer or further off, according as his object is to arrange
and classify for the purposes of science, or to particularize for the sake of
description, so will he be more struck with the evidences of order and uniformity, or with those of diversity and fluctuation. Look at great masses
of men only from a distance, at which minute peculiarities are lost in the
general effects, (just as the sounds from a distant city are blended in one
hollow murmur,) and they appear like machines, or rather the multitude
itself seems one great machine. But examine microscopically the conduct
of an individual for two successive hours, and it appears a mass of incon.
sistencies, motiveless alterations, and oddities that baffle all computation
and foresight. The will alone, it is true, is changeful and irregular, its
very caprice indicating its freedom; but will, when influenced by some
ruling passion and enlightened by reason, is comparatively steady and uniform in its operations; and  uill enlightelied by infinite wisdom, we may
presume, knows no change of purpose or shifting of means, but reconciles
perfect order with endless variety. And such is the character, both of the
material and moral universe.]
40 *




474       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
five and a half, and twenty-six, in the greatest part of France;
in cities, as one to twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and
even thirty, according to their extent and their trade."  "Such
proportions," he observes, " can only be remarked in districts
where there are no settlers nor emigrants; but even the
differences arising from these (the same author adds), and
many other'causes, acquire a kind of uniformity, when collectively considered, and in the immense extent of so great a
kingdom."
It may be worth while to remark, that it is on these principles that all the different institutions for assurances [insurance]
are founded. The object at which they all aim, in common, is,
to diminish the number of accidents to which human life is exposed, or rather to counteract the inconveniences resulting from
the irregularity of individual events, by the uniformity of general laws.
The idea of a great cycle in the order of events. - The advantages which we derive from such general conclusions as we
possess concerning the order of nature are so great, and our
propensity to believe in its existence is so strong, that, even in
cases where the succession of events appears the most anomalous, we are apt to suspect the operation of fixed and constant
laws, though we may be unable to trace them. The vulgar, in
all countries, perhaps, have a propensity to imagine, that, after
a certain number of years, the succession of plentiful and of
scanty harvests begins again to be repeated in the same series as
before, a notion to which Lord Bacon himself has given some
countenance in the following passage:'" There is a toy which I
have heard, and I would not have it given over, but waited
upon a little. They say it is observed in the Low Countries,
(I know not in what part,) that every five-and-thirty years, the
same kind and suite of years and weathers comes about again;
as great frosts, great wet, great droughts, warm winters, summers with little heat, and the like; and they call it the prime.
It is a thing I do the rather mention, because, computing backwards, I have found some concurrence."
Among the philosophers of antiquity, the influence of the




REASONING AND  DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.                 475
same prejudice is observable on a scale still greater, many of
them having supposed, that at the end of the annus magnus, or
Platonic year, a repetition would commence of all the transactions that have occurred on the theatre of the world.  According to this doctrine, the predictions in Virgil's Pollio will,
sooner or later, be literally accomplished:" Alter erit turn Typhis, et altera qum vehat Argo
Delectos Heroas; erunt etiam altera bella;
Atque iterum ad Trojam magnus mittetur Achilles."*
[" And other Argos bear the chosen powers;
New wars the bleeding nations shall destroy,
And great Achilles find a second Troy."]
The astronomical cycles which the Greeks borrowed from the
Egyptians and Chaldeans, when combined with that natural
bias of the mind which I have just remarked, account sufficiently for this extension to the moral world, of ideas suggested
by the order of physical phenomena.
Use made by the fatalists of this conjecture. -  Nor is this
hypothesis of a moral cycle, extravagant as it unquestionably
is, without its partizans among modern theorists. The train of
thought, indeed, by which they have been led to adopt it, is
essentially different; but it probably received no small degree
of countenance in their opinion, from the same bias which influenced the speculations of the ancients. It has been demonstrated by one of the most profound mathematicians of the
* "Turn efficitur," says Cicero, speaking of this period, "cum solis et
lunx, et quinque errantium ad eandem inter se, comparationem confectis
omnium spatiis, est facta conversio.  Qua3 qu'am longa sit, magna quustio est; esse vero certainm et definitam necesse est." [It is then effected,
when the revolutions of the sun and moon and five planets being completed, they have come round to the same relative place with each other
as before. How long this period may be, is a great question; but it must
necessarily be a fixed and definite period.] -De Nat. Deorum, lib. ii. 74.
aHoc intervallo," Clavius observes, " quidam volunt, omnia qumcunque
in mundo sunt, eodem ordine esse reditura, quo nunc cernuntur." [After
this interval, some maintain, all things in the world will come round into
the same order in which they are now.] - Clav. Coinmnentar. in SphErami.




476       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
present age, (M. de la Grange,) that all the irregularities arising from the mutual action of the planets are, by a combination
of various arrangements, necessarily subjected to certain periodical laws, so as forever to secure the stability and order of
the system. Of this sublime conclusion, it has been justly and
beautifully observed, that "after Newton's theory of the elliptic orbits of the planets, La Grange's discovery of their periodical inequalities, is, without doubt, the noblest truth in physical
astronomy; while, in respect of the doctrine of final causes, it
may truly be regarded as the greatest of all." The theorists,
however, to whom I at present allude, seem  disposed to consider it in a very different light, and to employ it for purposes
of a very different tendency.  "Similar periods, it has been
said, but of an extent that affright the imagination, probably
regulate the modifications of the atmosphere; inasmuch as the
same series of appearances must inevitably recur, whenever a
coincidence of circumstances take place.  The aggregate labors
of men, indeed, may be supposed, at first sight, to alter the
operation of natural causes, by continually transforming tle
face of our globe; but it must be recollected that, as the agency
of animals is itself stimulated and determined solely by the
influence of external objects, the reactions of living beings are
comprehended in the same necessary system; and, consequently,
that all the events within the immeasurable circuit of' the universe, are the successive evolution of an extended series,
which, at the return of some vast period, repeats its eternal
round during the endless flux of time." *
* The foregoing passage is transcribed from an article in the Monthly
Review. I have neglected to mark the volume; but I think it is one of
those published since 1800.
TIhorn some expressions in this quotation, it would seem that the writer
considered it as now established by mathematical demonstration, not only
that a provision is made for maintaining the order and the stability of the
solar system; but that, after certain periods, all the changes arising firom
the mutual actions of the planets, begin again to be repeated over in an
invariable and eternal round; - or rather, that all this is the result of the
necessary properties of matter and of motion. The truth is, that this




REASONING AND. DEDUCTIVE E'VIDENCE.                 477
On this very bold argument, considered in its connection
with the scheme of necessity, I have nothing to observe here.
I have mentioned it merely as an additional proof of that irresistible propensity to believe in the permanent order of physical events, which seems to form  an original principle of the
human constitution; — a belief essential to our existence in the
world which we inhabit, as well as the foundation of all physi.
2al science;  but which we obviously extend far beyond the
bounds authorized by sound philosophy, when we apply it, without any limitation, to that moral system, which is distinguished
by peculiar characteristics, so numerous and important, and for
the accommodation of which, so many reasons entitle us to preassumption is quite unfounded, in point of fact; and that the astronomical discovery in question, affords not the slightest analogical presumption
in favor of a moral cycle; —even on the supposition, that the actions of the
hilman race, and the motions of the globes which they inhabit, were both
equally subjected to the laws of mechanism.
The quotation which gave occasion to the foregoing stricture, induces
me to add, before concluding this note, that when we speak of La Grange's
Demonstration of the stability of the solar system, it is by no means to be
understood that he has proved, by mathematical reasoning, that this system
never will, nor ever can, come to an end. The amount of his truly sublime
discovery is, that the system does not, as Newton imagined, contain wvithin
itself like the workmanship of mortal hands, the elements of its owon decay;
and that, therefobre, its final dissolution is to be looked for, not firom the
operation of physical causes, subjected to the calculations of astronomers,
but from the will of that Almighty Being, by whose fiat it was at first
called into existence. That this stability is a necessary consequence of
the general laws by which we find the system to be governed, may, indeed,
be assumed as a demonstrated proposition; but it must always be remembered, that this necessity is only hypothetical or conditional, being itself dependent on the continuance of laws, which may at pleasure be altered or
suspended.
The whole of the argument in the text, on the permanence or stability
of the order of nature, is manifestly to be understood with similar restrictions. It relates, not to necessary, but to probable truths; not to conclusions
syllogistically deduced from abstract principles, but to future contingencies, which we are determined to expect by a fundamental law of belief
adapted to the present scene of our speculations and actions.




47&       RtEXSONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
sume, that the material universe, with all its constant and harmonious laws, was purposely arranged.
Popular superstitions founded on the uniformity of the laws
of nature. - To a hasty and injudicious application of-the same
belief, in anticipating the future course of human affairs, might
be traced a variety of popular superstitions, which have prevailed, in a greater or less degree, in all nations and ages;
those superstitions, for example, which have given rise to the
study of charms, of omens, of astrology, and the different arts
of' divination. But the argument has been already prosecuted
as far as its connection with this part of the subject requires.
For a fuller illustration of it, I refer to some remarks on page
217, on the superstitious observances which, among rude nations, are constantly found blended with the practice of physic;
and which, contemptible and ludicrous as they seemn, have an
obvious foundation, during the infhncy of human reason, in
those important principles of our nature, which, when duly disciplined by a more enlarged experience, lead to the sublime
discoveries of inductive science.
Nor is it to the earlier stages of society, or to the lower
classes of the people, that these superstitions are confined.
Even in the most enlightened and refined periods, they occasionally appear; exercising, not unfrequently, over men of the
highest genius and talents, an ascendant which is at once consolatory and humiliating to the species.
"Ecce fulgurum  monitus, oraculorum  prxscita, aruspicum
proadicta, atque etiam parva dictu in auguriis, sternutamenta et
offensiones pedum. Divus Augustus lxvum prodidit sibi calceum
prxpostere inductum, quo die seditione militari prope afflictus
est." [Consider the warnings of thunder, the presages of oracles, the predictions of soothsayers, and even such insignificant
circumstances in augury as sneezing and stumbling. The emperor Augustus said, he put on his left shoe instead of his right,
on the day when he nearly perished in a mutiny.]  (Plin. Nat.
Hist. lib. ii.)
"Dr. Johnson," says his affectionate and very communicative biographer, "had another particularity, of which none of




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             479
his friends ever ventured to ask an explanation.  It appeared
to me some superstitious habit, which he had contracted early,
and from which he had never called upon his reason to disentangle him. This was his anxious care to go out or in at a
door or passage, by a certain number of steps from a certain
point, or at least, so as that either his right or his left foot (I
am not certain which) should constantly make the first actual
movement when he came close to the door or passage. Thus I
conjecture; for I have, upon innumerable occasions, observed
him suddenly stop, and then seem to count his steps with a deep
earnestness; and when he had neglected or gone wrong in this
sort of magical movement, I have seen him go back again, put
himself in a proper posture to begin the ceremony, and having
gone through it, break from his abstraction, walk briskly on,
and join his companion."
The remark may appear somewhat out of place, but, after
the last quotation, I may be permitted to say, that the person
to whom it relates, great as his powers and splendid as his accomplishments undoubtedly were, was scarcely entitled to
assert, that " Education is as well known, and has long been as
well known, as ever it can be."  What a linited estimate of
the objects of education must this great man have formed!
They who know the value of a well regulated and unclouded
mind, would not incur the weakness and wretchedness exhibited
in the foregoing. description, for all his literary acquirements
and literary fame.
3. General remarks on the defference between the evidence of
experience, and that of analogy. - According to the account of
experience which has been hitherto given, its evidence reaches
no fiurther than to an anticipation of the ftture from the past, in
cases where the same physical cause continues to operate in exactly
the same circumstances.  That this statement is agreeable to the
strict philosophical notion of experience, will not be disputed.
Wherever a change takes place, either in the cause itself, or in
the circumstances combined with it in our former trials, the anticipations which we form of the future cannot with propriety
be referred to experience alone, but to experience cooperating




480      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
with some other principles of our nature. In common discourse,
however, precision in the use of language is not to be expected,
where logical or metaphysical ideas are at all concerned; and
therefore, it is not to be wondered at, that the word experience
should often be employed with a latitude greatly beyond what
the former definition authorizes.  When I transfer, for example,
my conclusions concerning the descent of heavy bodies from
one stone to another stone, or even from a stone to a leaden
bullet, my inference might be said, with sufficient accuracy for
the ordinary purposes of speech, to have the evidence of experience in its favor; if, indeed, it would not savor of scholastic
affectation to aim at a more rigorous enunciation of the proposition. Nothing at the same time can be more evident than
this, that the slightest shade of difference which tends to weaken
the resemblance, or rather to destroy the identity of two cases,
invalidates the inference from the one to the other, asfar as it
rests on experience solely, no less than the most prominent dissimilitudes which characterize the different kingdoms and departments of nature.
Upon what'ground do I conclude that the thrust of a sword
through my body, in a particular direction, would be followed
by instant death? According to the popular use of language,
the obvious answer would be, - upon experience, and experience alone. But surely this account of the matter is extremely
loose and incorrect; for where is the evidence that the internal
structure of my body bears any resemblance to that of any of'
the other bodies which have been hitherto examined by anatomists?  It is no answer to this question to tell me, that the
experience of these anatomists has ascertained a uniformity of
structure in every human subject which has as yet been dissected; and that therefore I am justified in concluding, that my
body forms no exception to the general rule. My question does
not relate to the soundness of this inference, but to the principle of my nature, which leads me thus not only to reason from
the past to the future, but to reason from one thing to another
which, in its external marks, bears a certain degree of resemblance to it. Something more than experience, in the strictest




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             481"
sense of that word, is surely necessary to explain the transition
fiom what is identically the same, to what is only similar; and
yet my inference in this instance is made with the most assured
and unqualified confidence in the infallibility of the result.  No
inference, founded on the most direct and long continued experience, nor indeed any proposition established by mathematical
demonstration, could more imperiously command my assent.
In whatever manner the province of experience, strictly so
called, comes to be thus enlarged, it is perfectly manifest, that
without some provision for this purpose, the principles of our
constitution would not have been duly adjusted to the scene in
which we have to act. Were we not so formed as eagerly to
seize the resembling features of different things and different
events, and to extend our conclusions from the individual to the
species, life would elapse before we had acquired the first rudiments of that knowledge which is essential to the preservation
of our animal existence.
This step in the history of the human mind has been little, if
at all, attended to by philosophers; and it is certainly not easy
to explain, in a manner completely satisfactory, how it is made.
The following hints seem  to me to go a considerable way
towards a solution of the dffiiculty.
How experience is made to extend to cases not precisely parallel. - It is remarked by Mr. Smith, in his considerations on the
formation of languages, that the origin of genera and species,
which is commonly represented in the schools as the effect of
an intellectual process peculiarly mysterious and unintelligible,
is a natural consequence of our disposition to transfer to a new
object the name of any otherfamiliar object, which possesses such
a degree of resemblance to it as to serve the memory for an associating tie between them. It is in this manner, he has shown,
and not by any formal or scientific exercise of abstraction, that,
in the infancy of language, proper names are gradually transformed into appellatives; or, in other words, that individual
things come to be referred to classes or assortments.
This remark becomes, in my opinion, much more luminous
and important, by being combined with another very original
41




482       1ASSONING A-PND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
one, which is ascribed to Turgot by Condorcet, and which I do
not recollect to have seen taken notice of by any later writer
on the human mind. According to the common doctrine of
logicians, we are.led to suppose, that our knowledge begins in an
accurate and minute acquaintance with the characteristical
properties of individual objects; and that it is only by the slow
exercise of comparison and abstraction, that we attain to the
notion of classes or genera. In opposition to this idea, it was
a maxim of Turgot's, that some of our most abstract and general notions are among the earliest which we form.  What
meaning he annexed to this maxim, we are not informed; but
if he understood it in the same sense in which I am disposed
to interpret it, he appears to me entitled to the credit of a very
valuable suggestion with respect to the natural progress of
human knowledge.  The truth is, that our first perceptions lead
us invariably to confound together things which have very little
in common; and that the specifical differences of individuals
do not begin to be marked with precision, till the powers of observation and reasoning have attained to a certain degree of
maturity.  To a similar indistinctness of perception, are to be
ascribed the mistakes about the most familiar appearances
which we daily see committed by those domesticated animals
with whose instincts and habits we have an opportunity of becoming intimately acquainted. As an instance of this, it is
sufficient to mention the terror which a horse sometimes discovers in passing, on the road, a large stone, or the waterfall of
a mill.
Two kinds of general notions. N- otwithstanding, however,
the justness of this maxim, it is nevertheless true, that every
scientific classification must be founded on an examination and
comparison of individuals.  These individuals must, in the
first instance, have been observed with accuracy, before their
specific characteristics could be rejected from the generic
description, so as to limit the attention to the common qualities
which it comprehends.  What are usually called general ideas,
or general notions, are therefore of two kinds, essentially different from each other; those which are general, merely from the




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE  EVIDENCE.                 488
vagueness and imperfection of our information; and those which
have been methodically generalized, in the way explained by
logicians, in consequence of an abstraction founded on a careful study of particulars.  Philosophical precision requires, that
two sets of notions, so totally dissimilar, should not be confounded together; and an attention to the distinction between
them will be found to throw much light on various important
steps in the natural history of the mind.*
Ouar disposition to confound things which are really different. -  One obvious effect of the grossness and vagueness in the
perceptions of the inexperienced observer, must necessarily be,
to identify, under the same common appellations, immense multitudes of individuals, which the philosopher will afterwards
find reason to distinguish carefully from each other; and as
language, by its unavoidable reaction on thought, never fails to
restore to it whatever imperfections it has once received, all
the indistinctness which, in the case of individual observers,
originated in an ill-informed judgment, or in a capricious fancy,
comes afterwards, in succeeding ages, to be entailed on the
infant understanding, in consequence of its incorporation'with
vernacular speech. These confused apprehensions produced
by language  must it is easy to see, operate exactly in the
* The distinction above stated, furnishes what seems to me the true
answer to an argument which Charron, and many other writers since his
time, have drawn, in proof of the reasoning powers of brutes, from the
universal conclusions which they appear to found on the observation of
particulars. [" Brutes form general conclusions from particular objects;
for, from the appearance of one man, they recognize all men."]
Instead of saying that brutes generalize things which are similar,
would it not be nearer the truth to say, that they confound things which
are different.
Many years after these observations were written, I had the satisfaction
to meet with the following experimental confirmation of them in the Abbe
Sicard's Course of Instruction for the Deaf and Dumb: [" I observed that
Massieu preferred giving the same name, as a common name, to several
individuals, among which he saw some points of resemblance; particular names supposed differences among them which he had not yet- ob.
served."] - (Sicard, pp. 30, 31.) The whole of the passage is well worth
consulting.




484      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENTCE.
same way as the undistinguishing perceptions of children or
savages; the familiar use of a generic word insensibly and
irresistibly leading the mind to extend its conclusions from the
individual to the genus, and thus laying the foundation of' conclusions and anticipations, which we suppose to rest on experience, when, in truth, experience has never been consulted.
In all such instances, it is worthy of observation, we proceed
ultimately on the, common principle, - that,in similar circumstances, the same cause will produce the same effects; and
when we err, the source of our error lies merely in identifying
different cases which ouglt to be distinguished from each other.
Great as may be the occasional inconveniences arising from
this general principle thus misapplied, they bear no proportion
to the essential advantages resulting from the disposition, in
which they originate, to arrange and to classify; a disposition
on which (as I have elsewhere shown) the intellectual improvement of' the species in a great manner hinges. That she constitution of our nature in this respect is, on the whole, wisely
ordered, as well as perfectly comformable to the general economy of our frame, will appear from a slight survey of some
other principles, nearly allied to those which are at present
under our consideration.
It has been remarked by some eminent writers in this part
of the island, that our expectation of' the continuance of the
laws of nature has a very close affinity to our faith in human
testimony.  The parallel might perhaps be carried, without
any over refinement, a little further than these writers have
attempted; inasmuch as, in both cases, the instinctive principle is in the first instance unlimited, and requires, for its correction and regulation, the lessons of subsequent experience.
As the credulity of children is originally without bounds, and
is afterwards gradually checked by the examples which they
occasionally meet with of human falsehood, so, in the infancy
of our knowledge, whatever objects or events present to our
senses a strong resemblance to each other, dispose us, without
any very accurate examination of the minute details by which
they may be really discriminated, to conclude with eagerness,




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.             485
th..e the experiments and observations which we make with
respect to one individual, may be safely extended to the whole
class. It is experience alone that teaches us caution in such
inferences, and subjects the natural principle to the discipline
prescribed by the rules of induction.
How this disposition is corrected. - It must not, however, be
imagined, that, in instances of this sort, the instinctive principle
always leads us astray; for the analogical anticipations which
it disposes us to form, although they may not stand the test of
a rigorous examination, may yet be sufficiently just for all the
common purposes of life. It is natural, for example, that a
man who has been educated in Europe should expect, when he
changes his residence to any of the other quarters of the globe,
to see heavy bodies fall downwards, and smoke to ascend, agreeably to the general laws to which he has been accustomed; and
that he should take for granted, in providing the means of his
subsistence, that the animals and vegetables which he has found
to be salutary and nutritious in his native regions, possess the
same qualities wherever they exhibit the same appearances.
Nor are such expectations less useful than natural; for they are
completely realized, as far as they minister to the gratification
of our more urgent wants. It is only when we begin to indulge
our curiosity with respect to those nicer details, which derive
their interest from great refinement in the arts, or from a very
advanced state of physical knowledge, that we discover our first
conclusions, however just in the main, not to be mathematically
exact; and are led by those habits which scientific pursuits
communicate, to investigate the difference of circumstances
to which the variety in the result is owing. After having
found that heavy bodies fall downwards at the equator
as they do in this island, the most obvious, and perhaps, on
a superficial view of the question, the most reasonable, inference would be, that the same pendulum which swings seconds
at London, will vibrate at the same rate under the line. In
this instance, however, the theoretical inference is contradicted
by the fact; — but the contradiction is attended with no
practical inconvenience to the multitude, while, in the mind
41 *




486       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
of the philosopher, it only serves to awaken his attention to
the different circumstances of the two cases, and, in the last result, throws a new lustre on the simplicity and uniformity of
that law, from which it seemed, at first sight, an anomalous
deviation.
Illustration from the zuniformity of the laws of grammar.To this uniformity in the laws which regulate the order of physical events, there is something extremely similar in the systematical regularity (subject indeed to many exceptions) which,
in every language, however imperfect, runs through the different classes of its words, in respect of their inflexions, forms of
derivation, and other verbal filiations or affinities.  HIlow much
this regularity or analogy (as it is called by grammarians), contributes to facilitate the acquisition of dead and foreign languages, every person, who has received a liberal education,
knows from his own experience.  Nor is it less manifest, that
the same circumstance must contribute powerfully to aid the
memories of children in learning to speak their mother-tongue.
It is not my present business to trace the principles in the human mind by which it is produced. All that I would remark
is, the very early period at which it is seized by children; as is
strongly evinced by their disposition to push it a great deal too
far, in their first attempts towards speech.  This disposition
seems to be closely connected with that which leads them  to
repose faith in testimony; and it also bears a striking resemblance to that which prompts them to extend their past experience to those objects and events of which they had not hitherto
had any means of acquiring a direct knowledge.  It is probable, indeed, that our expectation, in all these cases, has its origin in the same common principles of our nature; and it is
certain, that, in all of them, it is subservient to the important
purpose of facilitating the progress of the mind. Of this nobody can doubt, who considers for a moment, that the great end
to be first accomplished was manifestly the communication of
the general rule; the acquisition of the exceptions (a knowledge of which is but of secondary importance) being safely
intrusted to the growing diligence and capacity of the learner.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.           487
The considerations now stated, may help us to conceive in
what manner conclusions derived from  experience come to be
insensibly extended from the individual to the species; partly
in consequence of the gross and undistinguishing nature of our
first perceptions, and partly in consequence of the magical influence of a common name. They seem also to show, that this
natural process of thought, though not always justified by a
sound logic, is not without its use in the infancy of human
knowledge.
4. Evidence of testimony tacitly recognized as a ground of belief, in our most certain conclusions concerning contingent truths.
— In some of the conclusions which have been already under
our consideration with respect to contingent truths, a species of
evidence is admitted, of which no mention has hitherto been
made; I mean the evidence of testimony. In astronomical calculations, for example, how few are the instances in which the
data rest on the evidence of our own senses; and yet our confidence in the result is not, on that account, in the smallest degree weakened. On the contrary, what certainty can be more
complete than that with which we look forward to an eclipse of
the sun or the moon, on the faith of elements and of computations which we have never verified, and for the accuracy of
which we have no ground of assurance whatever, but the scientific reputation of the writers from whom we have borrowed
them. An astronomer who should affect any skepticism with
respect to an event so predicted, would render himself no less
an object of ridicule, than' if he were disposed to cavil about
the certainty of the sun's rising to-morrow.
- Even in pure mathematics, a similar regard to testimony, accompanied with a similar faith in the faculties of others, is by
no means uncommon. Who would scruple, in a geometrical
investigation, to adopt as a link in the chain, a theorem of Apollonius or of Archimedes, although he might not have leisure at
the moment to satisfy himself, by an actual examination of their
demonstrations, that they had been guilty of no paralogism,
either from accident or design, in the course of their reasonings 9




488       REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
lDifference between the logical and the popular meaning of the
word porobability. - In our anticipations of astronomical phenomena, as well as in those which we form concerning the result
of any familiar experiment in physics, philosophers are accustomed to speak of the event as only probable, although our confidence in its happening is not less complete than if it rested on
the basis of mathematical demonstration. The word probable,
therefore, when thus used, does not imply any defciency in the
proof, but only marks the particular nature of that proof, as contradistinguished from another species of evidence. It is opposed,
not to what is certain, but to what admits of being demonstrated
after the manner of mathematicians.  This differs widely from
the meaning annexed to the same word in popular discourse:
according to which, whatever event is said to be probable, is understood to be expected with some degree of doubt. "As certain as death "" as certain as the rising of the sun "-are
proverbial modes of expression in all countries; and they are
both of them, borrowed from events which, in philosophical language, are only probable or contingent. In like manner, the
existence of the city of Pekin, and the reality of Caesar's assassination, which the philosopher classes with probabilities, because
they rest solely upon the evidence of testimony, are universally
classed with certainties by the rest of mankind; and in any
case but the statement of a logical theory, the application to
such truths of the word probable, would be justly regarded as
an impropriety of speech. This difference between the technical meaning of the word probability, as employed by logicians,
sand the notion usually attached to it in the business of life,
together with the erroneous theories concerning the nature of
demonstration, which I have already endeavored to refute,have led many authors of the highest name, in some of the
most important arguments which can employ human reason, to
overlook that irresistible evidence which was placed before their
eyes, in search of another mode of proof altogether unattainable in moral inquiries, and which, if it could be attained, would
not be less li-able to the cavils of skeptics.




REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.           489
But although, in philosophical language, the epithet probable
be applied to events which are acknowledged to be certain, it is
also applied to those events which are called probable by the
vulgar. The philosophical meaning of the word, therefore, is
more comprehensive than the popular; the former denoting
that particular species of evidence of which contingent truths
admit; the latter being confined to such degrees of this evidence
as fall short of the highest. These different degrees of probability the philosopher considers as a series, beginning with bare
possibility, and terminating in that apprehended infallibility with
which the phrase moral certainty is synonymous. To this last
term of the series, the word-probable is, in its ordinary acceptation, plainly inapplicable.
The satisfaction which the astronomer derives from the exact
coincidence, in point of time, between his theoretical predictions
concerning the phenomena of the heavens, and the corresponding events when they actually occur, does not imply the smallest
doubt, on his part, of the constancy of the laws of nature. It
resolves partly into the pleasure of arriving at the knowledge
of the same truth or of the same fact by different media; but
chiefly into the gratifying assurance which he thus receives, of
the correctness of his principles, and of the competency of the
human faculties to these sublime investigations. What exquisite delight must La Place have felt, when, by deducing from
the theory of gravitation the cause of the acceleration of the
moon's mean motion —an acceleration which proceeds at the
rate of little more than 11 in a century, - he accounted, with
such mathematical precision, for all the recorded observations
of the place from the infancy of astronomical science! It is
fiom the length and abstruseness, however, of the reasoning
process, and from the powerful effect produced on the imagination, by a calculus which brings into immediate contrast with
the immensity of time such evanescent elements as the fractional parts of a second, that the coincidence between the computation and the event appears in this instance so peculiarly
striking. In other respects, our confidence in the future result




490      REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.
rests on the same principle with our expectation that the sun
will rise to-morrow at a particular instant; and, accordingly,
now that the correctness of the theory has been so wonderfully
verified by a comparison with facts, the one event is expected
with no less assurance than the other.
TRIE END.