supposed to be acquired from the progressive contraction of muscles,
and the difficulty opposed to their accustomed contraction, which
introduces suddenly a new feeling, when all the antecedent feelings had
been the same, should be directly combined, only with the sensations
of touch, cannot appear wonderful, when we reflect, that it is only in
the case of touch, there is that frequent _coexistence_ or immediate
succession, which is necessary to the subsequent union. In the case
of the acquired perceptions of vision, it might, in like manner, be
asked, why is it that we do not smell the exact distance of a rose,
as we see its exact distance, as soon as we have turned our eye on
the bush on which the rose is growing? And the only answer which can
be given, is that there has not been in smell that exact and frequent
coexistence of feelings which has occurred in vision. It surely is
not more wonderful, therefore, that the same argument should hold in
the acquired perceptions of touch, in which the coexistence is still
more frequent and exact. When we listen to a flute, our muscles may
be contracted as before, or quiescent as before; when the odour of a
rose is wafted to us, not a single muscle may be more or less affected.
But, without the action of muscles, we cannot grasp a ball, nor press
against a resisting body, nor move our hand along its surface. Whatever
feelings, therefore, are involved in muscular contraction, may be,
or rather I may say, if the common laws of association operate, must
be associated with the simple feelings thus constantly coexisting,
whatever they may be, which the organ of touch originally affords. To
suppose, that, in a case of such frequent coexistence or succession, no
association takes place, and that our feelings of touch, are, at this
moment, as simple as they were originally, would surely be to suppose
the universal influence of the associating principle to be suspended in
this particular case.
I have already explained the manner, in which, I suppose, the infant,
to obtain the notion of something external and separate from himself,
by the interruption of the usual train of antecedents and consequents,
when the painful feeling of resistance has arisen, without any change
of circumstances, of which the mind is conscious in itself; and the
process by which he acquires this notion, is only another form of the
very process, which, during the whole course of his life, is involved
in all his reasonings, and regulates, therefore, all his conclusions,
with respect to every physical truth. In the view which I take of the
subject, accordingly, I do not conceive that it is by any peculiar
intuition, we are led to believe in the existence of things without. I
consider this belief as the effect of that more general intuition, by
which we consider a new consequent, in any series of accustomed events,
as the sign of a new antecedent, and of that equally general principle
of association, by which feelings that have frequently coexisted,
flow together, and constitute afterwards one complex whole. There is
something which is not ourself, something which is representative
of length--something which excites the feeling of resistance to our
effort; and these elements combined, are _matter_. But, whether the
notion arise in the manner I have supposed, or differently, there
can be no doubt that it has arisen, long before the period to which
our memory reaches; and the belief of an external world, therefore,
whether founded directly on an intuitive principle of belief, or,
as I rather think, on associations as powerful as intuition in the
period which alone we know, may be said to be an essential part of our
mental constitution, at least as far back as that constitution can be
made the subject of philosophic inquiry. Whatever it may have been
originally, it is now as impossible for us to disbelieve the reality of
some external cause of our sensations, as it is impossible for us to
disbelieve the existence of the sensations themselves. On this subject,
scepticism may be ingenious in vain; and equally vain, I may say, would
be the attempted confutation of scepticism; since it cannot affect the
serious internal belief of the sceptic, which is the same before as
after argument; unshaken by the ingenuity of his own reasonings, or
rather, as I have before remarked, tacitly assumed and affirmed in that
very combat of argument, which professes to deny it.
It is in vain, that Berkeley asserts his system, with a zeal and
acuteness, which might, perhaps, have succeeded in convincing others,
if they could only have previously succeeded in convincing himself, not
as a speculative philosopher merely, but as a human being, conversant
with his kind, acting, and suffering, and remembering, and hoping,
and fearing. This, however, was more than mere ingenuity of argument
could perform. Even in publishing his work with the sincere desire of
instructing and converting others, the great and primary convert was
yet to be made, in the converter himself.
In the Life of Berkeley, prefixed to the edition of his collected
works, an account is given of a visit which he paid, at Paris, to
Malebranche, the celebrated author of a system, in many respects
similar to his own. He found him in a weak state of health, but
abundantly eager to enter into disputation, on a science which he
loved, and especially on his own doctrines, which he loved still more;
but the discussion was at last carried on with more vehemence than
the feeble bodily frame of Malebranche could bear; and his death
was said to be occasioned, or at least hastened, by this unfortunate
intellectual combat. When we consider this interview of two illustrious
men, each of whom, in accordance with his own system, must have been
incapable of any direct knowledge of the existence of the other, the
violent reciprocal action of these mutual nonentities, might seem
ludicrous, if there were not, in the death of any one, and especially
of a philosopher so estimable in every respect as the author of The
Search of Truth, something too serious to be consistent with any
feeling of levity. It is more suitable, both to the occasion itself,
and to our own intellectual weakness, to regard this accidental
interview of two philosophers, contending so strenuously against each
other, for the truth of doctrines, which rendered the real existence of
each, at best, very problematical, as only a striking instance of the
readiness with which all the pride of human reason yields itself, as
it were, spontaneously and humbly, to the sway of those more powerful
principles, which He, who has arranged our mutual constitution, has so
graciously accommodated to the circumstances in which He has placed us.
The gift of reason itself, that most inestimable of our intellectual
gifts, would have been truly, if nothing more had been added to it,
a perilous acquisition, to beings not absolutely incapable of error;
since these are points on which a single mistake, if there had been
no opportunity of repairing it, might have been fatal, not to our
happiness merely, but to our very existence. On these points, however,
Nature has not left us to a power so fallible, and to indolence, which
might forget to exercise even this feeble power. She has given us
principles which do not err, and which operate without the necessity
of any effort on our part. In the wildest speculative errors, into
which we may be led, there is a voice within, which speaks, indeed,
only in a whisper, but in a whisper of omnipotence, at which the loud
voice that led us astray, is still,--thus operating on our _mind_,
as the secret irresistible influence of gravitation operates on our
_body_, preserving it, amid all the disorder and irregularity of its
spontaneous motions, still attached to that earthly home which has been
prepared with every bountiful provision for our temporary residence.
If there were, indeed, any sceptic as to the existence of an external
world, who could seriously profess that his practical conduct was
in accordance with his speculative disbelief, we might very justly
exercise, with respect to his own profession, that philosophic doubt
or disbelief, which he recommends. Pyrrho, the great founder of this
philosophy, is, indeed, said to have acted so truly on his principles,
that if a cart ran against him, or a dog attacked him, or if he came
upon a precipice he would not stir a foot to avoid the danger. “But
his attendants,” says Dr Reid, “who happily for him, were not so
great sceptics, took care to keep him out of harm's way, so that he
lived till he was ninety years of age.”[88] In all these cases, we
may safely take for granted, that this venerable sceptic, when he
exhibited himself with his domestics knew, at least as well as the
spectator, the nature of the comedy which he was acting, for their
entertainment, and his own imagined glory;--that he could discriminate,
with perfect accuracy, the times when it would be _safe_, and the
times when it would be _unsafe_, for him to be consistent;--and that
he would never feel, in so strong and lively a manner, the force of
his own principles, as when he was either absolutely alone, or with
attendants within a very few inches of the ground on which he was
philosophizing. We are told, accordingly, that when his passions were
too strongly roused, to allow him to remember the part which he was
acting, he entered with sufficient readiness into his native character
of a mere human being. Of this, one ludicrous instance is recorded,
in which his anger against his cook so completely got the better,
both of his moral and physical philosophy, that, with the spit in his
hand, and the meat on it, which had been roasting, he pursued him to
the very market-place. Many stories of this sort, however, we may well
suppose, would be invented against philosophers, of a class, that
at once challenged the opposition of the whole mob of mankind, and
afforded subjects of that obvious and easy ridicule, which the mob of
mankind, even without the provocation of such a challenge, are always
sufficiently ready to seize.
Into a detail of the sceptical system of Berkeley, it is unnecessary
to enter at any length; since, notwithstanding the general acuteness
which its truly illustrious author has displayed in this, and in all
his works, I cannot but consider his _ideal system_, as presenting a
very imperfect and inaccurate view, not merely of the real phenomena
of the mind, but even of the sceptical argument against the existence
of matter. It was not as a sceptic, however, that this most devout
and amiable of philosophers, to whom Pope scarcely paid a higher
compliment than was strictly due, in ascribing to him “every virtue
under heaven,”[89]--it was not as a sceptic that he was desirous of
being ranked. On the contrary, I have no doubt that his system seemed
to him valuable, chiefly for being, as he conceived, an antidote to
scepticism, and that he was far less anxious to display acuteness, than
to expose the sophistry of materialism, and to present as he thought,
an additional argument for the existence of a divine omnipresent mind,
which unquestionably it would have afforded, and an argument too, it
must be owned, completely irresistible, if our mere ideas were what he
conceived them to be. These, he evidently considered, not as _states_
of the individual mind, but as _separate things_ existing in it, and
capable of existing in other minds, but in them alone; and it is in
consequence of these assumptions, that his system, if it were to be
considered as a system of scepticism, is chiefly defective. But having,
as he supposed, these ideas, and conceiving that they did not perish,
when they ceased to exist in his mind, since the same ideas recurred at
intervals, he deduced from the necessity which there seemed for some
_omnipresent mind_, in which they might exist during the intervals of
recurrence, the necessary existence of the Deity; and if, indeed, as he
supposed, ideas be something different from the mind itself, recurring
only at intervals to created minds, and incapable of existing but in
mind, the demonstration of some infinite omnipresent mind, in which
they exist during these intervals of recurrence to finite minds, must
be allowed to be perfect. The precise nature of the argument, and its
demonstrative force, if the hypothetical circumstances which Berkeley
himself was far from considering as hypothetical, be admitted, have not
been sufficiently regarded by philosophers, when they express their
astonishment, that a system, which, if not scepticism, is at least so
much akin to it, or so favourable, at least, to the general sceptical
spirit, should yet have been brought forward, as its truly pious author
informs us, for the express purpose of combating scepticism. He is not,
indeed, always a very perspicuous unfolder of his own opinions, but
in a passage of his third Dialogue, the series of propositions which
I have now stated as constituting his demonstration, are delivered
by himself, with great distinctness and brevity. “When I deny,” says
Philonous to Hylas, “when I deny sensible things, an existence out of
the mind, I do not mean _my_ mind in particular, but all minds. Now, it
is plain, they have an existence exterior to _my_ mind, since I find
them, by experience, to be independent of it. There is, therefore, some
other mind wherein they exist during the intervals between the times
of my perceiving them, as likewise they did before my birth, and would
do after my supposed annihilation. And as the same is true with regard
to all other finite created spirits, it necessarily follows, there is
an _Omnipresent Eternal Mind_, which knows and comprehends all things,
and exhibits them to our view, in such a manner, and according to such
rules, as he himself hath ordained, and are by us all termed the laws
of Nature.”[90]
The existence of ideas as separate from the mind, and the permanent
existence of these, when they have ceased to exist in the individual
mind, are evidently assumptions as gratuitous as the assumption of the
external existence of matter itself could have been; or rather, the
permanent and independent ideas, are truly _matter_, under another
name; and to believe that these foreign independent substances, which
pass from mind to mind, exist in the mind, is not to _intellectualize_
matter, but to _materialize_ intellect. A mind containing, or capable
of containing something foreign within itself, and not merely one
foreign substance, but a multitude of foreign substances, at the same
moment, is no longer that simple indivisible existence, which we
termed spirit. Any of the elementary atoms of matter is, indeed, more
truly spiritual; the very notion of _recipiency_ of any kind, being as
little consistent with our notion of mind, as the notion of hardness or
squareness.
The whole force of the pious demonstration, therefore, which Berkeley
flattered himself with having urged irresistibly, is completely
obviated, by the simple denial, that ideas are any thing more than the
mind itself affected in a certain manner; since, in this case, our
ideas exist no longer than our mind is affected, in that particular
manner, which constitutes each particular idea; and, to say that our
ideas exist in the divine mind, would thus be to say, only, that our
mind itself exists in the divine mind. There is not the sensation of
colour, in _addition_ to the mind, nor the sensation of fragrance
in _addition_ to the mind; but, according to that juster view of the
mental phenomena, which I have repeatedly endeavoured to impress on
you, the sensation of colour is the _mind_ existing in a _certain
state_, and the sensation of fragrance, is the mind existing in a
different state.
The most philosophic scepticism, as to the existence of external
things, is unquestionably _that_, which is founded on this very view
of the phenomena of the mind. All the terms, which we use to express
our knowledge, sensations, perceptions, ideas, notions, propositions,
judgments, intuitions, conclusions,--or whatever other terms we may
employ to express particular varieties of thought, are significant, it
may be said, and truly said, of _states_ or affections of the mind, and
of nothing more. What I term my perception of the colour, or softness,
or shape, or fragrance, or taste of a peach, is a certain state of my
own mind, for my mind surely can be conscious only of its own feelings;
or rather, as the consciousness of present feelings is a redundancy of
language, my mind, affected in a certain manner, whether it be with
what is termed sensation or knowledge, or belief, can still be nothing
more than my mind itself affected in a certain manner,--my mind,
itself existing in a certain state. Against this argument, I confess
that I know no mere argument which can be adduced in opposition,--any
more, than I know any mere argument which can be adduced, against the
strange conclusions that are most legitimately drawn from the doctrine
of the infinite divisibility of matter, and various other physical
and mathematical applications of the notion of infinity. In no one of
these cases, however, do we feel our belief shaken;--because it is
founded either on associations so early, and strong, and indissoluble,
as those which we have been endeavouring to trace, or is not in those,
or in principles of direct intuition, in that species of internal
revolution which gives to reason itself, in the primary truths on which
every argument proceeds, its divine authority; and we only smile at
conclusions, in which it is impossible for us to find a single logical
error, but which from the constitution of our nature, it is physically
impossible for us to admit, or to admit at least, without an instant
dissent, which renders our momentary logical admission as nugatory, as
if the direct existence of an external world had been established by
the clearest logical demonstration.
In one of the Anniversary Orations of Sir William Jones, of which the
subject is the philosophy of the Asiatics, he informs us that a system
of idolism, very similar to that of Berkeley, is to be found in the
metaphysics of Hindostan. The fundamental tenet of one great school of
the philosophers of that ancient land of philosophy, is the disbelief
of the existence of matter--the phenomena of the seeming material
universe, being conceived by them to be only an illusive representation
which the Deity presents to the mind, (and which they distinguish
by the name of Maja:)--while the opposite species of scepticism is
to be found in another sect of the philosophers, who disbelieve the
existence of mind, and reduce all the phenomena of thought to material
organization. The same subtilty and refinement of scepticism, which
have led to the systems of materialism and idolism in our Western
World, are to be found, we are told, in the corresponding systems of
the East.[91]
Why is it that we are struck with no common emotion on finding, in the
metaphysics of that distant country, systems of opinions so similar to
our own? Is it that the notion of the immense space, which separates
us, unites with our conception, and impresses us, as it were, with the
omnipresence of our own intellectual nature,--when we recognize on
scenes so remote and in circumstances of society so different, the same
thoughts, and doubts, and errors, which have perplexed, and occupied,
and delighted ourselves? This recognition, in whatever circumstances
it may occur, gives to us a feeling of more than kindred,--a sort of
identity with the universal nature of man, in all its times and places.
The belief which others share with us seems to be our own belief
which has passed from each to each, or is present to all, like those
permanent ideas of which Berkeley speaks, that quit one intellect to
exist in another. We cannot separate the thought which we remember from
the notion of the mind which we remember to have conceived it;--and
it seems to us, therefore, not as if _similar_ doubts and errors, but
almost as if the _very_ doubts and errors of our own mind, and its
ardour of inquiry, and frequent disappointments, and occasional, but
rare felicities of discovery, had spread and renewed themselves in a
remote existence. It is this recognition of our common nature, which
gives the chief interest to scenes that have been occupied with the
passions of beings like ourselves. The mountains, which the Titans
were fabled to have heaped up in their war against Jupiter, must
have excited even in the most devout believers of Grecian mythology,
emotions far less ardent and immediate, than the sight of the humbler
cliffs, at which the small Spartan host, and their gallant leader,
devoted themselves in the defensive war against the Persian invader.
The races of men may perish, but the remembrance of them still lives
imperishable, and seems to claim kindred with us, as often as we tread
the same soil, or merely think of those who have trod it.
“Turn thy sight eastward, o'er the time-hush'd plains,
Now graves of vanish'd empire, once gleam'd o'er
From flames on hallow'd altars, hail'd by hymns
Of seers, awakeners of the worshipp'd Sun!
Ask silent Tigris--Bid Euphrates tell
Where is the grove-crown'd Baal, to whose stern frown
Bow'd haughty Babylon?--Chaldea, famed
For star-taught sages,--hard Phenicia's sons.
Fierce fear-surmounting curbers of the deep,
Who stretch'd a floating sceptre o'er the seas,
And made mankind one empire?--Where is now
Egypt's wide-homag'd _Isis_?--where the _Thors_,
That shook the shakers of the Roman world?”
The very gods of all these countries have perished, but the mortals
who bent the knee before them still survive in the immortality of our
common nature,--in that universal interest which gives to us a sort
of intellectual existence in scenes and times the most remote, and
makes the thoughts and emotions of others as it were a part of our own
being,--uniting the past, the present, and the future, and blending man
with man wherever he is to be found.
FOOTNOTES:
[87] _Darwin's Botanic Garden, Canto III. v. 353-4, and 357-360._
[88] Reid's Inquiry into the Human Mind, chap. i. sect. 5.
[89] Epilogue to the Satires, Dial. II. v. 73.
[90] Three Dialogues, &c. p. 109-110.
[91] The substance of this reference occurs in the Eleventh Anniversary
Discourse,--_Works_, v. i. p. 165-6. 4to. _Edit._
LECTURE XXIV.
THE SAME SUBJECT, CONTINUED.
Gentlemen, having stated, in a former Lecture, the reasons which
seem to show, that the origin of our notion of extension, and of the
notions, which it involves, of figure, magnitude, divisibility, is not
to be found in our sense of _touch_, I endeavoured, in my last Lecture,
to trace these to their real source,--cautioning you at the same time,
with respect to the great difficulty of the inquiry, and the very
humble reliance, therefore, which we can have any title to put, on the
results of our investigation of a subject so very obscure.
In our present circumstances, when we attempt such an investigation,
it is impossible for us to derive even the slightest aid, from
remembrance of our original feelings; since _memory_,--which afterwards
can look back through so many long and busy years, and comprehend
all of life, but the very commencement of it,--sees yet, in this
dawn of being, a darkness which it cannot penetrate. We have already
formed,--spontaneously, and without the aid of any one,--our little
system of physical science, and have, in truth, enriched ourselves with
acquisitions, far more important than any which we are afterwards to
form, with all the mature vigour of our faculties, and all the splendid
aids of traditionary philosophy,--at a time, when we seem scarcely
capable of more than of breathing and moving, and taking our aliment,
and when the faculties, that leave us so much invaluable knowledge, are
to leave us no knowledge of the means, by which we have acquired it.
To the period of our first sensations, therefore, we cannot look back;
and, hence, all which remains for us, in an inquiry of this kind, is to
consider the circumstances in which the infant is placed, and to guess,
as nearly as general analogy will allow us, the nature and the order
of the feelings, which, in such circumstances, would arise, in a being
possessing the powers and susceptibilities of man, but destitute of all
the knowledge which man possesses.