tubes affecting us variously according to the motions excited in them, or according to the courses of some subtile fluid they contain or should we, with Doctor Hartly, suppose the nerves to be solid capilaments, and the business performed by an ether surrounding them on the outside, this will amount to the same thing; because a number of these small strings placed close together will form tubes of the interstices between them, which may serve as channels for the foresaid ether to pass along. Therefore, if I were to compare the human machine to any of our contrivances of art, I should choose for my foundation a large Organ; wherein the bellows answer to the animal circulation, the pipes to the organs of sensation and reflection, and the organist to the mind. But the organist here does not make all the music: for the pipes are so contrived as to sound with the striking of things external upon them, or by the mere working of the bellows, which plays as it were by clock-work without a blower. Yet is this but an imperfect representation of the natural machine: to make our comparison more complete, we must suppose other sets of pipes for conveying objects of the other senses ; besides innumerable smaller ones returning an echo to the larger, and new modulating the sounds or lights received from them, which supplies us with our ideas of reflection. These little vessels are so soft and flexible, that they will change their form and run into various contextures with one another, whereon depend our inclinations and stores of knowledge for as a pipe will give a different sound according to the length or other dimensions it consists of, so objects affect us differently according to the disposition of the channels through which they pass. Nor must we omit the many conveyances necessary for distributing the alimentary juices, which serve like oil to moisten and supple the works or to repair the waste made by continual use. Add to this a multitude of other pipes which dilate and shorten upon inflation, and thereby draw certain strings fastened to their extrenities: from whence proceeds muscular motion, and the power of acting upon the several parts of our machine, as well the grosser as the iner. And all this infinite variety of works, so complicated with one another, and yet so exactly disposed as not to interfere with each other in their play, Nature has stowed within the narrow compass of a human body; which if an artist were to endeavor to imitate by constructing an engine that should perform those few of the human movements that art can imitate, it would require an immense fabric to contain everything necessary for executing his purpose. But the most wonderful circumstance of all is, that our organist sits in utter darkness with respect to the nearest parts of his instrument, which are to be the immediate subjects

of his action, having no notice of anything but what comes to him through his pipes: he knows not the situation of his keys, on which hand lies the base or the treble; nevertheless, after competent practice in his trade, he acquires such an unaccountable expertness, that he never touches the wrong key, but takes his measures exactly, without perceiving what they are, and upon an idea only of some remote consequence they will produce.

5. Since there is so close a connection between the parts of our machine acted upon by the mind and those moved by the animal circulation, it follows that each must have an influence upon the other. Our vital spirits, according as they stand disposed, force a particular kind of ideas upon the mind, and the latter in every exertion of her power causes an alteration in the courses of the former sometimes designedly, but oftener as a natural consequence of something else she intends. He that runs means only to arrive the sooner at the place whither he would go ; but besides this he quickens his pulse, heats his flesh, and puts himself out of breath, effects which he did not think of, nor perhaps should have ensued had it been at his option to have helped them. The like happens on other exercises of our activity, which propagate a motion to the several parts of our body corresponding respectively with the organs employed in those exercises; and these parts, by frequently receiving such motions, become disposed to fall into them again mechanically, or upon the slightest touch, and thereby excite the same ideas that generated them. From hence arise our habits, which though learned at first by single, but perhaps inadvertent acts of the mind, yet recur upon us afterwards involuntarily. Hence likewise spring the passions, which I take to be only a stronger sort of habits acquired early in our childhood, when the matter of our composition being tender and pliable, may be worked easily into new channels wherein the animal spirits may flow more copiously. For I do not imagine that nature gave us passions she may indeed have made each man more susceptible of one sort than another, but they are brought into form by the action of the mind bending her notice continually to particular sets of objects. Just as nature may have prepared one man for a dancer by giving him strength and suppleness in his joints, or another for a singer by giving him a clear and sonorous voice; but it is art and patience that invests them with the respective faculties of dancing or singing.

CHAP. XXI.

PASSIONS.

We have taken notice that children, on their first entrance into the world, have a general notion of action, though they know not in what manner to apply it: therefore when anything effects them strongly, they strain every nerve, and exert all their little powers of motion. But as they grow acquainted with the uses of those powers, they confine their efforts to some particular quarter: yet their knowledge for a long while being very imperfect, they still employ more exertion than necessary, striving to attain that by vehemence which they want skill to accomplish by management. These efforts made upon the organs of reflection, as well as those of motion, being frequently repeated upon the same parts, widen the passages coinmunicating with the vital circulation, which thereby more readily admit the animal spirits, and take in a larger flow than they were capable of in their natural state. Whence proceeds the violence and obstinacy of passion, which will scarce allow any ideas to enter the mind besides those of its own cast, nor can be put out of its course until the ferment subsides of itself: wherein there is no room to doubt of the animal spirits being concerned, when we consider the effects generally visible upon the pulse, the nerves, and the countenance. Thus it appears we work out the passions by our own activity, not indeed with a deliberate design which the infant mind is scarce capable of at the time when she lays the foundation of them, but by that inadvertent notice she is led to fix upon striking objects.

The passions seem to have their particular provinces in the several parts of our machine what alterations they produce in the body, it belongs to the painter, the sculptor, and the anatomist to ascertain; and what play they give the mental organs belongs to no professor whatever, as lying beyond the reach of any science yet attained by human sagacity. So there remains only for me to examine what ideas give rise to each of them, and hang upon the mind during their influence: nor shall I attempt a complete dissertation upon them all, but offer such few observations as may occur concerning the principle.

2. Immediate satisfaction being the point that constantly attracts our notice, and gives influence to all our other ideas, we must look there as the most likely place to find the source of our passions. Whatever present action in our power promises satisfaction, prompts the mind to pursue it, and this state of mind we

call desire; for I take desire to be nothing else but the prospect of some agreeable perception, together with some present act apprehended productive thereof: this therefore is the spring that begins to set us in motion, and actuates us incessantly in every exercise of our powers, for we never stir a fibre but for the sake of something we desire to have produced thereby; and Mr. Locke declares himself of the same opinion, where he says desire is always the thing that determines the Will. But this common desire is not a passion, being too gentle to deserve that name: otherwise we could never possess our minds in tranquillity, because there is scarce a moment in our waking hours wherein we are not urged to something either momentous or trifling. But when the purpose we aim at does not ensue upon our first endeavors, the mind redoubles her efforts under an apprehension that a stronger exertion may succeed where a weaker did not; for it has been commonly remarked that difficulties lying in the way of desire, like water thrown upon coals, if not enough to extinguish it, make it burn with a fiercer flame. After having frequently practised exertions of this sort, the spirits get a habit of rising in a ferment, which will let no other idea intrude besides that of the engaging object; and then desire takes the form of a passion. I know that strong sensations, and cravings of appetite, will raise violent commotions in the earliest times of life, before any habit can be acquired: but sense and appetite have always been distinguished from passion, wherein the organs of reflection bear a principal share, and ideas hang longer, and make deeper impression upon the mind than sensation could have enabled them to do, which additional force they must have derived from habit.

But an objection may be started against my making the prospect of means tending towards an attainable satisfaction to constitute desire, because it is very well known, that men too often set their hearts upon things they see no possibility of obtaining. This I acknowledge to be fact, nevertheless, even in these cases there is something the mind apprehends to be feasible; for when the object of desire lies anything remote, every step leading to it, nay, the very thought of an approach towards it, soothes the mind with a momentary satisfaction, which thought may be in our power, though the object itself confessedly is not; for we have seen that persuasion does not always follow conviction, and as by reading a poem or a novel, so by an operation upon our mental organs, we may sometimes raise a temporary persuasion of things we know to be false. Besides, the holding an object in our thoughts is one means towards attaining it, because that may suggest expedients which did not presently occur, and because the strength

of an idea, heightened by our attention to it, urges us to a stronger exertion of our powers. These causes I conceive make people dwell upon whatever appears with an engaging aspect, and keep them still hankering after things they have found unattainable. For present satisfaction being the point continually in view, they flatter themselves with a fond imagination of making advances towards the obtaining of their wishes, where understanding can give them no such prospect, overlooking that disappointment which must necessarily ensue. The mind has a strange knack of deceiving herself with respect to the success of her measures, when the taking them promises some little amusement for the next succeeding moment. If the idea of something attainable were not part of the essence of desire, there would be no difference between desire and the contemplation of anything agreeable, which is contrary to experience. I suppose most of us would think it very agreeable to fly about in the air like a stork or an eagle; methinks it would be mighty pretty to glide along with such an easy motion, to transport ourselves suddenly from place to place, to soar in the upper regions, having an extensive prospect of lands and seas below, and varying our scenes at pleasure; yet we never fix our desires upon such amusement, but what hinders us, unless that we cannot raise even a delusive imagination of anything practicable towards the attainment of it? But should some Dedalus invent a plausible scheme for making wings, we should probably find ourselves very desirous of having a pair, though we sold our coaches for the purchase: and if after many fruitless attempts we were convinced the thing was impracticable, we might still continue to ruminate upon it for a time, and please ourselves with hunting after better expedients upon a bare possibility, though without any hope of finding them.

3. All that has been said above concerning satisfaction, may be applied with a little alteration to uneasiness, which urges us to fly from it in the same manner as the other attracts us towards it. Wherefore the schoolmen reckon another passion opposite to desire, which they call Flight, or Avoidance, and has some impending evil for its object: but since whatever appears hurtful we always desire to avoid, since the very escape from mischief affords a sensible satisfaction, and since nature has so befriended us that we never want for amusement, whenever we can keep clear of all disagreeable perceptions, there seems little need of distinguishing between the avoidance of evil and desire of good, the latter being always implied in the former: and the less, because it would require some nicety and labor of thought to make such distinction.