Thus, I think, it appears, that the common sense of men (which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authority) has led them to distinguish two parts in the human constitution, which have influence upon our voluntary determinations. There is an irrational part, common to us with brute animals, consisting of appetites, affections and passions, and there is a cool and rational part. The first, in many cases, gives a strong impulse, but without judgment, and without authority. The second is always accompanied with authority. All wisdom and virtue consists in following its dictates; all vice and folly in disobeying them. We may resist the impulses of appetite and passion, not only without regret, but with self-applause and triumph; but the calls of reason and duty can never be resisted, without remorse and self-condemnation.

The ancient philosophers agreed with the vulgar, in making this distinction of the principles of action. The irrational part the Greeks called opun. Cicero calls it appetitus, taking that word in an extensive sense, so as to include every propensity to action which is not grounded on judgment. The other principle the Greeks called νους ; Plato calls it the ἡγημονικόν, or leading principle. Duplex enim est vis animorum atque naturæ," says Cicero, una pars in appetitu posita est, quæ est opun Græca, quæ hominem huc et illuc rapit; altera in ratione, quæ docet, et explanat, quid faciendum fugiendumve sit; ita sit ut ratio pasit, appetitus obtemperet."

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The reason of explaining this distinction here, is, that these two principles influence the will in different ways. Their influence differs, not in degree only, but in kind. This difference we feel, though it may be difficult to find words to express it. We may perhaps more easily form a notion of it by a similitude.

It is one thing to push a man from one part of the room to another; it is a thing of a very different nature to use arguments to persuade him to leave his place, and go to another. He may yield to the force which pushes him, without any exercise of his rational faculties; nay, he must yield to it, if he do not oppose an equal or a greater force. His liberty is impaired in some degree; and, if he has not power sufficient to oppose, his liberty is quite taken away, and the motion cannot be imputed to him at all. The influence of appetite or passion seems to me to be very like to this. If the passion be supposed irresistible, we impute the action to it solely, and not to the man. If he had power to resist, but yields after a struggle, we impute the action, partly to the man, and partly to the passion.

If we attend to the other case when the man is only urged by arguments to leave his place, this resembles the operation of the cool or rational principle. It is evident, that, whether he yields to the arguments or not, the determination is wholly his own act, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Arguments, whatever be the degree of their strength, diminish not a man's liberty; they may produce a cool conviction of what we ought to do, and they can do no more. But appetite and passion give an impulse to act and impair liberty, in proportion to their strength.

With most men the impulse of passion is more effectual than bare conviction; and on this account, orators, who would persuade, find it necessary to address the passions, as well as to convince the understanding; and, in all systems of rhetoric, these two have been considered as different intentions of the orator, and to be accomplished by different means.

CHAPTER III.

OF OPERATIONS OF MIND WHICH MAY BE CALLED VOLUNTARY.

THE faculties of understanding and will are easily distinguished in thought, but very rarely, if ever, disjoined in operation.

In most, perhaps in all the operations of mind for which we have names in language, both faculties are employed, and we are both intellective and active.

Whether it be possible that intelligence may exist without some degree of activity, or impossible, is perhaps beyond the reach of our faculties to determine; but, I apprehend, that, in fact, they are always conjoined in the operations of our minds.

It is probable, I think, that there is some degree of activity in those operations which we refer to the understanding; accordingly, they have always, and in all languages, been expressed by active verbs; as, I see, I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I judge, I reason. And it is certain, that every act of will must be accompanied by some operation of the understanding; for he that wills must apprehend what he wills, and apprehension belongs to the understanding.

The operations I am to consider in this chapter, I think have commonly been referred to the understanding; but we shall find that the will has so great a share in them, that they may, with propriety, be called voluntary. They are these three, attention, deliberation, and fixed purpose or resolution. Attention may be given to any object, either of sense or of intellect, in order to form a distinct notion of it, or to discover its nature, its attributes, or its relations. And so great is the effect of attention, that, without it, it is impossible to acquire or retain a distinct notion of any object of thought.

If a man hear a discourse without attention, what does he carry away with him? If he sees St. Peter's, or the Vatican without attention, what account can he give of it? While two persons are engaged in interesting discourse, the clock strikes within their hearing, to which they give no attention: what is the consequence? The next minute they know not whether the clock struck or not. Yet their ears were not shut. The usual impression was made upon the organ of hearing, and upon the auditory nerve and brain; but from inattention the sound either was not perceived, or passed in the twinkling of an eye, without leaving the least vestige in the memory.

A man sees not what is before his eyes when his mind is occupied about another object. In the tumult of a battle a man may be shot through the body without knowing any thing of the matter, till he discover it by the loss of blood or of strength.

The most acute sensation of pain may be deadened, if the attention can be vigorously directed to another object. A gentleman of my acquaintance, in the agony of a fit of the gout, used to call for the chess board. As he was fond of that game, he acknowledged that, as the game advanced and drew his attention, his sense of pain abated, and the time seemed much shorter.

Archimedes, it is said, being intent upon a mathematical proposition, when Syracuse was taken by the Romans, knew not the calamity of the city, till a Roman soldier broke in upon his retirement, and gave him a

deadly wound; on which he lamented only that he had lost a fine demonstration.

It is needless to multiply instances to show, that when one faculty of the mind is intensely engaged about any object, the other faculties are laid as it were fast asleep.

It may be farther observed, that if there be any thing that can be called genius in matters of mere judgment and reasoning, it seems to consist chiefly in being able to give that attention to the subject which keeps it steady in the mind, till we can survey it accurately on all sides.

There is a talent of imagination, which bounds from earth to heaven, and from heaven to earth in a moment. This may be favourable to wit and imagery; but the powers of judging and reasoning depend chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear and steady view of the subject.

Sir Isaac Newton, to one who complimented him upon the force of his genius, which had made such improvements in mathematics and natural philosophy, is said to have made this reply, which was both modest and judicious, That, if he had made any improvements in those sciences, it was owing more to patient attention than to any other talent.

Whatever be the effects which attention may produce, (and I apprehend they are far beyond what is commonly believed,) it is for the most part in

our power.

Every man knows that he can turn his attention to this subject or to that, for a longer or a shorter time, and with more or less intenseness, as he pleases. It is a voluntary act, and depends upon his will.

But what was before observed of the will in general, is applicable to this particular exertion of it, That the mind is rarely in a state of indifference left to turn its attention to the object which to reason appears most deserving of it. There is, for the most part, a bias to some particular object, more than to any other; and this not from any judgment of its deserving our attention more, but from some impulse or propensity grounded on nature or habit.

It is well known that things new and uncommon, things grand, and things that are beautiful, draw our attention, not in proportion to the interest we have, or think we have in them, but in a much greater proportion.

Whatever moves our passions or affections draws our attention, very often, more than we wish.

You desire a man not to think of an unfortunate event which torments him. It admits of no remedy. The thought of it answers no purpose but to keep the wound bleeding. He is perfectly convinced of all you say. He knows that he would not feel the affliction, if he could only not think of it; yet he hardly thinks of any thing else. Strange! when happiness and misery stand before him, and depend upon his choice, he chooses misery, and rejects happiness with his eyes open!

Yet he wishes to be happy, as all men do. How shall we reconcile this contradiction between his judgment and his conduct.

The account of it seems to me to be this: The afflicting event draws his attention so strongly, by a natural and blind force, that he either hath not the power, or hath not the vigour of mind to resist its impulse, though he knows that to yield to it is misery, without any good to balance it.

Acute bodily pain draws our attention, and makes it very difficult to attend to any thing else, even when attention to the pain serves no other purpose but to aggravate it tenfold.

The man who played a game of chess in the agony of the gout, to engage

his attention to another object, acted the reasonable part, and consulted his real happiness; but it required a great effort to give that attention to his game which was necessary to produce the effect intended by it.

Even when there is no particular object that draws away our attention, there is a desultoriness of thought in man, and in some more than in others, which makes it very difficult to give that fixed attention to important objects which reason requires.

It appears, I think, from what has been said, that the attention we give to objects is for the most part voluntary: That a great part of wisdom and virtue consists in giving a proper direction to our attention; and that however reasonable this appears to the judgment of every man, yet, in some cases it requires an effort of self-command no less than the most heroic virtues.

Another operation that may be called voluntary, is deliberation about what we are to do or to forbear.

Every man knows that it is in his power to deliberate or not to deliberate about any part of his conduct; to deliberate for a shorter, or a longer time; more carelessly, or more seriously: And when he has reason to suspect that his affection may bias his judgment, he may either honestly use the best means in his power to form an impartial judgment, or he may yield to his bias, and only seek arguments to justify what inclination leads him to do. In all these points he determines, he wills, the right or the wrong.

The general rules of deliberation are perfectly evident to reason when we consider them abstractly. They are axioms in morals.

We ought not to deliberate in cases that are perfectly clear. No man deliberates whether he ought to choose happiness or misery. No honest man deliberates whether he shall steal his neighbour's property. When the case is not clear, when it is of importance, and when there is time for deliberation, we ought to deliberate with more or less care, in proportion to the importance of the action. In deliberation we ought to weigh things in an even balance, and to allow to every consideration the weight which, in sober judgment, we think it ought to have, and no more. This is to deliberate impartially. Our deliberation should be brought to an issue in due time, so that we may not lose the opportunity of acting while we deliberate.

The axioms of Euclid do not appear to me to have a greater degree of self-evidence, than these rules of deliberation. And as far as a man acts according to them, his heart approves of him, and he has confidence of the approbation of the Searcher of hearts.

But though the manner in which we ought to deliberate be evident to reason, it is not always easy to follow it. Our appetites, our affections, and passions, oppose all deliberation, but that which is employed in finding the means of their gratification. Avarice may lead to deliberate upon the ways of making money, but it does not distinguish between the honest and the dishonest.

We ought surely to deliberate how far every appetite and passion may be indulged, and what limits should be set to it. But our appetites and passions push us on to the attainment of their objects, in the shortest road, and without delay.

Thus, it happens, that if we yield to their impulse, we shall often trans between the dictates of reason, and the blind impulse of passion, we must gress those rules of deliberation, which reason approves. In this conflict voluntarily determine. When we take part with our reason, though in

opposition to passion, we approve of our own conduct.

What we call a fault of ignorance, is always owing to the want of due deliberation. When we do not take due pains to be rightly informed, there is a fault, not indeed in acting according to the light we have, but in not using the proper means to get light. For, if we judge wrong, after using the proper means of information, there is no fault in acting according to that wrong judgment; the error is invincible.

The natural consequence of deliberation on any part of our conduct, is a determination how we shall act, and if it is not brought to this issue, it is lost labour.

There are two cases in which a determination may take place; when the opportunity of putting it in execution is present, and when it is at a

distance.

When the opportunity is present, the determination to act is immediately followed by the action. Thus, if a man determine to rise and walk, he immediately does it, unless he is hindered by force, or has lost the power of walking. And if he sit still when he has power to walk, we conclude infallibly that he has not determined, or willed to walk immediately.

Our determination or will to act, is not always the result of deliberation; it may be the effect of some passion or appetite, without any judgment interposed. And when judgment is interposed, we may determine and act either according to that judgment or contrary to it.

When a man sits down hungry to dine, he eats from appetite, very often without exercising his judgment at all; nature invites, and he obeys the call, as the ox, or the horse, or as an infant does.

When we converse with persons whom we love or respect, we say and do civil things merely from affection or from respect. They flow spontaneously from the heart, without requiring any judgment. In such cases we act as brute animals do, or as children before the use of reason. We feel an impulse in our nature, and we yield to it.

When a man eats merely from appetite, he does not consider the pleasure of eating, or its tendency to health. These considerations are not in his thoughts. But we can suppose a man who eats with a view to enjoy the pleasure of eating. Such a man reasons and judges. He will take care to use the proper means of procuring an appetite He will be a critic in tastes, and make nice discriminations. This man uses his rational faculties even in eating. And however contemptible this application of them may be, it is an exercise of which, I apprehend, brute-animals are not capable.

In like manner, a man may say or do civil things to another, not from affection, but in order to serve some end by it, or because he thinks it his duty.

To act with a view to some distant interest, or to act from a sense of duty, seems to be proper to man as a reasonable being; but to act merely from passion, from appetite, or from affection, is common to him with the bruteanimals. In the last case there is no judgment required, but in the first there is.

To act against what one judges to be for his real good upon the whole, is folly. To act against what he judges to be his duty, is immorality. It cannot be denied, that there are too many instances of both in human life. Video meliora prob que, deteriora sequor, is neither an impossible, nor an unfrequent case.

While a man does what he really thinks wisest and best to be done, the more his appetites, his affections and passions draw him the contrary way, the more he approves of his own conduct, and the more he is entitled to the probation of every rational being.