No More Learning

"




CHAPTER VI

That Hartley's system, as far as it differs from that of Aristotle, is
neither tenable in theory, nor founded in facts.


Of Hartley's hypothetical vibrations in his hypothetical oscillating
ether of the nerves, which is the first and most obvious distinction
between his system and that of Aristotle, I shall say little. This, with
all other similar attempts to render that an object of the sight which
has no relation to sight, has been already sufficiently exposed by the
younger Reimarus, Maasz, and others, as outraging the very axioms
of mechanics in a scheme, the merit of which consists in its being
mechanical. Whether any other philosophy be possible, but the
mechanical; and again, whether the mechanical system can have any
claim to be called philosophy; are questions for another place. It is,
however, certain, that as long as we deny the former, and affirm the
latter, we must bewilder ourselves, whenever we would pierce into the
adyta of causation; and all that laborious conjecture can do, is to fill
up the gaps of fancy. Under that despotism of the eye (the emancipation
from which Pythagoras by his numeral, and Plato by his musical, symbols,
and both by geometric discipline, aimed at, as the first propaideuma of
the mind)--under this strong sensuous influence, we are restless
because invisible things are not the objects of vision; and metaphysical
systems, for the most part, become popular, not for their truth, but in
proportion as they attribute to causes a susceptibility of being seen,
if only our visual organs were sufficiently powerful.

From a hundred possible confutations let one suffice. According to
this system the idea or vibration a from the external object A becomes
associable with the idea or vibration m from the external object M,
because the oscillation a propagated itself so as to re-produce the
oscillation m. But the original impression from M was essentially
different from the impression A: unless therefore different causes
may produce the same effect, the vibration a could never produce the
vibration m: and this therefore could never be the means, by which a and
m are associated. To understand this, the attentive reader need only be
reminded, that the ideas are themselves, in Hartley's system, nothing
more than their appropriate configurative vibrations. It is a mere
delusion of the fancy to conceive the pre-existence of the ideas, in any
chain of association, as so many differently coloured billiard-balls in
contact, so that when an object, the billiard-stick, strikes the first
or white ball, the same motion propagates itself through the red, green,
blue and black, and sets the whole in motion. No! we must suppose the
very same force, which constitutes the white ball, to constitute the red
or black; or the idea of a circle to constitute the idea of a triangle;
which is impossible.

But it may be said, that by the sensations from the objects A and M,
the nerves have acquired a disposition to the vibrations a and m, and
therefore a need only be repeated in order to re-produce m. Now we will
grant, for a moment, the possibility of such a disposition in a
material nerve, which yet seems scarcely less absurd than to say, that a
weather-cock had acquired a habit of turning to the east, from the wind
having been so long in that quarter: for if it be replied, that we must
take in the circumstance of life, what then becomes of the mechanical
philosophy? And what is the nerve, but the flint which the wag placed in
the pot as the first ingredient of his stone broth, requiring only
salt, turnips, and mutton, for the remainder! But if we waive this, and
pre-suppose the actual existence of such a disposition; two cases
are possible. Either, every idea has its own nerve and correspondent
oscillation, or this is not the case. If the latter be the truth, we
should gain nothing by these dispositions; for then, every nerve having
several dispositions, when the motion of any other nerve is propagated
into it, there will be no ground or cause present, why exactly the
oscillation m should arise, rather than any other to which it was
equally pre-disposed. But if we take the former, and let every idea have
a nerve of its own, then every nerve must be capable of propagating its
motion into many other nerves; and again, there is no reason assignable,
why the vibration m should arise, rather than any other ad libitum.

It is fashionable to smile at Hartley's vibrations and vibratiuncles;
and his work has been re-edited by Priestley, with the omission of the
material hypothesis. But Hartley was too great a man, too coherent a
thinker, for this to have been done, either consistently or to any wise
purpose. For all other parts of his system, as far as they are peculiar
to that system, once removed from their mechanical basis, not only lose
their main support, but the very motive which led to their adoption.
Thus the principle of contemporaneity, which Aristotle had made the
common condition of all the laws of association, Hartley was constrained
to represent as being itself the sole law. For to what law can the
action of material atoms be subject, but that of proximity in place? And
to what law can their motions be subjected but that of time? Again, from
this results inevitably, that the will, the reason, the judgment,
and the understanding, instead of being the determining causes of
association, must needs be represented as its creatures, and among its
mechanical effects. Conceive, for instance, a broad stream, winding
through a mountainous country with an indefinite number of currents,
varying and running into each other according as the gusts chance to
blow from the opening of the mountains. The temporary union of several
currents in one, so as to form the main current of the moment, would
present an accurate image of Hartley's theory of the will.

Had this been really the case, the consequence would have been, that
our whole life would be divided between the despotism of outward
impressions, and that of senseless and passive memory. Take his law in
its highest abstraction and most philosophical form, namely, that every
partial representation recalls the total representation of which it was
a part; and the law becomes nugatory, were it only for its universality.
In practice it would indeed be mere lawlessness. Consider, how immense
must be the sphere of a total impression from the top of St. Paul's
church; and how rapid and continuous the series of such total
impressions. If, therefore, we suppose the absence of all interference
of the will, reason, and judgment, one or other of two consequences must
result. Either the ideas, or reliques of such impression, will exactly
imitate the order of the impression itself, which would be absolute
delirium: or any one part of that impression might recall any other
part, and--(as from the law of continuity, there must exist in every
total impression, some one or more parts, which are components of some
other following total impression, and so on ad infinitum)--any part
of any impression might recall any part of any other, without a cause
present to determine what it should be. For to bring in the will, or
reason, as causes of their own cause, that is, as at once causes and
effects, can satisfy those only who, in their pretended evidences of a
God, having first demanded organization, as the sole cause and ground
of intellect, will then coolly demand the pre-existence of intellect,
as the cause and ground-work of organization. There is in truth but
one state to which this theory applies at all, namely, that of complete
light-headedness; and even to this it applies but partially, because the
will and reason are perhaps never wholly suspended.

A case of this kind occurred in a Roman Catholic town in Germany a year
or two before my arrival at Goettingen, and had not then ceased to be
a frequent subject of conversation. A young woman of four or five and
twenty, who could neither read, nor write, was seized with a nervous
fever; during which, according to the asseverations of all the priests
and monks of the neighbourhood, she became possessed, and, as it
appeared, by a very learned devil. She continued incessantly talking
Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, in very pompous tones and with most distinct
enunciation. This possession was rendered more probable by the known
fact that she was or had been a heretic. Voltaire humorously advises the
devil to decline all acquaintance with medical men; and it would have
been more to his reputation, if he had taken this advice in the present
instance. The case had attracted the particular attention of a
young physician, and by his statement many eminent physiologists and
psychologists visited the town, and cross-examined the case on the spot.
Sheets full of her ravings were taken down from her own mouth, and
were found to consist of sentences, coherent and intelligible each for
itself, but with little or no connection with each other. Of the Hebrew,
a small portion only could be traced to the Bible; the remainder seemed
to be in the Rabbinical dialect. All trick or conspiracy was out of
the question. Not only had the young woman ever been a harmless, simple
creature; but she was evidently labouring under a nervous fever. In
the town, in which she had been resident for many years as a servant in
different families, no solution presented itself. The young physician,
however, determined to trace her past life step by step; for the patient
herself was incapable of returning a rational answer. He at length
succeeded in discovering the place, where her parents had lived:
travelled thither, found them dead, but an uncle surviving; and from him
learned, that the patient had been charitably taken by an old Protestant
pastor at nine years old, and had remained with him some years, even
till the old man's death. Of this pastor the uncle knew nothing, but
that he was a very good man. With great difficulty, and after much
search, our young medical philosopher discovered a niece of the
pastor's, who had lived with him as his house-keeper, and had inherited
his effects. She remembered the girl; related, that her venerable uncle
had been too indulgent, and could not bear to hear the girl scolded;
that she was willing to have kept her, but that, after her patron's
death, the girl herself refused to stay. Anxious inquiries were then,
of course, made concerning the pastor's habits; and the solution of the
phenomenon was soon obtained. For it appeared, that it had been the old
man's custom, for years, to walk up and down a passage of his house into
which the kitchen door opened, and to read to himself with a loud voice,
out of his favourite books. A considerable number of these were still in
the niece's possession. She added, that he was a very learned man and
a great Hebraist. Among the books were found a collection of Rabbinical
writings, together with several of the Greek and Latin Fathers; and the
physician succeeded in identifying so many passages with those taken
down at the young woman's bedside, that no doubt could remain in any
rational mind concerning the true origin of the impressions made on her
nervous system.

This authenticated case furnishes both proof and instance, that reliques
of sensation may exist for an indefinite time in a latent state, in
the very same order in which they were originally impressed; and as we
cannot rationally suppose the feverish state of the brain to act in any
other way than as a stimulus, this fact (and it would not be difficult
to adduce several of the same kind) contributes to make it even
probable, that all thoughts are in themselves imperishable; and, that if
the intelligent faculty should be rendered more comprehensive, it
would require only a different and apportioned organization,--the body
celestial instead of the body terrestrial,--to bring before every human
soul the collective experience of its whole past existence. And this,
this, perchance, is the dread book of judgment, in the mysterious
hieroglyphics of which every idle word is recorded! Yea, in the very
nature of a living spirit, it may be more possible that heaven and earth
should pass away, than that a single act, a single thought, should be
loosened or lost from that living chain of causes, with all the links of
which, conscious or unconscious, the free-will, our only absolute Self,
is coextensive and co-present. But not now dare I longer discourse of
this, waiting for a loftier mood, and a nobler subject, warned from
within and from without, that it is profanation to speak of these
"mysteries tois maede phantasteisin, os kalon to taes dikaiosynaes kai
sophrosynaes prosopon, kai oute hesperos oute eoos outo kala. To gar
horon pros to horomenon syngenes kai homoion poiaesamenon dei epiballein
tae thea, ou gar an popote eiden ophthalmos haelion, haelioeidaes mae
gegenaemenos oude to kalon an idae psychae, mae kagae genomenae--to
those to whose imagination it has never been presented, how beautiful is
the countenance of justice and wisdom; and that neither the morning nor
the evening star are so fair. For in order to direct the view aright,
it behoves that the beholder should have made himself congenerous and
similar to the object beheld. Never could the eye have beheld the sun,
had not its own essence been soliform," (i. e. pre-configured to light
by a similarity of essence with that of light) "neither can a soul not
beautiful attain to an intuition of beauty. "




CHAPTER VII

Of the necessary consequences of the Hartleian Theory--Of the original
mistake or equivocation which procured its admission--Memoria technica.


We will pass by the utter incompatibility of such a law--if law it may
be called, which would itself be a slave of chances--with even that
appearance of rationality forced upon us by the outward phaenomena of
human conduct, abstracted from our own consciousness. We will agree
to forget this for the moment, in order to fix our attention on that
subordination of final to efficient causes in the human being, which
flows of necessity from the assumption, that the will and, with the
will, all acts of thought and attention are parts and products of this
blind mechanism, instead of being distinct powers, the function of
which it is to control, determine, and modify the phantasmal chaos
of association. The soul becomes a mere ens logicum; for, as a real
separable being, it would be more worthless and ludicrous than the
Grimalkins in the cat-harpsichord, described in the Spectator. For these
did form a part of the process; but, to Hartley's scheme, the soul is
present only to be pinched or stroked, while the very squeals or purring
are produced by an agency wholly independent and alien. It involves all
the difficulties, all the incomprehensibility (if it be not indeed, os
emoige dokei, the absurdity), of intercommunion between substances
that have no one property in common, without any of the convenient
consequences that bribed the judgment to the admission of the Dualistic
hypothesis. Accordingly, this caput mortuum of the Hartleian process has
been rejected by his followers, and the consciousness considered as a
result, as a tune, the common product of the breeze and the harp
though this again is the mere remotion of one absurdity to make way
for another, equally preposterous. For what is harmony but a mode of
relation, the very esse of which is percipi? --an ens rationale, which
pre-supposes the power, that by perceiving creates it? The razor's edge
becomes a saw to the armed vision; and the delicious melodies of Purcell
or Cimarosa might be disjointed stammerings to a hearer, whose partition
of time should be a thousand times subtler than ours. But this obstacle
too let us imagine ourselves to have surmounted, and "at one bound high
overleap all bound. " Yet according to this hypothesis the disquisition,
to which I am at present soliciting the reader's attention, may be as
truly said to be written by Saint Paul's church, as by me: for it is the
mere motion of my muscles and nerves; and these again are set in motion
from external causes equally passive, which external causes stand
themselves in interdependent connection with every thing that exists or
has existed. Thus the whole universe co-operates to produce the minutest
stroke of every letter, save only that I myself, and I alone, have
nothing to do with it, but merely the causeless and effectless beholding
of it when it is done. Yet scarcely can it be called a beholding; for
it is neither an act nor an effect; but an impossible creation of a
something nothing out of its very contrary! It is the mere quick-silver
plating behind a looking-glass; and in this alone consists the poor
worthless I! The sum total of my moral and intellectual intercourse,
dissolved into its elements, is reduced to extension, motion, degrees
of velocity, and those diminished copies of configurative motion, which
form what we call notions, and notions of notions. Of such philosophy
well might Butler say--

The metaphysic's but a puppet motion
That goes with screws, the notion of a notion;
The copy of a copy and lame draught
Unnaturally taken from a thought
That counterfeits all pantomimic tricks,
And turns the eyes, like an old crucifix;
That counterchanges whatsoe'er it calls
By another name, and makes it true or false;
Turns truth to falsehood, falsehood into truth,
By virtue of the Babylonian's tooth.

The inventor of the watch, if this doctrine be true, did not in reality
invent it; he only looked on, while the blind causes, the only true
artists, were unfolding themselves. So must it have been too with my
friend Allston, when he sketched his picture of the dead man revived by
the bones of the prophet Elijah. So must it have been with Mr. Southey
and Lord Byron, when the one fancied himself composing his Roderick, and
the other his Childe Harold. The same must hold good of all systems of
philosophy; of all arts, governments, wars by sea and by land; in short,
of all things that ever have been or that ever will be produced. For,
according to this system, it is not the affections and passions that are
at work, in as far as they are sensations or thoughts. We only fancy,
that we act from rational resolves, or prudent motives, or from impulses
of anger, love, or generosity. In all these cases the real agent is a
something-nothing-everything, which does all of which we know, and knows
nothing of all that itself does.

The existence of an infinite spirit, of an intelligent and holy will,
must, on this system, be mere articulated motions of the air. For as the
function of the human understanding is no other than merely to appear to
itself to combine and to apply the phaenomena of the association; and
as these derive all their reality from the primary sensations; and the
sensations again all their reality from the impressions ab extra; a
God not visible, audible, or tangible, can exist only in the sounds and
letters that form his name and attributes. If in ourselves there be no
such faculties as those of the will, and the scientific reason, we must
either have an innate idea of them, which would overthrow the whole
system; or we can have no idea at all. The process, by which Hume
degraded the notion of cause and effect into a blind product of delusion
and habit, into the mere sensation of proceeding life (nisus vitalis)
associated with the images of the memory; this same process must be
repeated to the equal degradation of every fundamental idea in ethics or
theology.

Far, very far am I from burthening with the odium of these consequences
the moral characters of those who first formed, or have since adopted
the system! It is most noticeable of the excellent and pious Hartley,
that, in the proofs of the existence and attributes of God, with which
his second volume commences, he makes no reference to the principle or
results of the first. Nay, he assumes, as his foundations, ideas which,
if we embrace the doctrines of his first volume, can exist no where but
in the vibrations of the ethereal medium common to the nerves and to the
atmosphere. Indeed the whole of the second volume is, with the fewest
possible exceptions, independent of his peculiar system. So true is it,
that the faith, which saves and sanctifies, is a collective energy, a
total act of the whole moral being; that its living sensorium is in the
heart; and that no errors of the understanding can be morally arraigned
unless they have proceeded from the heart. But whether they be such, no
man can be certain in the case of another, scarcely perhaps even in his
own. Hence it follows by inevitable consequence, that man may perchance
determine what is a heresy; but God only can know who is a heretic. It
does not, however, by any means follow that opinions fundamentally
false are harmless. A hundred causes may co-exist to form one complex
antidote. Yet the sting of the adder remains venomous, though there
are many who have taken up the evil thing, and it hurted them not. Some
indeed there seem to have been, in an unfortunate neighbour nation at
least, who have embraced this system with a full view of all its moral
and religious consequences; some--

------who deem themselves most free,
When they within this gross and visible sphere
Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent,
Proud in their meanness; and themselves they cheat
With noisy emptiness of learned phrase,
Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,
Self-working tools, uncaus'd effects, and all
Those blind omniscients, those almighty slaves,
Untenanting creation of its God!

Such men need discipline, not argument; they must be made better men,
before they can become wiser.

The attention will be more profitably employed in attempting to discover
and expose the paralogisms, by the magic of which such a faith could
find admission into minds framed for a nobler creed. These, it appears
to me, may be all reduced to one sophism as their common genus; the
mistaking the conditions of a thing for its causes and essence; and
the process, by which we arrive at the knowledge of a faculty, for the
faculty itself. The air I breathe is the condition of my life, not its
cause. We could never have learned that we had eyes but by the process
of seeing; yet having seen we know that the eyes must have pre-existed
in order to render the process of sight possible. Let us cross-examine
Hartley's scheme under the guidance of this distinction; and we shall
discover, that contemporaneity, (Leibnitz's Lex Continui,) is the limit
and condition of the laws of mind, itself being rather a law of matter,
at least of phaenomena considered as material. At the utmost, it is to
thought the same, as the law of gravitation is to loco-motion. In every
voluntary movement we first counteract gravitation, in order to avail
ourselves of it. It must exist, that there may be a something to be
counteracted, and which, by its re-action, may aid the force that is
exerted to resist it. Let us consider what we do when we leap. We first
resist the gravitating power by an act purely voluntary, and then by
another act, voluntary in part, we yield to it in order to alight on the
spot, which we had previously proposed to ourselves. Now let a man watch
his mind while he is composing; or, to take a still more common case,
while he is trying to recollect a name; and he will find the process
completely analogous. Most of my readers will have observed a small
water-insect on the surface of rivulets, which throws a cinque-spotted
shadow fringed with prismatic colours on the sunny bottom of the brook;
and will have noticed, how the little animal wins its way up against the
stream, by alternate pulses of active and passive motion, now resisting
the current, and now yielding to it in order to gather strength and a
momentary fulcrum for a further propulsion. This is no unapt emblem of
the mind's self-experience in the act of thinking. There are evidently
two powers at work, which relatively to each other are active and
passive; and this is not possible without an intermediate faculty, which
is at once both active and passive. In philosophical language, we
must denominate this intermediate faculty in all its degrees and
determinations, the IMAGINATION. But, in common language, and especially
on the subject of poetry, we appropriate the name to a superior degree
of the faculty, joined to a superior voluntary control over it.

Contemporaneity, then, being the common condition of all the laws of
association, and a component element in the materia subjecta, the
parts of which are to be associated, must needs be co-present with all.
Nothing, therefore, can be more easy than to pass off on an incautious
mind this constant companion of each, for the essential substance of
all. But if we appeal to our own consciousness, we shall find that
even time itself, as the cause of a particular act of association, is
distinct from contemporaneity, as the condition of all association.
Seeing a mackerel, it may happen, that I immediately think of
gooseberries, because I at the same time ate mackerel with gooseberries
as the sauce. The first syllable of the latter word, being that which
had coexisted with the image of the bird so called, I may then think
of a goose. In the next moment the image of a swan may arise before
me, though I had never seen the two birds together. In the first two
instances, I am conscious that their co-existence in time was the
circumstance, that enabled me to recollect them; and equally conscious
am I that the latter was recalled to me by the joint operation of
likeness and contrast. So it is with cause and effect: so too with
order. So I am able to distinguish whether it was proximity in time, or
continuity in space, that occasioned me to recall B on the mention of A.
They cannot be indeed separated from contemporaneity; for that would
be to separate them from the mind itself. The act of consciousness is
indeed identical with time considered in its essence. I mean time per
se, as contra-distinguished from our notion of time; for this is always
blended with the idea of space, which, as the opposite of time, is
therefore its measure. Nevertheless the accident of seeing two objects
at the same moment, and the accident of seeing them in the same place
are two distinct or distinguishable causes: and the true practical
general law of association is this; that whatever makes certain parts of
a total impression more vivid or distinct than the rest, will determine
the mind to recall these in preference to others equally linked together
by the common condition of contemporaneity, or (what I deem a more
appropriate and philosophical term) of continuity. But the will itself
by confining and intensifying [25] the attention may arbitrarily give
vividness or distinctness to any object whatsoever; and from hence we
may deduce the uselessness, if not the absurdity, of certain recent
schemes which promise an artificial memory, but which in reality can
only produce a confusion and debasement of the fancy. Sound logic, as
the habitual subordination of the individual to the species, and of
the species to the genus; philosophical knowledge of facts under the
relation of cause and effect; a cheerful and communicative temper
disposing us to notice the similarities and contrasts of things, that
we may be able to illustrate the one by the other; a quiet conscience;
a condition free from anxieties; sound health, and above all (as far as
relates to passive remembrance) a healthy digestion; these are the best,
these are the only Arts of Memory.




CHAPTER VIII

The system of Dualism introduced by Des Cartes--Refined first by
Spinoza and afterwards by Leibnitz into the doctrine of Harmonia
praestabilita--Hylozoism--Materialism--None of these systems, or any
possible theory of association, supplies or supersedes a theory of
perception, or explains the formation of the associable.


To the best of my knowledge Des Cartes was the first philosopher who
introduced the absolute and essential heterogenity of the soul as
intelligence, and the body as matter. The assumption, and the form of
speaking have remained, though the denial of all other properties
to matter but that of extension, on which denial the whole system of
Dualism is grounded, has been long exploded. For since impenetrability
is intelligible only as a mode of resistance; its admission places the
essence of matter in an act or power, which it possesses in common
with spirit; and body and spirit are therefore no longer absolutely
heterogeneous, but may without any absurdity be supposed to be different
modes, or degrees in perfection, of a common substratum. To this
possibility, however, it was not the fashion to advert. The soul was a
thinking substance, and body a space-filling substance. Yet the apparent
action of each on the other pressed heavy on the philosopher on the one
hand; and no less heavily on the other hand pressed the evident truth,
that the law of causality holds only between homogeneous things, that
is, things having some common property; and cannot extend from one world
into another, its contrary. A close analysis evinced it to be no less
absurd than the question whether a man's affection for his wife lay
North-east, or South-west of the love he bore towards his child.
Leibnitz's doctrine of a pre-established harmony; which he certainly
borrowed from Spinoza, who had himself taken the hint from Des Cartes's
animal machines, was in its common interpretation too strange to survive
the inventor--too repugnant to our common sense; which is not indeed
entitled to a judicial voice in the courts of scientific philosophy;
but whose whispers still exert a strong secret influence. Even Wolf,
the admirer and illustrious systematizer of the Leibnitzian doctrine,
contents himself with defending the possibility of the idea, but does
not adopt it as a part of the edifice.

The hypothesis of Hylozoism, on the other side, is the death of all
rational physiology, and indeed of all physical science; for that
requires a limitation of terms, and cannot consist with the arbitrary
power of multiplying attributes by occult qualities. Besides, it answers
no purpose; unless, indeed, a difficulty can be solved by multiplying
it, or we can acquire a clearer notion of our soul by being told that we
have a million of souls, and that every atom of our bodies has a soul
of its own. Far more prudent is it to admit the difficulty once for all,
and then let it lie at rest. There is a sediment indeed at the bottom
of the vessel, but all the water above it is clear and transparent. The
Hylozoist only shakes it up, and renders the whole turbid.

But it is not either the nature of man, or the duty of the philosopher
to despair concerning any important problem until, as in the squaring of
the circle, the impossibility of a solution has been demonstrated. How
the esse assumed as originally distinct from the scire, can ever unite
itself with it; how being can transform itself into a knowing, becomes
conceivable on one only condition; namely, if it can be shown that the
vis representativa, or the Sentient, is itself a species of being;
that is, either as a property or attribute, or as an hypostasis or self
subsistence. The former--that thinking is a property of matter under
particular conditions,--is, indeed, the assumption of materialism; a
system which could not but be patronized by the philosopher, if only it
actually performed what it promises. But how any affection from without
can metamorphose itself into perception or will, the materialist has
hitherto left, not only as incomprehensible as he found it, but has
aggravated it into a comprehensible absurdity. For, grant that an object
from without could act upon the conscious self, as on a consubstantial
object; yet such an affection could only engender something homogeneous
with itself. Motion could only propagate motion. Matter has no Inward.
We remove one surface, but to meet with another. We can but divide
a particle into particles; and each atom comprehends in itself the
properties of the material universe. Let any reflecting mind make
the experiment of explaining to itself the evidence of our sensuous
intuitions, from the hypothesis that in any given perception there is
a something which has been communicated to it by an impact, or
an impression ab extra. In the first place, by the impact on the
percipient, or ens representans, not the object itself, but only its
action or effect, will pass into the same. Not the iron tongue, but
its vibrations, pass into the metal of the bell. Now in our immediate
perception, it is not the mere power or act of the object, but the
object itself, which is immediately present. We might indeed attempt to
explain this result by a chain of deductions and conclusions; but that,
first, the very faculty of deducing and concluding would equally
demand an explanation; and secondly, that there exists in fact no such
intermediation by logical notions, such as those of cause and effect. It
is the object itself, not the product of a syllogism, which is present
to our consciousness. Or would we explain this supervention of the
object to the sensation, by a productive faculty set in motion by
an impulse; still the transition, into the percipient, of the object
itself, from which the impulse proceeded, assumes a power that can
permeate and wholly possess the soul,

And like a God by spiritual art,
Be all in all, and all in every part.

And how came the percipient here? And what is become of the wonder-
promising Matter, that was to perform all these marvels by force of
mere figure, weight and motion? The most consistent proceeding of the
dogmatic materialist is to fall back into the common rank of soul-and-
bodyists; to affect the mysterious, and declare the whole process a
revelation given, and not to be understood, which it would be profane
to examine too closely. Datur non intelligitur. But a revelation
unconfirmed by miracles, and a faith not commanded by the conscience,
a philosopher may venture to pass by, without suspecting himself of any
irreligious tendency.

Thus, as materialism has been generally taught, it is utterly
unintelligible, and owes all its proselytes to the propensity so common
among men, to mistake distinct images for clear conceptions; and vice
versa, to reject as inconceivable whatever from its own nature is
unimaginable. But as soon as it becomes intelligible, it ceases to be
materialism. In order to explain thinking, as a material phaenomenon, it
is necessary to refine matter into a mere modification of intelligence,
with the two-fold function of appearing and perceiving. Even so did
Priestley in his controversy with Price. He stripped matter of all its
material properties; substituted spiritual powers; and when we expected
to find a body, behold! we had nothing but its ghost--the apparition of
a defunct substance!

I shall not dilate further on this subject; because it will, (if God
grant health and permission), be treated of at large and systematically
in a work, which I have many years been preparing, on the Productive
Logos human and divine; with, and as the introduction to, a full
commentary on the Gospel of St. John. To make myself intelligible as
far as my present subject requires, it will be sufficient briefly to
observe. --1. That all association demands and presupposes the existence
of the thoughts and images to be associated. --2. That the hypothesis of
an external world exactly correspondent to those images or modifications
of our own being, which alone, according to this system, we actually
behold, is as thorough idealism as Berkeley's, inasmuch as it equally,
perhaps in a more perfect degree, removes all reality and immediateness
of perception, and places us in a dream-world of phantoms and spectres,
the inexplicable swarm and equivocal generation of motions in our own
brains. --3. That this hypothesis neither involves the explanation, nor
precludes the necessity, of a mechanism and co-adequate forces in the
percipient, which at the more than magic touch of the impulse from
without is to create anew for itself the correspondent object. The
formation of a copy is not solved by the mere pre-existence of an
original; the copyist of Raffael's Transfiguration must repeat more or
less perfectly the process of Raffael. It would be easy to explain a
thought from the image on the retina, and that from the geometry of
light, if this very light did not present the very same difficulty.
We might as rationally chant the Brahim creed of the tortoise that
supported the bear, that supported the elephant, that supported the
world, to the tune of "This is the house that Jack built. " The sic
Deo placitum est we all admit as the sufficient cause, and the divine
goodness as the sufficient reason; but an answer to the Whence and Why
is no answer to the How, which alone is the physiologist's concern.
It is a sophisma pigrum, and (as Bacon hath said) the arrogance of
pusillanimity, which lifts up the idol of a mortal's fancy and commands
us to fall down and worship it, as a work of divine wisdom, an ancile or
palladium fallen from heaven. By the very same argument the supporters
of the Ptolemaic system might have rebuffed the Newtonian, and pointing
to the sky with self-complacent grin [26] have appealed to common sense,
whether the sun did not move and the earth stand still.




CHAPTER IX

Is Philosophy possible as a science, and what are its
conditions? --Giordano Bruno--Literary Aristocracy, or the existence of
a tacit compact among the learned as a privileged order--The Author's
obligations to the Mystics--to Immanuel Kant--The difference between the
letter and the spirit of Kant's writings, and a vindication of prudence
in the teaching of Philosophy--Fichte's attempt to complete the Critical
system--Its partial success and ultimate failure--Obligations to
Schelling; and among English writers to Saumarez.


After I had successively studied in the schools of Locke, Berkeley,
Leibnitz, and Hartley, and could find in none of them an abiding place
for my reason, I began to ask myself; is a system of philosophy; as
different from mere history and historic classification, possible?
If
possible, what are its necessary conditions? I was for a while disposed
to answer the first question in the negative, and to admit that the sole
practicable employment for the human mind was to observe, to collect,
and to classify. But I soon felt, that human nature itself fought up
against this wilful resignation of intellect; and as soon did I find,
that the scheme, taken with all its consequences and cleared of all
inconsistencies, was not less impracticable than contranatural. Assume
in its full extent the position, nihil in intellectu quod non prius
in sensu, assume it without Leibnitz's qualifying praeter ipsum
intellectum, and in the same sense, in which the position was understood
by Hartley and Condillac: and then what Hume had demonstratively deduced
from this concession concerning cause and effect, will apply with equal
and crushing force to all the other eleven categorical forms [27], and
the logical functions corresponding to them. How can we make bricks
without straw;--or build without cement? We learn all things indeed by
occasion of experience; but the very facts so learned force us inward on
the antecedents, that must be presupposed in order to render experience
itself possible. The first book of Locke's Essay, (if the supposed
error, which it labours to subvert, be not a mere thing of straw, an
absurdity which, no man ever did, or indeed ever could, believe,) is
formed on a sophisma heterozaetaeseos, and involves the old mistake of
Cum hoc: ergo, propter hoc.

The term, Philosophy, defines itself as an affectionate seeking after
the truth; but Truth is the correlative of Being. This again is no way
conceivable, but by assuming as a postulate, that both are ab initio,
identical and coinherent; that intelligence and being are reciprocally
each other's substrate. I presumed that this was a possible conception,
(i. e. that it involved no logical inconsonance,) from the length of time
during which the scholastic definition of the Supreme Being, as actus
purissimus sine ulla potentialitate, was received in the schools of
Theology, both by the Pontifician and the Reformed divines. The early
study of Plato and Plotinus, with the commentaries and the THEOLOGIA
PLATONICA of the illustrious Florentine; of Proclus, and Gemistius
Pletho; and at a later period of the De Immenso et Innumerabili and the
"De la causa, principio et uno," of the philosopher of Nola, who could
boast of a Sir Philip Sidney and Fulke Greville among his patrons, and
whom the idolaters of Rome burnt as an atheist in the year 1600; had all
contributed to prepare my mind for the reception and welcoming of the
Cogito quia Sum, et Sum quia Cogito; a philosophy of seeming hardihood,
but certainly the most ancient, and therefore presumptively the most
natural.

Why need I be afraid? Say rather how dare I be ashamed of the Teutonic
theosophist, Jacob Behmen? Many, indeed, and gross were his delusions;
and such as furnish frequent and ample occasion for the triumph of
the learned over the poor ignorant shoemaker, who had dared think for
himself. But while we remember that these delusions were such, as might
be anticipated from his utter want of all intellectual discipline, and
from his ignorance of rational psychology, let it not be forgotten that
the latter defect he had in common with the most learned theologians
of his age. Neither with books, nor with book-learned men was he
conversant. A meek and shy quietest, his intellectual powers were never
stimulated into feverous energy by crowds of proselytes, or by the
ambition of proselyting. Jacob Behmen was an enthusiast, in
the strictest sense, as not merely distinguished, but as
contra-distinguished, from a fanatic. While I in part translate the
following observations from a contemporary writer of the Continent, let
me be permitted to premise, that I might have transcribed the substance
from memoranda of my own, which were written many years before his
pamphlet was given to the world; and that I prefer another's words to my
own, partly as a tribute due to priority of publication; but still
more from the pleasure of sympathy in a case where coincidence only was
possible.

Whoever is acquainted with the history of philosophy, during the last
two or three centuries, cannot but admit that there appears to have
existed a sort of secret and tacit compact among the learned, not to
pass beyond a certain limit in speculative science. The privilege of
free thought, so highly extolled, has at no time been held valid in
actual practice, except within this limit; and not a single stride
beyond it has ever been ventured without bringing obloquy on the
transgressor. The few men of genius among the learned class, who
actually did overstep this boundary, anxiously avoided the appearance of
having so done. Therefore the true depth of science, and the penetration
to the inmost centre, from which all the lines of knowledge diverge to
their ever distant circumference, was abandoned to the illiterate and
the simple, whom unstilled yearning, and an original ebulliency of
spirit, had urged to the investigation of the indwelling and living
ground of all things. These, then, because their names had never been
enrolled in the guilds of the learned, were persecuted by the registered
livery-men as interlopers on their rights and privileges. All without
distinction were branded as fanatics and phantasts; not only those,
whose wild and exorbitant imaginations had actually engendered only
extravagant and grotesque phantasms, and whose productions were, for the
most part, poor copies and gross caricatures of genuine inspiration; but
the truly inspired likewise, the originals themselves. And this for no
other reason, but because they were the unlearned, men of humble
and obscure occupations. When, and from whom among the literati by
profession, have we ever heard the divine doxology repeated, I thank
thee, O Father! Lord of Heaven and Earth! because thou hast hid these
things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes
[28]. No; the haughty priests of learning not only banished from the
schools and marts of science all who had dared draw living waters from
the fountain, but drove them out of the very Temple, which mean time the
buyers, and sellers, and money-changers were suffered to make a den of
thieves.

And yet it would not be easy to discover any substantial ground for
this contemptuous pride in those literati, who have most distinguished
themselves by their scorn of Behmen, Thaulerus, George Fox, and others;
unless it be, that they could write orthographically, make smooth
periods, and had the fashions of authorship almost literally at their
fingers' ends, while the latter, in simplicity of soul, made their words
immediate echoes of their feelings. Hence the frequency of those
phrases among them, which have been mistaken for pretences to immediate
inspiration; as for instance, "It was delivered unto me; "--"I strove
not to speak;"-"I said, I will be silent;"--"But the word was in my
heart as a burning fire;"--"and I could not forbear. " Hence too the
unwillingness to give offence; hence the foresight, and the dread of the
clamours, which would be raised against them, so frequently avowed in
the writings of these men, and expressed, as was natural, in the words
of the only book, with which they were familiar [29]. "Woe is me that I
am become a man of strife, and a man of contention,--I love peace: the
souls of men are dear unto me: yet because I seek for light every one
of them doth curse me! " O! it requires deeper feeling, and a stronger
imagination, than belong to most of those, to whom reasoning and fluent
expression have been as a trade learnt in boyhood, to conceive with what
might, with what inward strivings and commotion, the perception of a
new and vital truth takes possession of an uneducated man of genius.
His meditations are almost inevitably employed on the eternal, or the
everlasting; for "the world is not his friend, nor the world's law. "
Need we then be surprised, that, under an excitement at once so strong
and so unusual, the man's body should sympathize with the struggles of
his mind; or that he should at times be so far deluded, as to mistake
the tumultuous sensations of his nerves, and the co-existing spectres of
his fancy, as parts or symbols of the truths which were opening on
him? It has indeed been plausibly observed, that in order to derive any
advantage, or to collect any intelligible meaning, from the writings
of these ignorant Mystics, the reader must bring with him a spirit and
judgment superior to that of the writers themselves:

And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere seek?

--a sophism, which I fully agree with Warburton, is unworthy of Milton;
how much more so of the awful Person, in whose mouth he has placed it?
One assertion I will venture to make, as suggested by my own experience,
that there exist folios on the human understanding, and the nature
of man, which would have a far juster claim to their high rank and
celebrity, if in the whole huge volume there could be found as much
fulness of heart and intellect, as burst forth in many a simple page of
George Fox, Jacob Behmen, and even of Behmen's commentator, the pious
and fervid William Law.

The feeling of gratitude, which I cherish toward these men, has caused
me to digress further than I had foreseen or proposed; but to have
passed them over in an historical sketch of my literary life and
opinions, would have seemed to me like the denial of a debt, the
concealment of a boon. For the writings of these Mystics acted in
no slight degree to prevent my mind from being imprisoned within the
outline of any single dogmatic system. They contributed to keep alive
the heart in the head; gave me an indistinct, yet stirring and working
presentiment, that all the products of the mere reflective faculty
partook of death, and were as the rattling twigs and sprays in winter,
into which a sap was yet to be propelled from some root to which I had
not penetrated, if they were to afford my soul either food or shelter.
If they were too often a moving cloud of smoke to me by day, yet they
were always a pillar of fire throughout the night, during my wanderings
through the wilderness of doubt, and enabled me to skirt, without
crossing, the sandy deserts of utter unbelief. That the system is
capable of being converted into an irreligious Pantheism, I well know.
The Ethics of Spinoza, may, or may not, be an instance. But at no time
could I believe, that in itself and essentially it is incompatible with
religion, natural or revealed: and now I am most thoroughly persuaded of
the contrary. The writings of the illustrious sage of Koenigsberg, the
founder of the Critical Philosophy, more than any other work, at once
invigorated and disciplined my understanding. The originality, the
depth, and the compression of the thoughts; the novelty and subtlety,
yet solidity and importance of the distinctions; the adamantine chain
of the logic; and I will venture to add--(paradox as it will appear to
those who have taken their notion of Immanuel Kant from Reviewers and
Frenchmen)--the clearness and evidence, of the Critique of the Pure
Reason; and Critique of the Judgment; of the Metaphysical Elements
of Natural Philosophy; and of his Religion within the bounds of Pure
Reason, took possession of me as with the giant's hand. After fifteen
years' familiarity with them, I still read these and all his other
productions with undiminished delight and increasing admiration. The few
passages that remained obscure to me, after due efforts of thought, (as
the chapter on original apperception,) and the apparent contradictions
which occur, I soon found were hints and insinuations referring to
ideas, which KANT either did not think it prudent to avow, or which he
considered as consistently left behind in a pure analysis, not of human
nature in toto, but of the speculative intellect alone. Here therefore
he was constrained to commence at the point of reflection, or natural
consciousness: while in his moral system he was permitted to assume a
higher ground (the autonomy of the will) as a postulate deducible from
the unconditional command, or (in the technical language of his school)
the categorical imperative, of the conscience. He had been in imminent
danger of persecution during the reign of the late king of Prussia, that
strange compound of lawless debauchery and priest-ridden superstition:
and it is probable that he had little inclination, in his old age,
to act over again the fortunes, and hair-breadth escapes of Wolf. The
expulsion of the first among Kant's disciples, who attempted to complete
his system, from the University of Jena, with the confiscation and
prohibition of the obnoxious work by the joint efforts of the courts of
Saxony and Hanover, supplied experimental proof, that the venerable
old man's caution was not groundless. In spite therefore of his own
declarations, I could never believe, that it was possible for him to
have meant no more by his Noumenon, or Thing in itself, than his mere
words express; or that in his own conception he confined the whole
plastic power to the forms of the intellect, leaving for the external
cause, for the materiale of our sensations, a matter without form, which
is doubtless inconceivable. I entertained doubts likewise, whether, in
his own mind, he even laid all the stress, which he appears to do, on
the moral postulates.

An idea, in the highest sense of that word, cannot be conveyed but by
a symbol; and, except in geometry, all symbols of necessity involve an
apparent contradiction. Phonaese synetoisin: and for those who could
not pierce through this symbolic husk, his writings were not intended.
Questions which cannot be fully answered without exposing the respondent
to personal danger, are not entitled to a fair answer; and yet to say
this openly, would in many cases furnish the very advantage which the
adversary is insidiously seeking after. Veracity does not consist
in saying, but in the intention of communicating, truth; and the
philosopher who cannot utter the whole truth without conveying
falsehood, and at the same time, perhaps, exciting the most malignant
passions, is constrained to express himself either mythically or
equivocally. When Kant therefore was importuned to settle the disputes
of his commentators himself, by declaring what he meant, how could
he decline the honours of martyrdom with less offence, than by simply
replying, "I meant what I said, and at the age of near fourscore, I have
something else, and more important to do, than to write a commentary on
my own works. "

Fichte's Wissenschaftslehre, or Lore of Ultimate Science, was to add the
key-stone of the arch: and by commencing with an act, instead of a thing
or substance, Fichte assuredly gave the first mortal blow to Spinozism,
as taught by Spinoza himself; and supplied the idea of a system truly
metaphysical, and of a metaphysique truly systematic: (i. e. having
its spring and principle within itself). But this fundamental idea he
overbuilt with a heavy mass of mere notions, and psychological acts
of arbitrary reflection. Thus his theory degenerated into a crude [30]
egoismus, a boastful and hyperstoic hostility to Nature, as lifeless,
godless, and altogether unholy: while his religion consisted in the
assumption of a mere Ordo ordinans, which we were permitted exoterice
to call GOD; and his ethics in an ascetic, and almost monkish,
mortification of the natural passions and desires. In Schelling's
Natur-Philosophie, and the System des transcendentalen Idealismus, I
first found a genial coincidence with much that I had toiled out for
myself, and a powerful assistance in what I had yet to do.

I have introduced this statement, as appropriate to the narrative
nature of this sketch; yet rather in reference to the work which I have
announced in a preceding page, than to my present subject. It would be
but a mere act of justice to myself, were I to warn my future readers,
than an identity of thought, or even similarity of phrase, will not be
at all times a certain proof that the passage has been borrowed from
Schelling, or that the conceptions were originally learnt from him. In
this instance, as in the dramatic lectures of Schlegel to which I have
before alluded, from the same motive of self-defence against the charge
of plagiarism, many of the most striking resemblances, indeed all the
main and fundamental ideas, were born and matured in my mind before
I had ever seen a single page of the German Philosopher; and I might
indeed affirm with truth, before the more important works of Schelling
had been written, or at least made public. Nor is this coincidence
at all to be wondered at. We had studied in the same school; been
disciplined by the same preparatory philosophy, namely, the writings
of Kant; we had both equal obligations to the polar logic and dynamic
philosophy of Giordano Bruno; and Schelling has lately, and, as of
recent acquisition, avowed that same affectionate reverence for the
labours of Behmen, and other mystics, which I had formed at a much
earlier period. The coincidence of Schelling's system with certain
general ideas of Behmen, he declares to have been mere coincidence;
while my obligations have been more direct. He needs give to Behmen only
feelings of sympathy; while I owe him a debt of gratitude. God forbid!
that I should be suspected of a wish to enter into a rivalry with
Schelling for the honours so unequivocally his right, not only as a
great and original genius, but as the founder of the Philosophy of
Nature, and as the most successful improver of the Dynamic System [31]
which, begun by Bruno, was re-introduced (in a more philosophical form,
and freed from all its impurities and visionary accompaniments) by Kant;
in whom it was the native and necessary growth of his own system. Kant's
followers, however, on whom (for the greater part) their master's cloak
had fallen without, or with a very scanty portion of, his spirit, had
adopted his dynamic ideas, only as a more refined species of mechanics.
With exception of one or two fundamental ideas, which cannot be withheld
from Fichte, to Schelling we owe the completion, and the most important
victories, of this revolution in philosophy. To me it will be happiness
and honour enough, should I succeed in rendering the system itself
intelligible to my countrymen, and in the application of it to the most
awful of subjects for the most important of purposes. Whether a work
is the offspring of a man's own spirit, and the product of original
thinking, will be discovered by those who are its sole legitimate
judges, by better tests than the mere reference to dates. For readers in
general, let whatever shall be found in this or any future work of
mine, that resembles, or coincides with, the doctrines of my German
predecessor, though contemporary, be wholly attributed to him: provided,
that the absence of distinct references to his books, which I could
not at all times make with truth as designating citations or thoughts
actually derived from him; and which, I trust, would, after this general
acknowledgment be superfluous; be not charged on me as an ungenerous
concealment or intentional plagiarism. I have not indeed (eheu! res
angusta domi! ) been hitherto able to procure more than two of his
books, viz. the first volume of his collected Tracts, and his System of
Transcendental Idealism; to which, however, I must add a small pamphlet
against Fichte, the spirit of which was to my feelings painfully
incongruous with the principles, and which (with the usual allowance
afforded to an antithesis) displayed the love of wisdom rather than the
wisdom of love. I regard truth as a divine ventriloquist: I care not
from whose mouth the sounds are supposed to proceed, if only the words
are audible and intelligible. "Albeit, I must confess to be half in
doubt, whether I should bring it forth or no, it being so contrary to
the eye of the world, and the world so potent in most men's hearts, that
I shall endanger either not to be regarded or not to be understood. "

And to conclude the subject of citation, with a cluster of citations,
which as taken from books, not in common use, may contribute to the
reader's amusement, as a voluntary before a sermon: "Dolet mihi quidem
deliciis literarum inescatos subito jam homines adeo esse, praesertim
qui Christianos se profitentur, et legere nisi quod ad delectationem
facit, sustineant nihil: unde et discipline severiores et philosophia
ipsa jam fere prorsus etiam a doctis negliguntur. Quod quidem propositum
studiorum, nisi mature corrigitur, tam magnum rebus incommodum dabit,
quam dedit barbaries olim. Pertinax res barbaries est, fateor: sed minus
potent tamen, quam illa mollities et persuasa prudentia literarum,
si ratione caret, sapientiae virtutisque specie mortales misere
circumducens. Succedet igitur, ut arbitror, haud ita multo post, pro
rusticana seculi nostri ruditate captatrix illa communi-loquentia robur
animi virilis omne, omnem virtutem masculam, profligatura nisi cavetur. "

A too prophetic remark, which has been in fulfilment from the year
1680, to the present 1815. By persuasa prudentia, Grynaeus means self-
complacent common sense as opposed to science and philosophic reason.

Est medius ordo, et velut equestris, ingeniorum quidem sagacium, et
commodorum rebus humanis, non tamen in primam magnitudinem patentium.
Eorum hominum, ut sic dicam, major annona est. Sedulum esse, nihil
temere loqui, assuescere labori, et imagine prudentiae et modistiae
tegere angustiores partes captus, dum exercitationem ac usum, quo isti
in civilibus rebus pollent, pro natura et magnitudine ingenii plerique
accipiunt.

"As therefore physicians are many times forced to leave such methods of
curing as themselves know to be the fittest, and being overruled by the
patient's impatiency, are fain to try the best they can: in like sort,
considering how the case doth stand with this present age, full of
tongue and weak of brain, behold we would (if our subject permitted it)
yield to the stream thereof. That way we would be contented to prove
our thesis, which being the worse in itself, is notwithstanding now by
reason of common imbecility the fitter and likelier to be brooked. "

If this fear could be rationally entertained in the controversial age
of Hooker, under the then robust discipline of the scholastic logic,
pardonably may a writer of the present times anticipate a scanty
audience for abstrusest themes, and truths that can neither be
communicated nor received without effort of thought, as well as patience
of attention.

"Che s'io non erro al calcolar de' punti,
Par ch' Asinina Stella a noi predomini,
E'l Somaro e'l Castron si sian congiunti.
Il tempo d'Apuleio piu non si nomini:
Che se allora un sol huom sembrava un Asino,
Mille Asini a' miei di rassembran huomini! "




CHAPTER X

A chapter of digression and anecdotes, as an interlude preceding that on
the nature and genesis of the Imagination or Plastic Power--On
pedantry and pedantic expressions--Advice to young authors respecting
publication--Various anecdotes of the Author's literary life, and the
progress of his opinions in Religion and Politics.


"Esemplastic. The word is not in Johnson, nor have I met with it
elsewhere. " Neither have, I. I constructed it myself from the Greek
words, eis en plattein, to shape into one; because, having to convey a
new sense, I thought that a new term would both aid the recollection of
my meaning, and prevent its being confounded with the usual import of
the word, imagination. "But this is pedantry! " Not necessarily so, I
hope. If I am not misinformed, pedantry consists in the use of words
unsuitable to the time, place, and company. The language of the market
would be in the schools as pedantic, though it might not be reprobated
by that name, as the language of the schools in the market. The mere
man of the world, who insists that no other terms but such as occur in
common conversation should be employed in a scientific disquisition, and
with no greater precision, is as truly a pedant as the man of letters,
who either over-rating the acquirements of his auditors, or misled by
his own familiarity with technical or scholastic terms, converses at the
wine-table with his mind fixed on his museum or laboratory; even though
the latter pedant instead of desiring his wife to make the tea should
bid her add to the quant. suff. of thea Sinensis the oxyd of hydrogen
saturated with caloric. To use the colloquial (and in truth somewhat
vulgar) metaphor, if the pedant of the cloister, and the pedant of the
lobby, both smell equally of the shop, yet the odour from the Russian
binding of good old authentic-looking folios and quartos is less
annoying than the steams from the tavern or bagnio. Nay, though the
pedantry of the scholar should betray a little ostentation, yet a
well-conditioned mind would more easily, methinks, tolerate the fox
brush of learned vanity, than the sans culotterie of a contemptuous
ignorance, that assumes a merit from mutilation in the self-consoling
sneer at the pompous incumbrance of tails.

The first lesson of philosophic discipline is to wean the student's
attention from the degrees of things, which alone form the vocabulary of
common life, and to direct it to the kind abstracted from degree. Thus
the chemical student is taught not to be startled at disquisitions on
the heat in ice, or on latent and fixible light. In such discourse the
instructor has no other alternative than either to use old words
with new meanings (the plan adopted by Darwin in his Zoonomia;) or to
introduce new terms, after the example of Linnaeus, and the framers
of the present chemical nomenclature. The latter mode is evidently
preferable, were it only that the former demands a twofold exertion of
thought in one and the same act. For the reader, or hearer, is required
not only to learn and bear in mind the new definition; but to unlearn,
and keep out of his view, the old and habitual meaning; a far more
difficult and perplexing task, and for which the mere semblance of
eschewing pedantry seems to me an inadequate compensation. Where,
indeed, it is in our power to recall an unappropriate term that had
without sufficient reason become obsolete, it is doubtless a less evil
to restore than to coin anew. Thus to express in one word all that
appertains to the perception, considered as passive and merely
recipient, I have adopted from our elder classics the word sensuous;
because sensual is not at present used, except in a bad sense, or at
least as a moral distinction; while sensitive and sensible would each
convey a different meaning. Thus too have I followed Hooker, Sanderson,
Milton and others, in designating the immediateness of any act or
object of knowledge by the word intuition, used sometimes subjectively,
sometimes objectively, even as we use the word, thought; now as the
thought, or act of thinking, and now as a thought, or the object of
our reflection; and we do this without confusion or obscurity. The very
words, objective and subjective, of such constant recurrence in the
schools of yore, I have ventured to re-introduce, because I could not
so briefly or conveniently by any more familiar terms distinguish the
percipere from the percipi. Lastly, I have cautiously discriminated the
terms, the reason, and the understanding, encouraged and confirmed
by the authority of our genuine divines and philosophers, before the
Revolution.

------both life, and sense,
Fancy and understanding; whence the soul
Reason receives, and reason is her bring,
Discursive or intuitive: discourse [32]
Is oftest yours, the latter most is ours,
Differing but in degree, in kind the same.

I say, that I was confirmed by authority so venerable: for I had
previous and higher motives in my own conviction of the importance, nay,
of the necessity of the distinction, as both an indispensable condition
and a vital part of all sound speculation in metaphysics, ethical or
theological. To establish this distinction was one main object of
The Friend; if even in a biography of my own literary life I can with
propriety refer to a work, which was printed rather than published, or
so published that it had been well for the unfortunate author, if it
had remained in manuscript. I have even at this time bitter cause for
remembering that, which a number of my subscribers have but a trifling
motive for forgetting. This effusion might have been spared; but I
would fain flatter myself, that the reader will be less austere than an
oriental professor of the bastinado, who during an attempt to extort per
argumentum baculinum a full confession from a culprit, interrupted his
outcry of pain by reminding him, that it was "a mere digression! " "All
this noise, Sir! is nothing to the point, and no sort of answer to my
questions! " "Ah! but," (replied the sufferer,) "it is the most pertinent
reply in nature to your blows. "

An imprudent man of common goodness of heart cannot but wish to turn
even his imprudences to the benefit of others, as far as this is
possible. If therefore any one of the readers of this semi-narrative
should be preparing or intending a periodical work, I warn him, in the
first place, against trusting in the number of names on his subscription
list. For he cannot be certain that the names were put down by
sufficient authority; or, should that be ascertained, it still remains
to be known, whether they were not extorted by some over zealous
friend's importunity; whether the subscriber had not yielded his name,
merely from want of courage to answer, no; and with the intention of
dropping the work as soon as possible. One gentleman procured me nearly
a hundred names for THE FRIEND, and not only took frequent opportunity
to remind me of his success in his canvass, but laboured to impress my
mind with the sense of the obligation, I was under to the subscribers;
for, (as he very pertinently admonished me,) "fifty-two shillings a year
was a large sum to be bestowed on one individual, where there were so
many objects of charity with strong claims to the assistance of the
benevolent. " Of these hundred patrons ninety threw up the publication
before the fourth number, without any notice; though it was well known
to them, that in consequence of the distance, and the slowness and
irregularity of the conveyance, I was compelled to lay in a stock of
stamped paper for at least eight weeks beforehand; each sheet of which
stood me in five pence previously to its arrival at my printer's; though
the subscription money was not to be received till the twenty-first week
after the commencement of the work; and lastly, though it was in nine
cases out of ten impracticable for me to receive the money for two or
three numbers without paying an equal sum for the postage.

In confirmation of my first caveat, I will select one fact among many.
On my list of subscribers, among a considerable number of names equally
flattering, was that of an Earl of Cork, with his address. He might as
well have been an Earl of Bottle, for aught I knew of him, who had been
content to reverence the peerage in abstracto, rather than in concretis.
Of course THE FRIEND was regularly sent as far, if I remember right, as
the eighteenth number; that is, till a fortnight before the subscription
was to be paid. And lo! just at this time I received a letter from his
Lordship, reproving me in language far more lordly than courteous for my
impudence in directing my pamphlets to him, who knew nothing of me or my
work! Seventeen or eighteen numbers of which, however, his Lordship
was pleased to retain, probably for the culinary or post-culinary
conveniences of his servants.

Secondly, I warn all others from the attempt to deviate from the
ordinary mode of publishing a work by the trade. I thought indeed, that
to the purchaser it was indifferent, whether thirty per cent of the
purchase-money went to the booksellers or to the government; and that
the convenience of receiving the work by the post at his own door would
give the preference to the latter. It is hard, I own, to have been
labouring for years, in collecting and arranging the materials; to have
spent every shilling that could be spared after the necessaries of life
had been furnished, in buying books, or in journeys for the purpose of
consulting them or of acquiring facts at the fountain head; then to buy
the paper, pay for the printing, and the like, all at least fifteen per
cent beyond what the trade would have paid; and then after all to give
thirty per cent not of the net profits, but of the gross results of the
sale, to a man who has merely to give the books shelf or warehouse room,
and permit his apprentice to hand them over the counter to those who may
ask for them; and this too copy by copy, although, if the work be on any
philosophical or scientific subject, it may be years before the edition
is sold off. All this, I confess, must seem a hardship, and one, to
which the products of industry in no other mode of exertion are subject.
Yet even this is better, far better, than to attempt in any way to unite
the functions of author and publisher. But the most prudent mode is to
sell the copy-right, at least of one or more editions, for the most that
the trade will offer. By few only can a large remuneration be expected;
but fifty pounds and ease of mind are of more real advantage to a
literary man, than the chance of five hundred with the certainty
of insult and degrading anxieties. I shall have been grievously
misunderstood, if this statement should be interpreted as written
with the desire of detracting from the character of booksellers or
publishers. The individuals did not make the laws and customs of their
trade, but, as in every other trade, take them as they find them. Till
the evil can be proved to be removable, and without the substitution of
an equal or greater inconvenience, it were neither wise nor manly even
to complain of it. But to use it as a pretext for speaking, or even for
thinking, or feeling, unkindly or opprobriously of the tradesmen, as
individuals, would be something worse than unwise or even than unmanly;
it would be immoral and calumnious. My motives point in a far different
direction and to far other objects, as will be seen in the conclusion of
the chapter.

A learned and exemplary old clergyman, who many years ago went to his
reward followed by the regrets and blessings of his flock, published
at his own expense two volumes octavo, entitled, A NEW THEORY OF
REDEMPTION. The work was most severely handled in THE MONTHLY or
CRITICAL REVIEW, I forget which; and this unprovoked hostility became
the good old man's favourite topic of conversation among his friends.
"Well! " (he used to exclaim,) "in the second edition, I shall have an
opportunity of exposing both the ignorance and the malignity of the
anonymous critic. " Two or three years however passed by without any
tidings from the bookseller, who had undertaken the printing and
publication of the work, and who was perfectly at his ease, as the
author was known to be a man of large property. At length the accounts
were written for; and in the course of a few weeks they were presented
by the rider for the house, in person. My old friend put on
his spectacles, and holding the scroll with no very firm hand,
began--"Paper, so much: O moderate enough--not at all beyond my
expectation! Printing, so much: well! moderate enough! Stitching,
covers, advertisements, carriage, and so forth, so much. "--Still
nothing amiss. Selleridge (for orthography is no necessary part of
a bookseller's literary acquirements) L3. 3s. "Bless me! only three
guineas for the what d'ye call it--the selleridge? " "No more, Sir! "
replied the rider. "Nay, but that is too moderate! " rejoined my old
friend. "Only three guineas for selling a thousand copies of a work in
two volumes? " "O Sir! " (cries the young traveller) "you have mistaken
the word. There have been none of them sold; they have been sent
back from London long ago; and this L3. 3s. is for the cellaridge,
or warehouse-room in our book cellar. " The work was in consequence
preferred from the ominous cellar of the publisher's to the author's
garret; and, on presenting a copy to an acquaintance, the old gentleman
used to tell the anecdote with great humour and still greater good
nature.

With equal lack of worldly knowledge, I was a far more than equal
sufferer for it, at the very outset of my authorship. Toward the close
of the first year from the time, that in an inauspicious hour I left the
friendly cloisters, and the happy grove of quiet, ever honoured Jesus
College, Cambridge, I was persuaded by sundry philanthropists and
Anti-polemists to set on foot a periodical work, entitled THE WATCHMAN,
that, according to the general motto of the work, all might know the
truth, and that the truth might make us free! In order to exempt it from
the stamp-tax, and likewise to contribute as little as possible to the
supposed guilt of a war against freedom, it was to be published on every
eighth day, thirty-two pages, large octavo, closely printed, and price
only four-pence. Accordingly with a flaming prospectus,--"Knowledge is
Power," "To cry the state of the political atmosphere,"--and so forth,
I set off on a tour to the North, from Bristol to Sheffield, for the
purpose of procuring customers, preaching by the way in most of
the great towns, as an hireless volunteer, in a blue coat and white
waistcoat, that not a rag of the woman of Babylon might be seen on me.
For I was at that time and long after, though a Trinitarian (that is
ad normam Platonis) in philosophy, yet a zealous Unitarian in religion;
more accurately, I was a Psilanthropist, one of those who believe our
Lord to have been the real son of Joseph, and who lay the main stress on
the resurrection rather than on the crucifixion. O! never can I remember
those days with either shame or regret. For I was most sincere, most
disinterested. My opinions were indeed in many and most important points
erroneous; but my heart was single. Wealth, rank, life itself then
seemed cheap to me, compared with the interests of what I believed to
be the truth, and the will of my Maker. I cannot even accuse myself of
having been actuated by vanity; for in the expansion of my enthusiasm I
did not think of myself at all.

My campaign commenced at Birmingham; and my first attack was on a rigid
Calvinist, a tallow-chandler by trade. He was a tall dingy man, in whom
length was so predominant over breadth, that he might almost have been
borrowed for a foundery poker. O that face!