the small tribe of definitives properly applied to general terms, knows how to employ these last, though in number finite, to the accurate expression of infinite particulars.

To explain what has been said by a single example. Let the general term be man. I have occasion to apply this term to the denoting of some particular. Let it be required to express this particular, as unknown, I say a man; known, I say the man; indefinite, any man; definite, a certain man; present and near, this man; present and distant, that man; like to some other, such a man; an indefinite multitude, many men; a definite multitude, a thousand men; the ones of a multitude, taken throughout, every man; the same ones, taken with distinction, each man; taken in order, first man, second man, &c.; the whole multitude of particulars taken collectively, all men; the negation of this multitude, no man. But of this we have spoken already, when we inquired concerning definitives.

The sum of all is, that words are the symbols of ideas both general and particular; yet of the general, primarily, essentially, and immediately; of the particular, only secondarily, accidentally, and mediately.

Should it be asked, "Why has language this double capacity?" May we not ask, by way of return, Is it not a kind of reciprocal commerce, or intercourse of our ideas? Should it not therefore be framed so as to express the whole of our perception? Now can we call that perception entire and whole, which implies either intellection without sensation, or sensation without intellection? If not, how should language explain the whole of our perception, had it not words to express the objects proper to each of the two faculties?

To conclude: as in the preceding chapter we considered language with a view to its matter, so here we have considered it with a view to its form. Its matter is recognised, when it is considered as a voice; its form, as it is significant of our several ideas; so that, upon the whole, it may be defined, "A system of articulate voices, the symbols of our ideas, but of those principally which are general or universal."

CHAPTER IV.

CONCERNING GENERAL OR UNIVERSAL IDEAS.

MUCH having been said in the preceding chapter about general or universal ideas, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to inquire, by what process we come to perceive them, and what kind of beings they are; since the generality of men think so meanly of their existence, that they are commonly considered as little better than

shadows. These sentiments are not unusual, even with the philosopher, now-a-days, and that from causes much the same with those which influence the vulgar.

The vulgar, merged in sense from their earliest infancy, and never once dreaming any thing to be worthy of pursuit, but what either pampers their appetite, or fills their purse, imagine nothing to be real, but what may be tasted or touched. The philosopher, as to these matters being of much the same opinion, in philosophy looks no higher than to experimental amusements, deeming nothing demonstration, if it be not made ocular. Thus, instead of ascending from sense to intellect, (the natural progress of all true learning,) he hurries, on the contrary, into the midst of sense, where he wanders at random without any end, and is lost in a labyrinth of infinite particulars. Hence, then, the reason why the sublimer parts of science, the studies of mind, intellection, and intelligent principles, are in a manner neglected; and, as if the criterion of all truth were an alembic or an airpump, what cannot be proved by experiment is deemed no better than mere hypothesis.

And yet it is somewhat remarkable, amid the prevalence of such notions, that there should still remain two sciences in fashion, and these having their certainty of all the least controverted, which are not in the minutest article depending upon experiment: by these I mean arithmetic and geometry. to come to our subject concerning general ideas.

But

Man's first perceptions are those of the senses, inasmuch as they commence from his earliest infancy. These perceptions, if not infinite, are at least indefinite, and more fleeting and transient than the very objects which they exhibit, because they not only

The many noble theorems (so useful in life, and so admirable in themselves) with which these two sciences so eminently abound, arise originally from principles the most obvious imaginable; principles so little wanting the pomp and apparatus of experiment, that they are self-evident to every one possessed of common sense. I would not be understood in what I have here said, or may have said elsewhere, to undervalue experiment, whose importance and utility I freely acknowledge in the many curious nostrums and choice receipts with which it has enriched the necessary arts of life. Nay, I go further: I hold all justifiable practice in every kind of subject to be founded in experience, which is no more than the result of many repeated experiments. But I must add, withal, that the man who acts from experience alone, though he act ever so well, is but an empiric or quack, and that not only in medicine, but in every other subject. It is then only that we recognise art, and that the empiric quits

his name for the more honourable one of artist, when to his experience he adds science, and is thence enabled to tell us, not only what is to be done, but why it is to be done; for art is a composite of experience and science, experience providing it materials, and science giving them a form.

In the mean time, while experiment is thus necessary to all practical wisdom; with respect to pure and speculative science (as we have hinted already) it has not the least to do. For who ever heard of logic, or geometry, or arithmetic being proved experimentally? It is, indeed, by the application of these that experiments are rendered useful; that they are assumed into philosophy, and in some degree made a part of it, being otherwise nothing better than puerile amusements. But that these sciences themselves should depend upon the subjects on which they work, is, as if the marble were to fashion the chisel, and not the chisel the marble.

depend upon the existence of those objects, but because they cannot subsist without their immediate presence. Hence, therefore, it is, that there can be no sensation of either past or future, and consequently, had the soul no other faculties than the senses, it never could acquire the least idea of time."

But, happily for us, we are not deserted here. We have, in the first place, a faculty called imagination or fancy, which however as to its energies it may be subsequent to sense, yet is truly prior to it, both in dignity and use: this it is which retains the fleeting forms of things, when things themselves are gone, and all sensation at an end.

That this faculty, however connected with sense, is still perfectly different, may be seen from hence: we have an imagination of things that are gone and extinct, but no such things can be made objects of sensation; we have an easy command over the objects of our imagination, and can call them forth in almost what manner we please, but our sensations are necessary, when their objects are present, nor can we control them but by removing either the objects or ourselves."

As the wax would not be adequate to its business of signature, had it not a power to retain, as well as to receive; the same holds of the soul, with respect to sense and imagination. Sense is its receptive power, imagination its retentive. Had it sense without imagination, it would not be as wax, but as water; where though all impressions may be instantly made, yet as soon as made they are as instantly lost.

Thus, then, from a view of the two powers taken together, we may call sense (if we please) a kind of transient imagination; and imagination, on the contrary, a kind of permanent sense.b

2 See before, p. 147. See also p. 149,

note s.

a Besides the distinguishing of sensation from imagination, there are two other faculties of the soul, which, from their nearer alliance, ought carefully to be distinguished from it, and these are uvhun and avάurnois, "memory" and "recollection.”

When we view some relict of sensation reposed within us, without thinking of its rise, or referring it to any sensible object, this is fancy or imagination.

When we view some such relict, and refer it, withal, to that sensible object which in time past was its cause and original, this is memory.

Lastly, the road which leads to memory through a series of ideas, however connected, whether rationally or casually, this is recollection. I have added casually, as well as rationally, because a casual connection is often sufficient. Thus, from seeing a garment I think of its owner, thence of his

habitation, thence of woods, thence of timber, thence of ships, sea-fights, admirals, &c.

If the distinction between memory and fancy be not sufficiently understood, it may be illustrated by being compared to the view of a portrait. When we contemplate a portrait without thinking of whom it is the portrait, such contemplation is analogous to fancy; when we view it with reference to the original, whom it represents, such contemplation is analogous to memory.

We may go further: imagination or fancy may exhibit (after a manner) even things that are to come. It is here that hope and fear paint all their pleasant and all their painful pictures of futurity; but memory is confined in the strictest manner to the past.

What we have said may suffice for our present purpose. He that would learn more may consult Aristot. de Anima, l. iii. c. 3, 4. and his treatise De Mem. et Reminisc.

· Τί τοίνυν ἐστὶν ἡ φαντασία ὧδε ἂν

Now as our feet in vain venture to walk upon the river, till the frost bind the current, and harden the yielding surface; so does the soul in vain seek to exert its higher powers, the powers, I mean, of reason and intellect, till imagination first fix the fluency of sense, and thus provide a proper basis for the support of its higher energies.

After this manner, in the admirable economy of the whole, are natures subordinate made subservient to the higher. Were there no things external, the senses could not operate; were there no sensations, the imagination could not operate; and were there no imagination, there could be neither reasoning nor intellection, such at least as they are found in man, where they have their intensions and remissions in alternate succession, and are at first nothing better than a mere capacity or power. Whether every intellect begins thus, may be perhaps a question; especially if there be any one of a nature more divine, to which intension and remission and mere capacity are unknown." But not to digress.

66

C

γνωρίσαιμεν· δεῖ νοεῖν ἐν ἡμῖν ἀπὸ τῶν ἐνεργειῶν τῶν περὶ τὰ αἰσθητὰ, οἷον τύπτον (lege τύπον) τινὰ καὶ ἀναζωγράφημα ἐν τῷ πρώτῳ αἰσθητηρίῳ, ἐγκατάλειμμά τι τῆς ὑπὸ τοῦ αἰσθητοῦ γινομένης κινήσεως, ὃ καὶ μηκέτι τοῦ αἰσθητοῦ παρόντος, ὑπομένει τὲ καὶ σώζεται, ὃν ὥσπερ εἰκών τις αὐτοῦ, ὁ καὶ τῆς μνήμης ἡμῖν σωζόμενον αἴτιον γίνεται· τὸ τοιοῦτον ἐγκατάλειμμα, καὶ τὸν τοιοῦτον ὥσπερ τύπον, φαντασίαν καλοῦσιν. "Now, what fancy or imagination is, we may explain as follows: we may conceive to be formed within us, from the operations of our senses about sensible subjects, some impression (as it were) or picture in our original sensorium, being a relict of that motion caused within us by the external object; a relict, which, when the external object is no longer present, remains, and is still preserved, being as it were its image, and which, by being thus preserved, becomes the cause of our having memory. Now such a sort of relict and (as it were) impression, they call fancy or imagination.' Alex. Aphrod. de Anima, p. 135. B. edit. Ald.

See p. 164, note x. The life, energy, or manner of man's existence, is not a little different from that of the Deity. The life of man has its essence in motion. This is not only true with respect to that lower and subordinate life, which he shares in common with vegetables, and which can no longer subsist than while the fluids circulate, but it is likewise true in that life which is peculiar to him as man. Objects from without first move our faculties, and thence we move of ourselves either to practice or contemplation. But the life or existence of

God (as far as we can conjecture upon so transcendent a subject) is not only complete throughout eternity, but complete in every instant, and is for that reason immutable and superior to all motion.

It is to this distinction that Aristotle alludes, when he tells us, Οὐ γὰρ μόνον κινήσεώς ἐστιν ἐνέργεια, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀκινη σίας· καὶ ἡδονὴ μᾶλλον ἐν ἠρεμίᾳ ἐστὶν, ἢ ἐν κινήσει· μεταβολὴ δὲ πάντων γλυκύ, κατὰ τὸν ποιητὴν, διὰ πονηρίαν τινά· ὥσπερ γὰρ ἄνθρωπος εὐμετάβολος ὁ πονηρὸς, καὶ ἡ φύσις ἡ δεομένη μεταβολῆς· οὐ γὰρ aλn, oùď èmieikhs: “For there is not only an energy of motion, but of immobility; and pleasure or felicity exists rather in rest than in motion; change of all things being sweet (according to the poet) from a principle of pravity in those who believe so. For in the same manner as the bad man is one fickle and changeable, so is that nature bad that requireth variety, inasmuch as such nature is neither simple nor even." Eth. Nicom. vii. 14. and Ethic. Eudem. vi. sub. fin.

It is to this unalterable nature of the Deity that Boethius refers, when he says, in those elegant verses,

Tempus ab Evo Ire jubes stabilisque manens das cuncta moveri.

From this single principle of immobility may be derived some of the noblest of the divine attributes; such as that of impassive, incorruptible, incorporeal, &c. Vide Aristot. Physic. viii. Metaphys. xiv. c. 6, 7. 9, 10. edit. Du Val. See also p. 11, note g; also p. 65, noteb, where the verses of Boethius are quoted at length.

It is then on these permanent phantasms that the human mind first works, and by an energy as spontaneous and familiar to its nature, as the seeing of colour is familiar to the eye, it discerns at once what in many is one; what in things dissimilar and different is similar and the same. By this it comes to