in Rhetoric. See Oratory, No. 54.
Metaphor and Allegory, in poetry.—A metaphor differs from a simile, in form only, not in substance: in a simile the two subjects are kept distinct in the expression, as well as in the thought; in a metaphor, the two subjects are kept distinct in the thought only, not in the expression. A hero resembles a lion, and upon that resemblance many similes have been raised by Homer and other poets. But instead of resembling a lion, let us take the aid of the imagination, and feign or figure the hero to be a lion; by that variation the simile is converted into a metaphor; which is carried on by describing all the qualities of a lion that resemble those of the hero. The fundamental pleasure here, that of resemblance, belongs to the thought. An additional pleasure arises from the expression: the poet, by figuring his hero to be a lion, goes on to describe the lion in appearance, but in reality the hero; and his description is peculiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues and qualities of the hero in new terms, which, properly speaking, belong not to him, but to the lion. This will better be understood by examples. A family connected with a common parent, resembles a tree, the trunk and branches of which are connected with a common root; but let us suppose, that a family is figured, not barely to be like a tree, but to be a tree; and then the simile will be converted into a metaphor, in the following manner:
Edward's sev'n sons, whereof thyself art one, Were sev'n fair branches, springing from one root; Some of these branches by the devil's cut: But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By Envy's hand and Murder's bloody axe.
Richard II. act i. sc. 3.
Figuring human life to be a voyage at sea.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to Fortune: Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.
Julius Caesar, act iv. sc. 5.
Figuring glory and honour to be a garland of flowers:
Hastur. Wou'd to heav'n, Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! Pr. Henry. I'll make it greater ere I part from thee; And all the budding honours on thy crest I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.
First Part of Henry IV. act v. sc. 9.
Figuring a man who hath acquired great reputation and honour to be a tree full of fruit:
Oh, boys, this story The world may read in me; my body's mark'd With Roman words; and my report was once First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off; then was I as a tree, Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night, A storm or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves; And left me bare to wither.
Cymbeline, act iii. sc. 3.
"Blest by thy soul, thou king of shells, said Swaran of the dark-brown shield. In peace, thou art the gale of spring; in war, the mountain-storm. Take now my hand in friendship, thou noble king of Morven."
Fingal.
"Thou dwellest in the foul of Malvina, son of mighty Offian. My sighs arise with the beam of the east; my tears descend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me: but thy death came like a blast from the desert," An allegory differs from a metaphor; and a figure of speech differs from both. A metaphor is defined above to be an act of the imagination, figuring one thing to be another. An allegory requires no such operation, nor is one thing figured to be another: it confuses in choosing a subject having properties or circumstances resembling those of the principal subject: and the former is described in such a manner as to represent the latter: the subject thus represented is kept out of view: we are left to discover it by reflection; and we are pleased with the discovery, because it is our own work. (See the word ALLEGORY.)
Quintilian gives the following instance of an allegory.
O navis, referent in mare te novi Fluctus. O quid agis? fortiter occupa portum.
Horat. Lib. i. ode 14.
and explains it elegantly in the following words: "Totaque ille Horatii locus, quo navim pro republica, fluctuum tempestatibus pro bellis civilibus, portum pro pace atque concordia," dicit.
In a figure of speech, there is no fiction of the imagination employed, as in a metaphor; nor a representative subject introduced, as in an allegory. This figure, as its name implies, regards the expression only, not the thought; and it may be defined, the using a word in a sense different from what is proper to it.
Thus youth, or the beginning of life, is expressed figuratively by morning of life: morning is the beginning of the day; and in that view it is employed to signify the beginning of any other series, life especially, the progress of which is reckoned by days. See Figure of Speech.
Metaphor and allegory are so much connected, that it seemed proper to handle them together: the rules particularly for distinguishing the good from the bad, are common to both. We shall therefore proceed to these rules, after adding some examples to illustrate the nature of an allegory, which, with a view to this article, was but slightly illustrated under its proper name.
Horace, speaking of his love to Pyrrha, which was now extinguished, expressed himself thus:
Me tabula facer Votivae paries indicat uvida Suspendisse potenti Vellimenta maris Deo.
Carm. lib. i. ode 5.
Again: Phocbus volentem praelia me loqui, Violas et urbes, increpuit, lyra Ne parva Tyrrhenum per aquor Vela darem.
Carm. lib. iv. ode 15.
Queen. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallowed in the flood! Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea, And give more strength to that which hath too much; While in his moan the ship spits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have fav'd? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
Third Part of Henry VI. act v. sc. 5.
Oroonoko. Ha! thou hast rous'd The lion in his den; he stalks abroad, And the wide forest trembles at his roar. I find the danger now.
Oroonoko, act iii. sc. 2:
"My well beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill. He fenced it, gathered out the stones thereof, planted it with the choicest vine, built a tower in the midst of it, and also made a wine press therein; he looked that it should bring forth grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes. And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt me and my vineyard. What could have been done more to my vineyard, that I have not done? Wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes? And now go to, I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard: I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall be eaten up; and break down the wall thereof, and it shall be trodden down. And I will lay it waste: it shall not be pruned, nor digged, but there shall come up briers and thorns: I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it. For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah his pleasant plant."
Isaiah v. 1.
The rules that govern metaphors and allegories are of two kinds. The construction of these figures comes under the first kind: the propriety or impropriety of introduction comes under the other.—To begin with rules of the first kind; some of which coincide with those already given for similes; some are peculiar to metaphors and allegories.
In the first place, it has been observed, that a simile cannot be agreeable where the resemblance is either too strong or too faint. This holds equally in metaphor and allegory; and the reason is the same in all.
In the following instances, the resemblance is too faint to be agreeable.
Malcolm. ———— But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust.
Macbeth, act iv. sc. 4.
The best way to judge of this metaphor, is to convert it into a simile: which would be bad, because there is scarce any resemblance between lust and a cistern, or betwixt enormous lust and a large cistern.
Again:
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of rule.
Macbeth, act v. sc. 2.
There is no resemblance between a distempered cause and any body that can be confined within a belt.
Again:
Steep me in poverty to the very lips.
Othello, act iv. sc. 9.
Poverty Metaphor Poverty here must be conceived a fluid, which it resembles not in any manner.
Speaking to Bolingbroke banish'd for six years:
The sullen passage of thy weary steps, Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return.
Richard II. act ii. sc. 6.
Again:
Here is a letter, lady, And every word in it a gaping wound Issuing life-blood.
Merchant of Venice, act iii. sc. 3.
Tante molis erat Romanam condere gentem.
Æneid. i. 37.
The following metaphor is strained beyond all endurance: Timur-bec, known to us by the name of Tamerlane the Great, writes to Bojazet emperor of the Ottomans in the following terms:
"Where is the monarch who dares resist us? where is the potentate who doth not glory in being numbered among our attendants? As for thee, descended from a Turcoman sailor, since the vessel of thy unbounded ambition hath been wreck'd in the gulf of thy self-love, it would be proper, that thou shouldest take in the fails of thy temerity, and cast the anchor of repentance in the port of sincerity and justice, which is the port of safety; lest the tempest of our vengeance make thee perish in the sea of the punishment thou deservest."
Such strained figures, as observed above, are not unfrequent in the first dawn of refinement; the mind in a new enjoyment knows no bounds, and is generally carried to excess, till taste and experience discover the proper limits.
Secondly, Whatever resemblance subjects may have, it is wrong to put one for another, where they bear no mutual proportion. Upon comparing a very high to a very low subject, the simile takes on an air of burlesque; and the same will be the effect where the one is imagined to be the other, as in a metaphor; or made to represent the other, as in an allegory.
Thirdly, These figures, a metaphor especially, ought not to be crowded with many minute circumstances; for in that case it is scarcely possible to avoid obscurity. A metaphor above all ought to be short: it is difficult, for any time, to support a lively image of a thing being what we know it is not; and for that reason, a metaphor drawn out to any length, instead of illusrating or enlivening the principal subject, becomes disagreeable by overtraining the mind. Here Cowley is extremely licentious. Take the following instance.
Great and wise conqueror, who where'er Thou com'st, dost fortify, and settle there! Who canst defend as well as get; And never hadst one quarter beat up yet; Now thou art in, thou ne'er wilt part With one inch of my vanquished heart; For since thou took'st it by assault from me 'Tis garrison's so strong with thoughts of thee, It fears no beauteous enemy.
For the same reason, however agreeable long allegories may at first be by their novelty, they never afford any lasting pleasure: witness the Fairy Queen, which with great power of expression, variety of images, and melody of versification, is scarce ever read a second time.
In the fourth place, The comparison carried on in a simile, being in a metaphor sunk by imagining the principal subject to be that very thing which it only resembles; an opportunity is furnished to describe it in terms taken strictly or literally with respect to its imagined nature. This suggests another rule, That in constructing a metaphor, the writer ought to make use of such words only as are applicable literally to the imagined nature of his subject: figurative words ought carefully to be avoided; for such complicated figures, instead of setting the principal subject in a strong light, involve it in a cloud, and it is well if the reader, without rejecting by the lump, endeavour patiently to gather the plain meaning, regardless of the figures:
A stubborn and unconquerable flame Creeps in his veins, and drinks the streams of life.
Lady Jane Gray, act i. sc. i.
Copied from Ovid:
Sorbent avidæ praecordia flammæ.
Metamorph. lib. ix. 172.
Let us analyze this expression. That a fever may be imagined a flame, we admit: though more than one step is necessary to come at the resemblance: a fever, by heating the body, resembles fire; and it is no stretch to imagine a fever to be a fire: again, by a figure of speech, flame may be put for fire, because they are commonly conjoined; and therefore a fever may be termed a flame. But now admitting a fever to be a flame, its effects ought to be explained in words that agree literally to a flame. This rule is not observed here; for a flame drinks figuratively only, not properly.
King Henry to his son Prince Henry:
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart To stab at half an hour of my frail life.
Second Part Henry IV. act iv. sc. ii.
Such faulty metaphors are pleasantly ridiculed in the Rehearsal:
"Physician. Sir, to conclude, the place you fill has more than amply exacted the talents of a wary pilot; and all these threatening storms, which, like impregnate clouds, hover o'er our heads, will, when they once are grasped but by the eye of reason, melt into fruitful showers of blessings on the people."
"Bayer. Pray mark that allegory. Is not that good."
"Johnson. Yes, that grasping of a storm with the eye is admirable."
Act ii. sc. i.
Fifthly, The jumbling different metaphors in the same sentence, beginning with one metaphor and ending with another, commonly called a mix metaphor, ought never to be indulged.
K. Henry. K. Henry. ——Will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, And move in that obedient orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light? First Part Henry VI. act v. sc. 1.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. Hamlet, act iii. sc. 2.
In the sixth place, It is unpleasent to join different metaphors in the same period, even where they are preserved distinct: for when the subject is imagined to be first one thing and then another in the same period without interval, the mind is diffracted by the rapid transition; and when the imagination is put on such hard duty, its images are too faint to produce any good effect:
At regina gravi jamdudum faucia cura, Vulnus alti venis, et caeco carpitur igni. Æneid. iv. 1.
Est mollis flamma medullas Interea, et tacitum vivit sub pechore vulnus. Æneid. iv. 66.
Motum ex Metello consule civicum, Bellique causas, et vitia, et modos, Ludumque fortunæ, graveque Principum anicitiæ, et arma Nondum expiatis uncta cruribus, Periculose plenum opus aleæ, Tractas, et incendis per ignes Subpositos cineri dolofæ. Horat. Carm. lib. ii. ode 1.
In the last place, It is still worse to jumble together metaphorical and natural expression, so as that the period must be understood in part metaphorically, in part literally; for the imagination cannot follow with sufficient ease changes so sudden and unprepared: a metaphor begun and not carried on, hath no beauty; and instead of light, there is nothing but obscurity and confusion. Instances of such incorrect composition are without number: we shall, for a specimen, select a few from different authors. Speaking of Britain,
This precious stone set in the sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a most defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands. Richard II. act ii. sc. 1.
In the first line Britain is figured to be a precious stone: in the following line, Britain, divested of her metaphorical dress, is presented to the reader in her natural appearance.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Cæsar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men, And keep us all in fervile fearfulness. Julius Cæsar, act i. sc. 1.
Rebus angustis animosus atque Fortis adpare: sapienter idem Contrahas vento nimum secundo Turgida vela. Hor. Carm. lib. ii. ode 10.
The following is a miserable jumble of expressions, arising from an unsteady view of the subject, between its figurative and natural appearance:
But now from gathering clouds destruction pours, Which ruins with mad rage our halcyon hours: Mills from black jealousies the tempest form, Whilst late divisions reinforce the storm. Dijonfary, canto iii.
To thee the world its present homage pays, The harvest early, but mature the praise. Pope's Imitation of Horace, book ii.
Oui, sa pudeur ne s'est que franche grimace, Qu'une ombre de vertu qui garde mal la place, Et qui s'évanouit, comme l'on peut favorir, Aux rayons du soleil qu'une bourre vait voir. Molière, L'Étourdi, act iii. sc. 2.
Et son feu, de pourvû de fente et de lecture, S'éteint à chaque pas, faut de nourriture. Boileau, L'Art Poétique, chant. iii. l. 319.
Dryden, in his dedication of the translation of Æneid, says, "When thus, as I may say, before the use of the loadstone, or knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, without other help than the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the French stage among the moderns," &c.
"There is a time when factions, by the vehemence of their own fermentation, stun and disable one another." Bolingbroke.
This fault of jumbling the figure and plain expression into one confused mass, is not less common in allegory than in metaphor.
Take the following examples:
Heu! quoties fidelis, Mutatoque Deos flebit, et alpera Nigris aquora ventis Emirabitur infolens, Qui nunc te fruatur credulus aurea; Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem Sperat, nec sius auræ Fallacis. Horat. Carm. lib. i. ode 5.
Pour moi sur cette mer, qu'ici bas nous courons, Je songe à me pourvoir d'équipet et d'avirons, À régler mes desirs, à prévenir l'orage, Et sauver, s'il se peut, ma Raison du naufrage. Boileau, epitre 5.
Lord Halifax, speaking of the ancient fabulists: "They (says he) wrote in signs, and spoke in parables: all their fables carry a double meaning: the story is one, and entire; the characters the same throughout; not broken or changed, and always conformable to the nature of the creature they introduce. They never tell you, that the dog which snapped at a shadow, lost his troop of horse; that would be unintelligible. This is Metaphor. His (Dryden's new way of telling a story, and confounding the moral and the fable together.) After insisting from the Hind and Panther, he goes on thus:
"What relation has the hind to our Saviour? or what notion have we of a panther's bible? If you say he means the church, how does the church feed on lawns, or range in the forest? Let it be always a church, or always a cloven-footed beast; for we cannot bear his shifting the scene every line."
A few words more upon allegory. Nothing gives greater pleasure than this figure, when the representative subject bears a strong analogy, in all its circumstances, to that which is represented: but the choice is seldom so lucky; the analogy being generally too faint and obscure, as to puzzle and not please. An allegory is still more difficult in painting than in poetry; the former can show no resemblance but what appears to the eye; the latter hath many other resources for showing the resemblance. And therefore, with respect to what the abbe du Bos terms mixt allegorical compositions, these may do in poetry; because, in writing, the allegory can easily be distinguished from the historical part: no person, for example, mistakes Virgil's Fame for a real being. But such a mixture in a picture is intolerable; because in a picture the objects must appear all of the same kind, wholly real or wholly emblematical. For this reason, the history of Mary de Medicis, in the palace of Luxembourg, painted by Rubens, is unpleasing by a perpetual jumble of real and allegorical personages, which produce a discordance of parts, and an obscurity upon the whole: witness, in particular, the tablature representing the arrival of Mary de Medicis at Marseilles; where, together with the real personages, the Nereids and Tritons appear founding their shells: such a mixture of fiction and reality in the same group is strangely absurd. The picture of Alexander and Roxana, described by Lucian, is gay and fanciful; but it suffers by the allegorical figures. It is not in the wit of man to invent an allegorical representation deviating farther from any shadow of resemblance, than one exhibited by Louis XIV. anno 1664; in which an enormous chariot, intended to represent that of the sun, is dragged along, surrounded with men and women, representing the four ages of the world, the celestial signs, the seasons, the hours, &c. a monstrous composition, and yet scarcely more absurd than Guido's tablature of Aurora.
In an allegory, as well as in a metaphor, terms ought to be chosen that properly and literally, are applicable to the representative subject; nor ought any circumstance to be added that is not proper to the representative subject, however justly it may be applicable properly or figuratively to the principal. The following allegory is therefore faulty:
Ferus et Cupido, Semper ardentes acuens sagittas. Cote cruenta. Horat. lib. ii, ode 8.
For though blood may suggest the cruelty of love, it is an improper or immaterial circumstance in the representative subject: water, not blood, is proper for a whetstone.
We proceed to the next head, which is, to examine in what circumstances these figures are proper, in what improper. This inquiry is not altogether superseded by what is said upon the same subject in the article Comparison; because, upon trial, it will be found, that a short metaphor or allegory may be proper, where a simile, drawn out to a greater length, and in its nature more solemn, would scarcely be relished.
And, in the first place, A metaphor, like a simile, is excluded from common conversation, and from the description of ordinary incidents. Secondly, In expressing any severe passion that totally occupies the mind, metaphor is unnatural.
The following example, of deep despair, beside the highly figurative style, has more the air of raving than of sense:
Califa. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father? Madness! confusion! let the storm come on, Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me, Dahr my devoted bark; ye surges, break it; 'Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises. When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low, Peace shall return, and all be calm again.
Fair Penitent, act v.
The following metaphor is sweet and lively; but it suits not the fiery temper of Chamont, inflamed with passion: parables are not the language of wrath venting itself without restraint:
Chamont. You took her up a little tender flow'r, Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost Had nipp'd; and with a careful loving hand, Transplanted her into your own fair garden, Where the sun always shines: there long she flourish'd, Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye; Till at the last a cruel spoiler came, Cropt this fair rose, and riled all its sweetness, Then cast it like a loathsome weed away.
Orphan, act iv.
The following speech, full of imagery, is not natural in grief and dejection of mind.
Gonfalone. O my son! from the blind dotage Of a father's fondness these ills arose, For thee I've been ambitious, base, and bloody: For thee I've plung'd into this sea of sin; Stemming the tide with only one weak hand, While o'ther bore the crown (to wreath thy brow), Whose weight has sunk me ere I reach'd the shore.
Mourning Bride, act v. sc. 6.
There is an enchanting picture of deep distress in Macbeth, where Macduff is represented lamenting his wife and children, inhumanly murdered by the tyrant. Stung to the heart with the news, he questions the messenger over and over: not that he doubted the fact, but that his heart revolted against so cruel a misfortune. After struggling some time with his grief, he turns from his wife and children to their savage butcher: and then gives vent to his resentment, but still with manliness and dignity:
O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle Heav'n! Cut short all intermission; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Within, Metaphorical expression, indeed, may sometimes be used with grace where a regular simile would be intolerable; but there are situations so severe and dispiriting, as not to admit even the slightest metaphor. It requires great delicacy of taste to determine with firmness, whether the present case be of that nature: perhaps it is; yet who could with a single word of this admirable scene altered?
But metaphorical language is proper when a man struggles to bear with dignity or decency a misfortune however great; the struggle agitates and animates the mind:
**METAPHYSICS.**
Definition. **Metaphysics** has been defined, by a writer deeply read in the ancient philosophy, "The science of the principles and causes of all things existing." This definition, we think, extremely proper; and hence it is, that mind or intelligence, and especially the supreme intelligence, which is the cause of the universe, and of every thing which it contains, is the principal subject of this science; and hence, too, the science itself received its name. Aristotle, indeed, who, of all the ancient metaphysicians whose works have come down to us, was unquestionably the greatest, calls this science **the first philosophy**, as being not only superior, but also prior in the order of nature, to the whole circle of the other arts and sciences. But, "what is first to nature, is not first to man." Nature begins with causes, which produce effects. Man begins with effects, and by them ascends to causes. Thus all human study and investigation proceed of necessity in the reverse of the natural order of things, from sensible to intelligible, from body the effect, to mind, which is both the first and the final cause. Now, **physics** being the name given by the Stagyrite to the philosophy of body, some of his interpreters, from this necessary course of human studies, called that of mind **metaphysics**, implying by that term, not only that its subject is more sublime and difficult, but also that the study of it would be most properly and successfully entered upon after that of physics. To this name, which, though it has sometimes been treated with ridicule, is abundantly significant, the followers of Aristotle were led by their master, who, to the books in which he pretends to elevate the mind above things corporeal to the contemplation of God and things spiritual, prefixed the Greek words μετα τα φυσικα (A).
The science of Metaphysics has been divided, according to the objects which it considers, into six principal parts, which are called, 1. Ontology; 2. Cosmology; 3. Anthroposophy; 4. Psychology; 5. Pneumatics; and, 6. Metaphysical theology.
1. That part of the science which is named ontology; logy, investigates and explains the nature and essence of all beings, as well as the qualities and attributes that essentially appertain to them. Hence it has been said that ontology should proceed in its operations from the most simple ideas; such as do not admit of any other qualities of which they may be compounded. These simple ideas are of being, of essence, of substance, of mode, of existence as well with regard to time as place, of a necessary cause of unity; the idea of negation; the difference between a being that is simple or compound, necessary or accidental, finite or infinite; the ideas of essential and abstract properties, such as of the greatness, perfection, and goodness of beings, &c. The business therefore of ontology, is to make us acquainted with every kind of being in its nature and essential qualities, which distinguish it from all other beings. This knowledge being once established on simple principles, just consequences may thence be drawn, and those things proved after which the metaphysician inquires, and which is the business of his science to prove.
It is easy to conceive, that even a clear knowledge of beings, and their essential properties, would be still defective and useless to man, if he did not know how to determine and fix his ideas by proper denominations, and consequently to communicate his perceptions to those whom he would instruct, or against whom he is obliged to dilate. To render our ideas therefore intelligible to others, we must have determinate words or denominations for each being, and the qualities of each being; and ontology teaches us those terms which are so necessary to fix our ideas, and to give them the requisite perspicuity and precision, that when we endeavour to extend the sphere
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(A) ΤΟΝ ΜΕΤΑ ΤΑ ΦΥΣΙΚΑ. Cuius inscriptionis haec ratio est, quod in hoc opere ca tradantur quorum theoria posterior est doctrinae naturali faltem quod nos, qui a corporum cognitione rerumque caducarum in substantiarum immaterialium atque immortalium contemplationem provehimus.
Du Val. Synopsis Doctr. Peripat. Divisions of our knowledge, we may not waste our time in disputes about words.
2. Metaphysics, having, in as solid a manner as Cosmology; possible, explained and established the principles above mentioned, continues its inquiries to the second part, which is called cosmology, and examines into the essence of the world and all that it contains; its eternal laws; of the nature of matter; of motion; of the nature of tangible bodies, their attributes and adjuncts; and of all that can be known by reasoning and experience. It is also in cosmology that the metaphysicians of this school examine the Leibnitzian system; that is, whether God, in creating the world, must necessarily have created the best world; and if this world be so in fact. In this manner they pursue the argument, from consequence to consequence, to its last resort, frequently with very little advantage to truth and science.
3. Anthroposophy, or the knowledge of man, forms the third branch of metaphysics. It is subdivided into two parts. The first, which consists in the knowledge of the exterior parts of the human frame, belongs not to this science, but to Anatomy and Physiology. The business of the metaphysician is here to ascertain the nature of those powers by which all the motions essential to life are produced; and to discover, if possible, whether they be corporeal or spiritual. This inquiry leads at the same time to Psychology;
4. Psychology; which consists in the knowledge of the intellectual soul in particular; concerning which the most profound, the most subtle, and most abstract researches, have been made that human reason is capable of; and concerning the substance of which, in spite of all these efforts, it is yet extremely difficult to support any positive opinion with conclusive or probable arguments.
5. The fifth part of metaphysics is called pneumatology. By this term, which has not been long in use, metaphysicians mean the knowledge of all spirits, angels, &c. It is easy to conceive what infinite art is necessary to give an account of that, of which nothing positive can ever be known in the present state of human existence. But the metaphysician of this school readily offers to show us, "what is the idea of a spirit; the effective existence of a spirit; what are its general qualities and properties; that there are rational spirits, and that these rational spirits have qualities that are founded in the moral attributes of God:" for this is in so many words what is attempted to be taught in pneumatology.
6. Metaphysical theology, which Leibnitz and some others call theodicy, is the sixth and last branch of the science of metaphysics. It teaches us the knowledge of the existence of God; to make the most rational suppositions concerning his divine essence, and to form a just idea of his attributes and perfections, and to demonstrate them by abstract reasoning. Theodicy differs from natural theology, in as much as this last borrows, in fact, from theodicy proofs and demonstrations to confirm the existence of a supreme Being: but after having solidly established that great truth, by extending its consequences natural theology teaches us what are the relations and connexions that subsist between the supreme Being and men, and what are the duties which result from these relations.
We have briefly mentioned these divisions of the science, because they were once prevalent in the schools. The greater part of them, however, appears to us to be not only superfluous, but such as can serve no other purpose than to perplex the mind. The only free useless beings of which we know anything are mind and body; and we have no reason to think that there are any other beings in the universe. Of bodies indeed there are various kinds, endowed with different properties: and it is extremely probable, that of minds endowed with different powers, the variety may be equally great. Our own minds we know to be united in one system with bodies by which they perform all their operations; and we can demonstrate that there is another Mind, which is independent of all body, and is the cause of all things. Between these there may be numberless orders of minds; but their energies are wholly unknown to us, and therefore they can never become the objects of science.
Mind and body therefore, i.e., the minds and bodies which we know to exist, together with their powers and properties, essential and accidental, can alone be the subjects of rational inquiry. We may inquire into the essence of mind and the essence of body, and endeavour to ascertain in what respects they differ. We may examine the nature of different bodies, in order to discover whether all bodies, however modified, have not something in common; and we may consider the properties, relations, and adjuncts of bodies, and endeavour to distinguish those which are accidental from such as appear to be necessary that without them body itself could not exist. Of minds we cannot make the same comparison. In this part of the science we have not sufficient data for an accurate and complete induction; we can only examine the powers of our own mind; and by probable analogy make some estimate of the powers of superior minds, as observation will help us to guess at the powers of those which are placed beneath us in the scale of existence.
If this be so, Cosmology, as distinguished from Ontology, cannot properly be a branch of Metaphysics. For if mind and body, with their several powers, properties, and adjuncts, compose the universe, it is obvious, that when we have ascertained, as well as we are able, the essence of mind and the essence of body, together with the powers and properties of each, and have traced them all to the first cause, we have done every thing in the science of the universe, if we may use the expression, which belongs to the province of the metaphysician. The particular laws of motion on the earth and in the planetary system belong to the natural philosopher and astronomer.
In like manner, Anthroposophy, Psychology, Pneumatology, if they be not words expressive of distinctions where there is no difference, seem to be at least very needlessly distinguished from each other. Of the nature of spirits we can know nothing but from contemplating the powers of our own minds; and the body of man is in the province, not of the metaphysician, but of the anatomist and physiologist. Anthroposophy, psychology, and pneumatology, if they be used to denote our knowledge of all minds except the Supreme, are words of the same import; for of no created minds except our own can we acquire such knowledge as deserves the name of science. Ontology has sometimes been defined the science of the science being in the abstract; but in the course of our inquiries it will be seen, that being in the abstract is a phrase without meaning. Considered as the science of real beings and their properties, Ontology is a very significant word, of the same import with Metaphysics, comprehending in itself the knowledge of the nature of all things existing. Or if it be thought proper to make a distinction between ontology and theology, the former branch of the science will teach the knowledge of body and created minds, whilst it is the province of the latter to demonstrate the existence and attributes of that mind which is uncreated.
Body and mind, therefore, with their properties, adjuncts, and powers, comprehend the whole subject of the science of metaphysics: and as we are earlier acquainted with body than with mind, the natural order of conducting our inquiries seems to be, to begin with the former, and thence proceed to the latter. It is obvious, however, that if we would pursue these inquiries with any hopes of success, we must first trace human knowledge from its source, ascertain the nature of truth, and show what kind of evidence on each topic to be treated ought to enforce conviction. In this view of the science, metaphysics appears to be divided into three parts; the first treating of human understanding; the second, of body with its adjuncts; and the third, of mind with its powers.
Previous to the entering upon such inquiries, some philosophers of great merit have thought it expedient to explain the terms which they might have occasion to use. Their conduct is judicious and worthy of imitation; for the objects of metaphysics being, for the most part, such as fall not under the cognizance of the senses, are liable to be differently apprehended by different men, if the meanings of the words by which they are expressed be not ascertained with the utmost precision. We intend, however, to use very few words but in the common acceptation; and we therefore hope, that as terms of science are explained under different words in Divisions of the Dictionary, to which references are made, we have the Science little or no occasion for dwelling the article by previous definitions. There are indeed two words which have given rise to much useless dilutation, which yet cannot be banished from speculative philosophy, and which it will therefore be proper here to define. The words to which we allude are idea and notion. These are very generally considered as synonymous; but we think that much logomachy might have been avoided by affixing to each a determinate signification. We know not any philosopher who made much use of the word idea before Plato; but with his mysterious doctrine concerning ideas we have here nothing to do: our present business is to ascertain the precise meaning of the word, which is evidently derived from ido to see, as the word notion is from "nofo, novi, notum," and that from γινομαι to know or understand. In the original sense of the two words, therefore, notion is more comprehensive than idea, because we know many things which cannot be seen. We have not a doubt, but that at first the word idea was employed to denote only those forms of external objects which men contemplate in their imaginations, and which are originally received through the senses of sight. Its signification was afterwards extended to the relics of every sensation, of touch, taste, sound, and smell, as well as of sight; and at last it was confounded with notion, which denotes the mental apprehension of whatever may be known. In our use of the word idea, except when we quote from others, we shall employ it only to denote that appearance which absent objects of sense make in the memory or imagination (b); and by the word notion we shall denote our apprehension or knowledge of spirits, and all such things as, though they be the objects of science, cannot be perceived by the external senses. Having said this, we proceed to our inquiries, beginning with that into human understanding.
PART I. OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
Preliminary Observations on the Origin of our Ideas and Notions.
THAT the mind of man has no innate ideas or notions, but comes into the world ignorant of everything, is a truth which since the days of Locke has been very little disputed. In the first book of his Essay on the Human Understanding, that acute philosopher has demonstrated, that the rudiments or first principles of all our knowledge are communicated to us by sensation; and he has compared the mind, previous to the operation of external objects upon the senses, to a tabula rasa or sheet of white paper. To repeat his arguments would swell the article to no purpose. There is not a man capable of attending to his own ideas, who
(b) In thus restricting the meaning of the word idea, we have the honour to agree with the great English Lexicographer.—"He was particularly indignant against the almost universal use of the word idea in the sense of notion or opinion, when it is clear that idea can only signify something of which an image may be formed in the mind. We may have an idea or image of a mountain, a tree, or a building; but we cannot surely have an idea or image of an argument or proposition. Yet we hear the sages of the law delivering their ideas upon the question under consideration; and the first speakers in Parliament entirely coinciding in the idea, which has been so ably stated by an honourable member; or representing an idea as unconstitutional, and fraught with the most dangerous consequences to a great and free country. This Johnson called modern cant." Boswell's Life of Johnson. who can entertain a doubt in what manner he received them. Without the sense of sight, we could never have known colours; nor sound, without hearing; nor hardness, softness, smoothness, pain, or bodily pleasure, without touch; nor odours, without smell, &c.
If evident as these facts are, objections have been started to the inferences drawn from them; and Locke has been accused of advancing principles subversive of all distinction between truth and falsehood, and favourable of course to universal skepticism.—"The first book of his Essay, which with submission (says Dr. Beattie*) I think the worst, tends to establish this dangerous doctrine, that the human mind, previous to education and habit, is as susceptible of one impression as of another: a doctrine which, if true, would go near to prove that truth and virtue are no better than human contrivances; or at least that they have nothing permanent in their nature, but may be as changeable as the inclinations and capacities of men; and that there is no such thing as common sense in the world. Surely this is not the doctrine which Mr. Locke meant to establish." We are so thoroughly satisfied, that it is not, that we cannot help wondering how such inferences could, by a man of learning, genius, and candour, be drawn from anything which is to be found in the Essay on the Human Understanding.
But the Doctor thinks Mr. Locke's "finile of the mind to white paper one of the most unlucky allusions that could have been chosen; because the human soul, when it begins to think, is not extended, nor of a white colour, nor incapable of energy, nor wholly unfurnished with ideas, nor as susceptible of one impression or character as of any other;" and it has been observed by another objector†, that "on a sheet of white paper you may write that sugar is bitter; wormwood sweet; fire and frost in every degree pleasing and sufferable: that compassion and gratitude are base; treachery, falsehood, and envy, noble; and that contempt is indifferent to us."
All this is true; but we apprehend it is not to the purpose. Mr. Locke has no where expressed himself in such a manner as to lead us to suppose that he believed the soul to be extended or coloured; or, when it begins to think, incapable of energy, and wholly unfurnished with ideas: but he certainly did believe, that it begins not to think the first instant of its existence, and that it acquires all the ideas of which it is ever possessed. We may undoubtedly write upon a piece of white paper that sugar is bitter, and that wormwood is sweet; but how the capacity of paper to receive the symbols of false propositions should make Mr. Locke's comparison improper or dangerous, we cannot comprehend. Mr. Uther indeed says, that it is improper on this account, "that no human art or industry is able to make those impressions upon the mind: in respect of them, the mind discovers not a passive capacity, but refutes them with the force of fate." Does it indeed? does the mind reject the idea of sugar or of bitterness, of contempt or of indifference? May not any man have the idea of sugar and at the same time the idea of bitterness, and compare the one with the other in his mind, as well as the word sugar may be written beside the word bitter, and connected with it on the same piece of paper? In all this we perceive nothing that is impossible or even difficult.
The mind cannot indeed be made to feel that sugar has the same taste with wormwood; but who ever thought that it could? Not Mr. Locke, we shall be bold to say; nor does his finile give the smallest countenance to such an absurdity. The author of the Essay on the Human Understanding underlined his subject too well to imagine that either truth or falsehood could be communicated to paper, or that paper is capable of comparing ideas. Paper is capable of receiving nothing but lines or figures; and if passively receives whatever lines or figures we may choose to inscribe on it: yet if a pen be carried over it in a circular direction, the figure impressed will not be a square; just as, to the mind of one eating sugar, the taste communicated is not that of wormwood.
On a piece of paper a circle may be described, and close beside it a square: in like manner an agreeable sensation may be communicated to the mind, and immediately afterwards a sensation that is disagreeable. These two sensations, or the ideas which they leave behind them, may be compared together; and it is certainly true that no art or industry can make them appear similar in the mind: but is it not equally true, that no art or industry can make the circle and the square similar on the paper? The paper is susceptible of any sort of plain figures, and the mind is equally susceptible of any sort of ideas or sensations; but figures dissimilar cannot be made to coincide, neither can discordant ideas be made to agree. Again, one may write upon paper, that "a circle is a square," and likewise that "a circle is not a square;" and both these propositions may be communicated to the mind by the organs of sight or of hearing. The paper receives the words expressive of the false as well as those expressive of the true proposition; and the mind receives the ideas and relations signified by the one cluster of words as well as those signified by the other: but in the mind the idea of a square is different from that of a circle, and on the paper the figure of a square is different from the figure of a circle. The great difference between the mind and the paper is, that the former is conscious of its ideas, and perceives their agreement or disagreement; whereas the paper is not conscious of the figures drawn upon it, nor perceives any thing about them. But still those figures are what they are; they either agree or disagree on the paper, as well as the ideas either agree or disagree in the mind. It is not in the power of the mind to alter the ideas of the square and the circle, not in the power of the paper to alter the forms of those figures.
It appears then, that the principles of Mr. Locke, and the comparison by which he illustrates them, have no more tendency to subvert the difference between truth and falsehood, right and wrong, than the passiveness of paper has to subvert the difference between a straight line and a crooked, a circle and a square; and with a view to establish the doctrine of innate ideas and instinctive principles of knowledge, we might with as much propriety ask, Whether it be possible to imagine that any mode of manufacture could make paper of such a nature, as that a pen drawn over it in a circular direction would leave the figure of a square? as that, "Whether it be possible to imagine, that any course of education could ever bring a rational creature to believe that two and two are equal to three." The mind being thus, as we may say, originally white paper, void of all characters, without ideas or notions of any kind, the first question which we have to consider is, Whence and in what manner it derives the materials of all its knowledge? To this question the only answer which can be given is, That it derives them from observation and experience; from observation, either employed upon external objects of sense, or turned inwardly upon its own operations. Our senses, conversant about particular external objects, convey into the mind several distinct perceptions; such as those of colour, figure, heat, cold, bitterness, sweetness, and all those things which are usually called sensible qualities. The notions, ideas, or whatever else they may be called, which are acquired in this manner, may be called sensible knowledge; and the source of that knowledge is termed sensation.
The other fountain from which experience furnishes the understanding with knowledge, is that attention which we are capable of giving to the operations of our own minds when employed about those ideas which were originally suggested by objects of sense. These operations, when the soul comes to reflect on them, furnish us with a set of notions entirely different from the ideas of sense; such as the notions of perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and all the different energies and passions of our own minds. Of these operations we are always conscious when we are awake; but it requires, as shall be shown afterwards, no inconsiderable effort to set them, as it were, at a distance, to reflect on them and consider what they are; but when we have made this effort, we acquire notions as distinct, and perhaps more important, than those ideas which we receive through the medium of the senses.
Sensation and reflection then furnish mankind with the first materials of all their knowledge. The mind seems not to have ideas or notions of any kind which it did not receive by one or other of these ways. By means of the senses it perceives external objects; and by that power which it has of turning its attention upon itself, it discovers the nature and manner of its own operations.
Although the knowledge which we acquire from reflection be of equal importance, and perhaps of greater certainty than that which we receive through the medium of the senses, it comes into the mind at a much later period; both because it is impossible that the faculties of the mind should operate without materials, and because it is much more difficult to attend to these operations even while they are going on, than to the objects of sense which solicit our attention. It is for this reason pretty late before children have any notions whatever of the operations of their own minds; and of the greater part of these operations the bulk of mankind have no clear or accurate notions during their whole lives. On the other hand, every human being is so surrounded with bodies, which perpetually and variously affect his senses, that a variety of sensible ideas force an entrance even into the minds of children. In order therefore to trace the procedure of the understanding, and to ascertain the extent and limits of human knowledge, it should seem that we must begin with considering the external senses, that we may discover the manner in which we receive knowledge by means of them, the objects of that knowledge, and its certainty. It is to be observed, however, that though we consider the mind as possessed of many powers or faculties, and inquire first into the nature of that faculty which we conceive to be first exerted, this is done merely for the sake of proceeding in our subject with method and perspicuity. The mind is one simple and undivided being; and in every mental energy it is the whole mind, and not any part or portion of it, that is energetic. On this account, it is impossible to explain even the nature of sensation and perception to him who knows not what is meant by will and understanding; but to every one who is acquainted with the common import of these words, and who has read the short system of Logic inserted in this Work, we hope that our theory of perception will be intelligible and convincing.
Chap. I. Of Sensation and Perception.
Sect. I. Of Sensation.
The Supreme Being, who made us and placed us in this world, has given us such powers of mind as by five organs he saw to be suited to our state and rank in his creation. He has given us the power of perceiving many objects around us; but that power is limited in various ways; and particularly in this, that without the organs of the several senses we perceive no external object. The senses, as every one knows, are five in number, and each communicates its proper sensation. It is by the eyes alone that we see, by the ears that we hear, by the nose that we smell, and by the tongue and palate that we taste; the sense of feeling or touch is spread over the whole body, for we feel equally by our hands and by our feet, &c. To the powers of perception by the senses it is necessary not only that we have all the organs enumerated, but that we have them also in a sound and natural state. There are many disorders of the eye which cause total blindness, as well as others which impair without destroying the power of vision. The same thing is true of the organs of all the other senses.
All this is so well known from experience, that it needs no proof; but it may be worth while to observe, that it is known from experience only*. For any thing that we know to the contrary, our Creator might have endowed us with the power of perception by a thousand intellectual organs of sense, all different from those which we possess; and it is certain that he himself perceives every thing more perfectly than we do without bodily organs. For it is to be observed, that the organs of sense are different from the being which is sentient.—It is not the eye which sees, nor the ear which hears; these are sentient, only the organs by which we see and hear. A man cannot see the satellites of Jupiter but by means of a telescope, nor hear a low voice but by means of an ear trumpet. Does he from this conclude that it is the telescope which sees those satellites, or the trumpet which hears that voice? Such a conclusion would be evidently absurd. It is no less absurd to conclude that it is the eye which sees, or the ear which hears. The telescope and the trumpet are artificial organs of sight and of hearing, of which the eye and the ear are natural organs; but the natural organs see and hear as little as the artificial.
That this is the case with respect to the eye and the ear, ear, is so obvious, that, as far as we know, it has never been denied. But with respect to the senses of touch, taste, and smell, the truth at first view appears not so evident. A celebrated writer has observed*, that "after the utmost efforts, we find it beyond our power to conceive the flavour of a rose to exist in the mind: we are necessarily led to conceive that pleasure as existing in the nostrils, along with the impression made by the rose upon that organ (c); and the same will be the result of experiments with respect to every feeling of taste, touch, and smell. Touch (he says), affords the most satisfactory evidence, and philosophy detects the delusion." To detect this delusion requires, indeed, no great depth in philosophy; for it is so far from being true that we are necessarily led otherwise than by association, of which the laws shall be explained afterwards, to conceive the pleasure or pain of touch as existing at that part of our body upon which the impression is made, that, as every man must have observed, children previous to experience cannot distinguish the precise place of their bodies which is affected by the touch of any external object. Nay, we believe it will be found upon trial, that if a full grown man, with all the experience of age to guide him, be pricked with a pin on any part of his body which he has seldom handled, and never seen, he will not readily nor at first put his finger upon the wound, nor even come very near to the wound. This, however, he would certainly and infallibly do were the sense of touch necessarily conceived as existing at the organ. To these observations objections may perhaps be made, which we cannot stay to obviate; but the following, we think, will admit of none. We appeal to every man who has experienced that particular sensation of touch which Scaliger dignified with the name of a fifth sense, whether, whilst those sensations were new to him, he was necessarily led to conceive them as existing at any particular organ. If he was not, it follows undeniably that the organs of sensation are different from the being which is sentient; that it is not the eye which sees, the ear which hears, the nostrils which smell, the tongue which tastes, nor any part of the body which feels; and that it is by experience that we learn to associate our several sensations with those organs upon which the impressions are made.
It is, however, certain that we receive no sensation from external objects, unless when some impression is made upon the organ of sense, either by the immediate application of the object itself, or by some medium which passes between the object and the organ†. In two of our senses, viz. touch and taste, there must be an immediate application of the object to the organ. In the other three the sensation is occasioned by the impression of some medium passing from the object to the organ. The effluvia of bodies drawn into the nostrils with the breath are the medium of smell; the undulations of the air are the medium of hearing; and the rays of light passing from visible objects to the eye are the medium of sight. These are facts known from experience to hold universally both in men and in brutes. It is likewise a law of our nature perfectly known to all who know anything of anatomy, that in order to actual sensation the impressions made upon the external organs must be communicated to the nerves, and from them to the brain. First, the object, either immediately, or by some medium, makes an impression upon the organ; the organ serves only as a medium, by which the impression is communicated to the nerves; and the nerves serve as a medium to carry it on to the brain. Here the corporeal part ends; at least we can trace it no farther. The rest is all intellectual.
The proof of these impressions upon the nerves and brain in sensation is this, that from many observations and experiments it is found, that when the organ of any sense is perfectly found, and has the impression made upon it by the object ever so strongly, yet if the nerve which serves that organ be cut or tied hard, there is no sensation; and it is well known that disorders in the brain deprive us of sensation, while both the organ and its nerve are sound.
There is sufficient reason, therefore, to conclude, that in sensation the object produces some change in nature in the organ; that from the organ the change proceeds to the nerve, and from the nerve to the brain. Hence it is that we have positive sensations, from negative objects, or mere nonentities, such as darkness, blackness, and vacancy. For, sensation resulting from changes in the brain, whatever produces any change must of course occasion a new sensation: but it is obvious, that the mere absence of any impression, by the removal of the object which produced it, must as necessarily cause a change in the organ, nerves, and brain, as the presence of a new impression from a new object. To these changes, or that which immediately produces them, we give the name of impressions; because we know not how, in a general manner, to express more properly any change produced by an external cause without specifying the nature of that cause. Whether it be pressure, or attraction, or repulsion, or vibration, or something unknown, for which we have no name, still it may be called an impression.
Sir Isaac Newton was perhaps the first who supposed that the rays of light falling upon the bottom of the eye excite vibrations in the tunica retina; and that those vibrations being propagated along the solid fibres of the optic nerves into the brain, cause the actual sensation of seeing. This hypothesis was adopted by Dr Hartley, applied to the other senses, and shown to be
(c) Another eminent writer thinks on this subject very differently, and in our opinion much more justly.—"Suppose (says Dr Reid) a person who never had this sense (viz. smell) before, to receive it all at once, and to smell a rose; can he perceive any similarity or agreement between the smell and the rose? or indeed between it and any other object whatever? Certainly he cannot. He finds himself affected in a new way, he knows not why, or from what cause. He is conscious that he is not the cause of it himself; but he cannot from the nature of the thing determine whether it be caused by body or spirit; by something near, or by something at a distance. He cannot give it a place any more than he can give a place to melancholy or joy; nor can he conceive it to have any existence but when it is smelled." Inquiry into the Human Mind, ch. 2. sect. 2. Of Perception be at least as probable as any which has yet been invented to account for the perception of external objects by means of the organs of sense. Be this as it may, experience informs us, that whatever be the nature of those impressions and changes which are made by external objects upon the senses, nerves, and brain, we have without them no actual sensation, and of course perceive nothing ab extra. Hence it has been supposed, that the mind is wholly passive in sensation, and that sensation is necessarily produced by those impressions. But this we believe to be a mistake. Every man who has been attentive to his own thoughts and actions, must know instances of impressions having been certainly made upon his organs of sense without producing any sensation, or forgetting to his mind the perception of the particular objects by which the impressions were caused. His whole mind is intensely employed in any particular pursuit, may have his eyes open upon an object which he does not see; or he may not hear the sound of a clock striking within two yards of him: Nay, we will venture to affirm, that there is hardly one reader of this article to whom such absences of sensation have not often occurred. Now, as there is no reason to suppose, that in the case the undulations of the air, caused by the striking of the clock, did not reach his ears, or that in the other rays of light, reflected from the object, did not fall upon his eyes, which were open to receive them; the only reason which can be assigned for his not having, in these instances, had audible and visible sensations, is, that his mind was so engaged in something else as not to pay to the vibrations in his brain that attention, if we may say, without which impressions ab extra can produce no sensation. There are, indeed, some impressions on the organs of sense so violent and so sudden, as to force themselves upon the mind however employed. Such are those made on the ear by thunder, and on the eye by strong light. In these cases, sensation is involuntary and unavoidable; whence we conclude, not that in such instances the mind is passive or destitute of energy, but that by the violent agitation given to the brain, it is roused from its reverie, and compelled to give attention. It appears, therefore, that in sensation the mind exerts some kind of energy; for in nothing but in the sentient being itself can we seek for the cause why, when all external circumstances are the same, organic impressions sometimes produce sensations and sometimes not; and that cause can only be the energy of the mind; what kind of energy, we pretend not to say.
Sect. II. Of Perception by the Senses.
How the correspondence is carried on between the thinking principle within us and the material world without us, has always, as Dr Reid observes, been found a very difficult problem to those philosophers who consider themselves as obliged to account for every phenomenon in nature. It is, indeed, a problem of which we expect not to see a complete solution. A few steps beyond the vulgar we may certainly go; but the nature of that connexion by which the mind and body are united, will probably remain for ever unknown. One question, however, which has employed much of the attention of philosophers, both ancient and modern, appears to be not wholly unanswerable. It is, Whether by means of our senses we perceive external objects immediately or immediately; or in other words, Whether sensation and perception be one and the same thing, or two things succeeding each other? On this subject, till of late, there appears to have been in the main a great uniformity in the sentiments of philosophers, notwithstanding their variations respecting particular points. Of some of the most eminent of them, we shall give the opinions as we find them collected by one* who is well acquainted with their writings, who is thoroughly qualified to estimate their respective merits, and who cannot be suspected of partiality to that theory which we feel ourselves compelled to adopt.
"Plato illustrates our manner of perceiving external objects thus: He supposes a dark subterranean cave, in which men lie bound in such a manner as that Plato; they can direct their eyes only to one part of the cave. Far behind there is a light, of which some rays come over a wall to that part of the cave which is before the eyes of our prisoners. A number of men variously employed pass between them and the light, whose shadows are seen by the prisoners, but not their persons themselves. In this manner did that philosopher conceive that by our senses we perceive not things themselves, but only the shadows of things; and he seems to have borrowed his notions on this subject from the disciples of Pythagoras.
"If we make due allowance for Plato's allegorical genius, his sentiments with respect to sensation and perception correspond very well with those of the Peripatetics. Aristotle, the founder of that school, seems to have thought, that the soul consists of two or three parts, or rather that we have three souls—the vegetable, the animal, and the rational. The animal soul he held to be a certain form of the body, which is inseparable from it, and perishes at death. To this soul the senses belong; and he defines a sense to be that which is capable of receiving the sensible forms, or species of objects, without any of the matter of them; as wax receives the form of the seal without any of its matter. Of this doctrine it seems to be a necessary consequence, that bodies are constantly sending forth, in all directions, as many different kinds of forms without matter as they have different sensible qualities. This was accordingly maintained by the followers of Aristotle, though not, as far as we know, taught by himself. They disputed concerning the nature of these forms or species, whether they were real beings or nonentities: but of matter and form we shall have occasion to speak afterwards.
"After Aristotle had kept possession of the schools for more than a thousand years, his authority, which Cartes had often supplied the place of argument, was called in question by Lord Bacon and others. Des Cartes, however, was the first philosopher who, convinced of the defects of the prevailing system, attempted to form another entirely new: but on the nature of perception by means of the senses he differs little or nothing from those who had preceded him in that department of science. He denies, indeed, and refutes by solid reasoning, the doctrine which maintains that images, species, or forms of external objects, come from the objects themselves, and enter into the mind by the avenues..." Of Percep- tion.
avenues of the senses. But he takes it for granted, as all the old philosophers had done, that what we immediately perceive must be either in the mind itself, or in the brain, in which the mind is immediately present. The impressions made upon our organs, nerves, and brain, can be nothing, according to his philosophy, but various modifications of extension, figure, and motion. There can be nothing in the brain like found or colour, taste or smell, heat or cold. These are sensations in the mind, which, by the laws of the union of the soul and body, are raised on occasion of certain traces in the brain; and although he sometimes gives the name of ideas to these traces, he does not think it necessary that they should be perfectly like the things which they represent, any more than that words and signs should resemble the things which they signify.
According to this system it would appear, that we perceive not external objects directly by means of our senses; but that these objects, operating either immediately or immediately upon the organs of sense, and they again upon our nerves and brain, excite in the mind certain sensations; whence we infer the existence of external objects from our sensations of which they are the cause. Perception of external objects, therefore, according to Des Cartes, is not one simple original act of the mind, but may be resolved into a process of reasoning from effects to causes.
The doctrines of Malebranche, Locke, and Hartley, respecting perception, differ not essentially from that of Des Cartes. Malebranche, indeed, supposes, that external objects are not themselves the causes of perception; but that the Deity, being always present to our minds more intimately than any other being, does, upon occasion of the impressions made upon our organs of sense, discover to us, as far as he thinks proper, and according to fixed laws, his own ideas of the object: and thus, according to him, we see all things in God, or in the divine ideas. He agrees, however, with Des Cartes and the ancient philosophers, in considering it as a truth which it is impossible to refute, that we perceive not the objects without us, the sun, moon, and stars, &c., because it is not likely that the soul falls out of the body, and takes a walk, as it were, through the heavens to contemplate these objects. She sees them not therefore by themselves; and the immediate object of the mind, when it sees the sun, is not the sun itself, but something which is intimately united to the mind, and is that which he calls an idea.
Locke, speaking of the reality of our knowledge, says: "It is evident the mind knows not things immediately, but only by the intervention of the ideas it has of them. Our knowledge, therefore, according to him, is real only so far as there is a conformity between our ideas and the things which they represent."
The manner of our perceiving external objects he illustrates by the following similitude: "Methinks 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." He has elsewhere defined an idea thus: "Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding, that I call an idea; and the power to produce any idea in our mind, I call finding quality of the subject wherein the power is." He likewise thinks it "easy to draw this observation, that the ideas of what he calls primary qualities of bodies, viz. extension, solidity, figure, mobility, &c., are resemblances of these qualities as they really exist in the bodies themselves."
This unguarded expression, which affirms that ideas in the mind are the resemblances of external things, has brought upon Mr Locke much undeserved ridicule. That on this and other occasions he uses the word idea with too great latitude, and that he often confounds ideas with sensations, and even with the causes of sensation, must be admitted by his warmest admirers: but we believe, that by an attentive reader, who peruses his whole work, and compares such passages as are obscure with those which are clearer, his meaning may always be discovered, and with respect to sensation and perception will generally be found just. That by calling the ideas of primary qualities resemblances of the qualities themselves, he meant nothing more than that bodies in all possible states impress the senses, nerves, and brain, in such a manner as to produce in the mind certain sensations, between which and those impressions there is an inseparable, though unknown, connection, is evident from the account which he gives of the manner of perception. "Our senses (says he), conversant about particular sensible objects, do convey into the mind several distinct perceptions of things, according to those various ways in which these objects affect them: and thus we come by those ideas we have of yellow, white, heat, cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sensible qualities; which when I say the senses convey into the mind, I mean, they from external objects convey into the mind what produces those perceptions." And as bodies can act only by impulse, he adds, that "those perceptions can be produced only by an impression made upon the senses, and some motion thence continued by our nerves to the brain or seat of perception."
Dr Hartley was the pupil of Locke and Newton, and has, in a more satisfactory manner than all who had preceded or have since followed him, explained the material part of the process of perception. His principles we shall have occasion, during the course of the article, to develop pretty fully. For our present purpose it is sufficient to say, that all his observations and arguments evidently suppose, that nothing distant from the mind can be perceived in the immediate act of sensation; but that the apparently immediate perception of external objects is an instance of early and deep-rooted association.
In this sentiment Mr Hume agrees with his predecessor; but he obscures his philosophy, and misleads his reader, by confounding sensations with the impressions from which they proceed. "Every one (says he) will allow, that there is a considerable difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination." Chap. I.