might as well have left that work for the English!"

"A swift six-oar boat, with the tricolour flag floating for a flag-staff at her stern, now skimmed along toward us, and as she came nearer we could recognise the uniforms of the officers of Humbert's staff, while the burly figure of the general himself was soon distinguishable in the midst

of them.

As he stepped up the ladder, not a

trace of displeasure could be seen on his broad bold features. Greeting the assembled officers with a smile, he asked how the wind was?

"All fair, and freshening at every moment," was the answer.

"May it continue!" cried he, "fervently. "Welcome a hurricane, if it only waft us westward!"

The foresail filled out as he spoke, the heavy mass heaved over to the wind, and we began our voyage.

THE injury done by vague and indeterminate notions in practical sciences, such as theology, morals, and politics, has been happily illustrated by the parallel instance of the mischievous effects of a fog in London. The danger of the case arises from the mixture of light and obscurity. If the privation of light were total, and the darkness were, like that of Egypt, "a darkness that might be felt," an entire suspension of human activity would ensue. They saw not one another, neither rose any from his place." But the mixture of light is just sufficient to tempt men to continue their business, and venture abroad, though not enough to save them from the risk of running against a lamppost, or stumbling down a cellar. So likewise, in the case of an intellectual haze, the great danger is, that those whose understandings are informed with nothing better than half-views and indeterminate notions, will, nevertheless, judge and act as vigorously as if they were judging and acting in the broad daylight of clear reason.

But there is another peculiar danger connected with some intellectual fogs, for which it is not easy to find a parallel. The citizens of London, though pretty well habituated to November mists, are rarely, if ever, known to fall in love with the grand obscurity of that mysterious state of the atmosphere, or persuade themselves that they could then cross Fleet-street most safely when they could not distinguish an omnibus

from a dog-cart. But let the reader imagine to himself, if he can, a mist so resplendent with gay, prismatic colours, such "a gorgeous canopy of golden air," as that men should begin to forget its inconvenience in their admiration of its beauty, and a kind of nebular taste should prevail for preferring this glorious dimness to the vulgar clarity of common day. Nothing short of such a case as this would af ford a parallel for the mischief done to the public mind by those writers, at present so popular in England and America, who have long been accustoming their disciples to admire, as a style truly philosophical, what can hardly be described otherwise than as a certain haze of words imperfectly understood, through which some remote ideas, scarcely distinguishable in their outlines, loom, as it were, upon the view in a dusky kind of grandeur which vastly exaggerates their proportions.

It is chiefly in such foggy forms that the metaphysical philosophy of Germany is every day exercising an increasing influence on the popular literature of England: and its practical effect seems to be felt much more in the production of a distaste, and even contempt for all metaphysics or theology of home-growth, than in substi tuting anything definite in their place. It has been, indeed, sufficiently instilled into men's minds, that German philosophy is something far more pro.

found than anything hitherto extant in our native literature; but what that profound something is, appears not at all so generally understood by the mass of its admirers. We are willing to assume that the distinguished gentlemen who have set the fashion in this case, have, in their own private studies, acquired a more exact and complete acquaintance with it than they deem it necessary to exhibit in their writings: but we are pretty sure that a large proportion of their followers have been content to take matters upon trust, and believe with an implicit faith that what they perceive to be very hard thinking, is very accurate thinking also. However that may be, transcendentalism is unquestionably the vogue at present. How long it may continue so, it is not so easy to calculate. We, in these countries, have been, from time immemorial, apt to lag behind the rest of Europe in matters of fashion. We take up some peculiarity just when it has become so soiled and common in the place of its nativity, as to be there passing out of repute. As Falstaff would express it, "We sing the tunes the carmen whistle." In Germany itself, that grotesque dress of mysticism in which their philosophy was at first invested, and which gave it an air at once so strange and striking, is beginning to be thought rather an incumbrance than an advantage; and some of the younger Hegelinus have startled their more ceremonious elders by presenting them with the principles of the sects, faithfully, but somewhat coarsely, rendered into the vulgar tongue. It seems to be felt, even there, that to produce a permanent, as well as a strong effect upon the popular mind, matter-of-fact in a plain style must be set before it; and probably the author whose book we purpose to review, has exercised a sound discretion, as well as shown a just taste, in calculating his argument, both in matter and manner, rather for coming than for present popularity. Not that he has neglected altogether to sacrifice to the Graces at present worshipped by the reading public. He has done so, in our humble opinion, rather too largely. Though there be no mysticism, there is a superabundance of rhetoric, and that peculiar kind of redundant illustration which, like Homer's similes, runs wild into episode. A literary Cuvier would set

him down as Chalmero-Butlerian. But the sobriety of his principles, the soundness of his arguments, and the goodness of his aim, would redeem in our eyes a thousand greater faults of manner than can be justly imputed to him.

The practical knowledge which the disciples of Butler love best to study, is the knowledge of things and persons, not as they are in themselves, but as they are in respect of us. The ambitious mind of man naturally grasps first at the former sort of knowledge, supposing that, having gained it, the other will follow as a corollary. No doubt such is the highest form of knowledge where it is attainable; but it seems attainable only in a few cases, if any, and those of no great practical importance. The great mass of our practical knowledge consists in a knowledge of the relations-not of the essences of things-a knowledge not so much derived by deductive inference, as reached by inductive observation. Mr. M⭑Cosh's object is to ascertain what can be learned by observation of the method of God's government of the world, physical and moral. Such an inquiry seems, like Bishop Butler's great work, to assume, in the outset, the existence of the Deity; and though the state of the controversy with infidels in the last century made such an assumption safe then, matters have so changed their aspect at present, that, finding Deism no longer tenable, the enemy has preferred the bolder position of Atheism, withdrawing from the open plain of experience to those mountains of fundamental principles, which, as this author eloquently says, is a region" often covered with clouds, but where all the streams of science have their fountains." From these fastnesses, Mr. M'Cosh undertakes to dislodge the adversary. Yet we have some doubts whether, after all, the expedition be absolutely necessary. As there is plainly no presumption against the existence of a physical and moral Governor of the universe, so it seems to us that a proof that the course of things is as if there were such a Governor, is in itself a legitimate proof of his existence. But our duty at present is to attend our author, not to guide him.

“General laws" are, according to the cant of modern Infidelity, the true substitute for the old idea of God.

The phrase is one of most convenient ambiguity to the employers of it, and the first business of the author is to distinguish its various meanings. He specifies three several significations which it may bear:-1. The properties of bodies. But these cannot, with

:

any plausibility, be assigned as the causes of the course of nature, because bodies require a certain combination and adjustment, before they can act upon one another, and it is only upon one another that they act. No material substance changes spontaneously, but, when severed from external agents, remains for ever in the state in which it was when the separation took place. Hence we come (2), to another meaning the action of two or more substances so adjusted as to make their properties active. Here, indeed, an account is given of the effects resulting from such an adjustment; but it is only given by assigning what raises another question as to the cause determining that adjustment itself. Baffled here, then, we turn to the last meaning (3), a predication of such resemblance as brings certain objects into a common class as when we say that all quadrupeds are mammalia. But in this sense, to speak of the action of a general law is manifestly absurd, because the thing spoken of is the mere enunciation of a fact.

The great value of this part of the work consists in bringing clearly before the reader the fact, that we must suppose an original adjustment of the properties of the elementary bodies to each other, in certain definite combinations, to account for the continued action of the machinery of the universe. If this be admitted, then no assignment of secondary physical causes, however subtle or intricate, can evade the old argument from design. It only pushes it back; and (what is specially worthy of remark) increases the force of its recoil by every point which it is made to recede. Suppose, for example, that you can show demonstrably, from the known properties of matter, that a ccrtain mixture in definite proportions of gases, acids, and earths, will develope itself into the organized structure of a plant, or an animal, and what have you shown but the admirable simplicity of the contrivance by which the Author of nature secures his multiplied ends? The state of science in modern times only requires that, instead of stopping

short at the mechanism by which the end is immediately obtained, the argument for design should bottom itself upon the selection of original collocations or adjustments fruitful in developed mechanism for the attainment of the Creator's ends.

Driven from the shelter of ambiguity afforded by the term "laws," the Atheist is reduced either (1) to deny that the properties of bodies require mutual adjustment by some external agent, and seek a cause of development in some original property of matter itself; or (2), to deny that a cause is to be sought at all, and reduce all science to a mere affair of classification and arrangement-the finding of the most general possible expression for the facts of the universe.

This latter evasion leads the author into a discussion of the difficult question concerning cause and effect. Is a cause only an antecedent phenomenon; an effect a consequent phenomenon; and the connexion between them merely the strength of the association between the two ideas in our minds? Mr. M'Cosh thinks otherwise. He undertakes to establish that, while the notion of an effect is certainly that of a phenomenon-a change of statethe notion of the cause which we feel that such a change requires is that of a substance, endowed with certain powers or properties by which the change is effected. This statement, as he remarks, while it is in accordance with the natural notions of men's minds, secures natural theology from the attacks which some metaphysicians have made upon it from this quarter. Admitting that material substances are real causes, brings with it no danger, since experience shows that their properties cannot act without previous adjustment and combination; while the limitation of effects to changes renders it unnecessary to search for a cause of the eternal existence of the Supreme.

Some, however, we apprehend, there will be, who, readily granting to this author that action and passion are predicable only of substances, will feel a difficulty in the way of allowing any proper activity to matter. It must be allowed that our notions of distinct material substances are vague and obscure; and that some of those who speak of the powers of material substances use expressions which would lead one to suppose that they retained

certain obsolete notions of common essences that are probably foreign to their thoughts. What, e.g., is the substance meant, when we speak of the power of the magnet to attract iron? It is not surely intended that there is really but one identical substance in all matter, or in all loadstones, or that the particular loadstone before us, accidentally cut to certain particular dimensions, becomes, by being sepa. rated from the block, a new singular substance. This latter may be the popular notion, but it can hardly be the scientific one. The truth is, that, in a vulgar way of thinking, the mind deals very much pro arbitrio with material substances, narrowing or extending their limits as suits its own convenience; and seems able and apt to consider any portion of matter which it can take in at one view, and shut off for a time from other things by any noticeable limits, as a particular substance. Speaking scientifically, however, the substance, or rather aggregate of substances, intended, must be some original atoms, of whose existence it must be allowed that we have no direct sensible evidence, and of which, unquestionably, the mind takes no conscious cognizance, when it places the cause of attraction in the magnet. But still, upon what ground, it may be asked, are even these atoms asserted to be simple substances? Their

little parts may cohere, if you please, with a force which defies the known powers of nature to separate them:still they are parts separable by Omnipotence and, when the mind considers any one part by itself, must it not regard that as a separate substance as truly as one solid inch in a glass decanter is really a different thing from all the contiguous solid inches?-or, to put the matter in another light, would such a force of cohesion as would make the decanter practically an atom, make it also a distinct singular substance? But if we take refuge in Boscovich's points of attraction and repulsion, is not this really to drop the idea of matter, without confessing it? These and many other (perhaps more important) difficulties will probably induce some readers to prefer the doctrine laid down by Mr. Stewart upon this ques

tion:

"When it is said," he observes, "that every change in nature indicates the operation VOL. XXXVI.-NO. CCXIV.

of a cause, the word cause expresses something which is supposed to be necessarily connected with the change; and without which it could not have happened. This may be called the metaphysical meaning of the word, and such causes may be called metaphysical or efficient causes. In natural philosophy, however, when we speak of one thing being the cause of another, all that we mean is, that the two are constantly conjoined, so that when we see the one we may expect the other. These conjunctions we learn from experience alone, and without an acquaintance with them we could not accommodate our conduct to the established course of nature. The causes which are the objects of our investigation in natural philosophy may, for the sake of distinction, be called physical causes.

In stating the arguments for the existence of the Deity, several modern philosophers have been at pins to illustrate that law of our nature which leads us to refer every change we perceive in the universe to the operation of an efficient cause. This reference is not the result of reasoning, but necessarily accompanies the sensation, so as to render it impossible for us to see the change without feeling a conviction of the operation of some cause by which it was produced; much in the same manner in which we find it to be impossible to conceive a sensation without being impressed with a belief of the existence of a sentient being. Hence, I apprehend, it is that when we see two events constantly conjoined, we are led to associate the idea of causation or efficiency with the former, and to refer to it that power or energy by which the change was produced. It is by

an association somewhat similiar that we connect our sensations of colour with the primary qualities of body. A moment's reflection must satisfy any one that the sensation of colour can only reside in a mind; and yet our natural bias is surely to connect colour with extension and figure, and to conceive white, blue, and yellow, as something spread over the surfaces of bodies. same way we are led to associate with inanimate matter the idea of power, force, energy, and causation, which are all attributes of mind, and can exist in a mind only." Elements of P. of H M., Chap. I. sec. ii. pp. 54, 56.

In the

In a word, the person of whom we speak will be apt to argue thus:Mind is confessedly a cause, a substantial cause, of which, as a cause, we have direct evidence in our consciousness. We are compelled by the law of our nature to conclude the existence of a causal substance where we perceive a change. But that this is a inaterial substance we have no evidence whatever. For it is confessed

21

that the bias of our minds which leads us, in a particular case, to treat the immediately contiguous physical antecedent as the true cause, is illusory. All we can truly affirm, upon any hypothesis, with respect to any physical conjunction, is, that upon the presence of it certain effects will ensue that it is either the cause, or a certain mark of the presence of the cause. Since, even upon the supposition of true mnaterial efficient causes, how can we be sure that the material agent which produces any given effect may be not the sensible object with which it is conjoined, but a subtle being which has hitherto, and will for ever, elude human observation? There is, then, no one material substance which we can, upon any direct evidence, pronounce to be a cause in this sense at all; and, therefore, it is more philosophical to recognise, in such cases, the agency of

such a substance as we know to be capable of causation.

But in pursuing the "springs of knowledge," we have almost lost ourselves in the clouds." Let us return to regions more level to our capacities. Laws of nature, then, are to be considered as laws imposed by God upon nature; and, through an instructive and entertaining chapter, the author proceeds to point out instances of the adaptation of the general laws of nature to the constitution of the human mind. The mind is naturally fitted to love the combination of variety and same. ness, and the number of elements in the collocations of things around is sufficient to produce variety without confusion. The mind is furnished with an intuition of connexions between phenomena a natural vaticination, as Berkeley calls it, of an expected order; and the prophecy is fulfilled by a causal connexion between all events. The mind is fitted to gather knowledge by experience, and an experience is provided for it. Phenomena have causes; substances are so adjusted as to act; causes adjusted so as to produce general laws of succession. We have faculties enabling us to generalise and classify for the attainment of knowledge, practical and speculative; and the principle of order is maintained throughout the world in number, form, colour, &c., both in more obvious lines for practical direction, and in more intricate and various, where only the eye of the philosopher can detect them. The

mind is made apt to love the beautiful, and beauty, both moral and physical, is presented to it.

But there is one circumstance connected with the laws of nature which thinking men have, in all ages, remarked with some surprise-that the ascertainable stability and universality of those laws increases as we recede from earth, and man's practical concerns. The simplicity of the laws of the heavenly bodies, e. g., enables us to calculate with certainty their motions for ages back and for ages to come; while the multiplicity of the laws which regulate human affairs renders the effects often as irregularly variable as if every cause had not been subjected to precise conditions. Thus, in a rough way, it may be said, that what is put within our foresight is beyond our power; and what is within our power is beyond our foresight. It was this view of things which led Aristotle to exclude Providence from sublunary affairs, and compare the universe to a great household, in which the provident care of the master extends itself but slightly to the crowd of slaves and cattle.

The common account of the irregularities of earthly affairs is, that it is a necessary defect arising from the unavoidable crossing of the complex general laws by which they are ordered, and which Omnipotence itself could not prevent, consistently with the use of any general laws at all. But this author is dissatisfied with that explanation. The final end of these irregularities is to be sought in the discipline which they provide for parts of our intellectual and moral nature, which would otherwise lack their due culture. "The recurrences of nature surround us by [with] friends and familiar faces; and we feel that we can walk with security and composure in the scenes in which our Maker has placed us. The occurrences of nature, on the other hand, bring us into contact with new objects and strangers, and quicken our energies by means of the feelings of curiosity and astonishment which are awakened." But the great reason of these apparent irregularities is, that the interferences of general laws are so calculated as to make the course of things administer a particular providence suitable to the ever-changing moral characters and conditions of beings undergoing a discipline for an