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fation and progressive motion makes · Thus far Aristotle, and all the ancients who were not Atheists, have clearly gone. And, further, Arillorle lays it down as the foundation of his natural philosophy, that there is an internal principle of motion in all physical bodies, though he does not call it by the name of fugen, or mind; and only fays it is like a mind. But Plato is more explicit upon this subject; for, he says expressly, in the paffage quoted in the beginning of this work *, that it is mind that moves, and body that is moved. And the later Platonilts, and particularly Proclus, is still more explicit upon this subject ; for he blames Aristotle for animating the celeftial spheres, and putting them under the direction and superintendency of mind, but leaving all the lower elements dead and inanimate to And this appears to be likewise the opinion of the most ancient phi. Josopher of Greece, Thales; and I doubt not, but that he brought it from Egypt with him ; for he said that the whole universe was full of gods, that is, of minds; and, particularly, he said, that it was mind in the loadstone which attracted iron.

• And, I think, this hypothesis of mine is agreeable, not only to ancient philosophy, but to religion ; for our scripture tells us, that the Deity, in his intercourse with men, employs subaltern minds or angels, as they are called, to execute his will. And I see no reason why we may not suppose, that, by the fame ministry, he carries on the operations of nature : and, I think, it gives a much higher idea of the Supreme Mind, than if we were to suppose him performing all natural operations, such as the formation of plants and animals in their fucceflive generations, and the movement of every the leaf body, or concretion of matter, by his own immediate agency, and, as it were by his own hand I. If it be true, as I fuppose, that there is as great a variety of minds in the universe as of bodies, it is evident, that, if all the bufiness of nature was to be the immediate work of the Supreme Mind, those inferior minds which, as I fuppose, descend below the Supreme, in infinite gradation, and, in that way, fill up the scale of nature, would want employment, and “ be useless for any thing that appears in the creation."-Further, the progress in the generation, as well as the corruption of all things here below, is very flow, nature proceeding step by step, from one fate of the thing to another. Now, it seems more worthy of the Divine Majefty, that this operose process should be gone through by inferior agents of limited power, to whom it is prescribed to act · only in a certain way, than that it should be the immediate work of Omnipotence, who could do the work all at once, and by a fiat, without going so much sound about.-And, lasily, this hypothesis will account for Nature fometimes being disappointed of her end, and making what we may call imperfeet and bungling work. This may happen through the inaptitude or stubbornnels of the matter not

P. 9.' + • Proclus in Timæum, p. 286 et 287. See also Cudworth's Intellectual System, p. 236, 237.

I • See the book de Mundo, ascribed to Aristotle, cap. 7.-See also Cudworth's Intellectual System, p. 149, where this matter is very well treated.'

yielding yielding to the force of an inferior operator ; but could r.ever happen, if the agent were omnipotent.'

A confiderable part of this work is employed in refuting the modern philosophers, who since the time that Locke and New ton ventured to differ from Aristotle, have been corrupting the morals and understandings of men * His Lord thip, throughout his whole performance, professes the utmost contempt for the Essay on the human Understanding. As to Sir Isaac Newton he observes, p. 271, Sir Isaac, I doubt, in ancient times, while philosophy Aourished, would not have been dignified with the name of a philosopher.' His Lordship does not condescend to answer particularly the blind followers of these blind guides ; but he thinks his work furnishes principles sufficient to answer them all. He modestly observes (p. vii of the preface) • that the ftyle of those authors, as well as their matter, is so different from that of the authors I am accustomed to read, that I had not patience to read them with the attention which is necessary to make a particular answer to them. Another reason is, that as my work is intended more for pofterity than the present age, I did not think proper to mix with it a controversy with authors, whose writings, if I may venture to prophecy, will be quite forgotten in not many years, however they may flatter themselves with not only the continuance, but the increase of their literary fame.'

Among those innumerable insects of a day, Lord Monboddo singles out one, and condescends to deliver down to posterity, in his immortal work, the perishing name of Mr. Hume, author of the English History, Essays, &c. • which have gained reputation among certain perfons ti' His Lord hip is not satisfied with attacking the performances generally ascribed to that gentleman, but he ventures to ascribe to him some anonymous productions, published fince Mr. Hume's death, and disavowed by his friends. Lord M. however, ' is convinced that they belong to him, not only from the impiety of the matter, but from the style, which is dry, inanimate, and without the least colouring of classical elegance f.' We are not called upon to enter into this controversy between Lord M. and the friends of the late Mr. Hume ; but, we hope, it will not be imagined that we exceed the bounds of our province, by suggesting that the known animofity which prevailed between Mr. Hume and Lord Monboddo may have rendered the latter too precipitate in venturing. to ascribe to Mr. Humc, works which that gentleman never acknowledged, and which his friends disavow. We may be permitted farther to suggest to my Lord, that he might

oductions, pub Lord M. bow the impiety and without by his to him, nhich is dry in a We are not and the

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have learned from the pious ancients q to respect the ashes of a deceased adversary; and that it may be worth his while to con. sider whether the conquering of an unruly temper, and subduing the pallions of resentment, envy, and malevolence, be not a better preparation for the world of spirits than the most profound study of Aristotle's metaphysics *. . We have too much respect for the judgment of our Readers to trouble them with an examination of the principles of Sir Isaac Newton's philosophy by an author who acknowledges that he knows nothing of mathematics but the bare elements t. It would be equally impertinent to obtrude on the Public the philosophical or religious sentiments of his Lordship, who, although he discovers new arguments to support the mysterious doctrine of the Trinity in the jargon of ancient metaphysics, contends strenuously for the absurd and impious tenet of the eternity of the world I. We should wish, however, to be able to entertain our Readers with some of the peculiarities of a production which will be reckoned a very curious literary monument of the eighteenth century. But his Eordship's fingularities would afford no kind of amusement, and it happens unfortunately, that such of his discoveries as are worth repeating, have already been explained at length by other writers who had the good fortune to agree with his Lordship. Thus he observes, p. 240, " That Van Helmont' (and other chemical visionaries of the dark ages) < maintained that the celestial bodies were all animated. And I was surprised to find among them, my notion, that there was in the microcosm man, a trinity of principles, corresponding to the Trinity in the great world. Thus, again, in speaking of the profound and modest Cudworth, "I was particularly pleased that he agreed with me in what I have laid down as a fundamental principle, that body cannot move itself, and therefore what moves body, must be incorporeal $.'

We have already taken notice, that the greateft part of his Lordship's work is employed in proving the truth of what he here lays down as a fundamental principle; a conduct familiar enough to metaphysicians, who frequently arrive, after a tedious circuit, at the precise point from which they set out. This is poetically called, by Mr. Pope, prancing on metaphysic ground and is not unlike the disease described by his Lordhip under the name of the Louping, that is the jumping, ague, which prevailed some years ago near his Lordship's houle in the country. We fall insert the whole passage, as the only new information that we have obtained from this very singular performance :

See Ancient Metaphyfics, pasiim. * See the preface, p.g. + P. 263, I Chap. xix. p. 259, &c.

Ś P. 3. || Dunciad,

• There was a phænomenon of the like kind, concerning which I had an opportunity of being very particularly and accurately informed. It was the case of a young girl, in the neighbourhood of my house in the country, who had a disease that is pretty well known in the country where I live, under the name of the luping, that is, the jumping ague; and which is no other than a kind of frenzy, which feizes the patients in their seep, and makes them jump and Tun like persons poffefied. The girl was attacked by this dif. ease three years ago, in the spring, when fhe was about fixteen years of age, and it lalted something more than three months. The fic always seized her in the day-time, commonly about seven or eight o'clock in the morning, after the had been out of bed two or three hours. It began with a heaviness and drowsiness, which ended in Deep, at least what had the appearance of sleep, for her eyes were close shut. In this condition, the would leap up upon ftools and tables, with surprising agility ; then she would get out of the cottage, where the lived with her father, mother, and brother, and run with great violence, and much faster than the could do when well, but always with a certain destination to some one place in the neigh. bourhood; and to which place fhe offen said, when the found the fit coming upon her, that she was to go; and, after she had gone to 'the place of her destination, if she did not there awake, she came back with the fame certain direction, though she did not always keep the high road, but frequently went a nearer way across the fields; and though her road, for this reason, was often very rough, The never fell, notwithstanding the violence with which she ran.' But all the while she ran, her eyes were quite shut, as her brother atteits, ,who often ran with her to take care of her, and who, though he was much older, fronger, and cleverer, than she, was hardly able to keep up with her. When she told, before the fit came on, to what place the was to run, she said she dreamed the night before, that me was to run to that place; and, though they sometimes difsuaded her from going to a particular place, as to my house, for example, where they said the dogs would bite her, she said she would run that way, and no other. When the awaked, and came out of her delirium, the found herself extremely weak ; but soon recovered her firength, and was nothing the worfe for it, but, on the contrary, was much the worse for being restrained from running. When the awaked, and came to herself, she had not the least remembrance of what had passed while she was asleep. Sometimes she would run upon the top of the earthen fence which surrounded her father's little garden ; and, though the fence was of an irregular figure, and very narrow a: top, yet the never fell from it, nor from the top of the house, upon which the would sometimes get by the afiítance of

this fence, though her eyes were then likewise thur.. Some time he. 'fore the disorder left her, she dreamed, as the said, that the water

of a well in the neighbourhood, called the driping well, would cure her; and, accordingly, the drank of it very plentifully, both when she was well, and when he was ill. Once, when the was ill, le expressed, by figns, a violent desire to drink of it (for she did not, while in the fit, speak so as to be intelligible), and they having brought her other water, she would not let it come near her, but re

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jected it with signs of great averfion ; but, when they brought her the water of this well, me drank it greedily, her eyes being all the while shut. Before her last fie came upon her, she said she had just three leaps to make, and she would neither leap nor rus more. And accordingly, having fallen asleep, as usual, the leaped up upon the stone at the back of the chimney, and down again ; and having done this three times, ne kept her word, and never leaped or sua more. She is now in perfe& health..

• This account I had from the father, mother, and brother, whom I examined separately and together, and likewise from the girl here felf, so far as the remembered; for, as I have said, he had no memory of what passed while she was in the fit; but the remembered very weil every thing that happened when me was not, and particularly her dreams. And the told me, that the ilept very well at night, had a good somach, and was in every respect well till the fit seized her. It began, she says, at her feet, and, like a coldness or numbness, crept upwards and upwards, till it came to her heart; after which he had no more sense or feeling of the condition the was in.'

From this and the other passages which we have cited, the Reader will be enabled to form a judgment of his Lordship's style, which cannot be more juftly characterised than by the same epithets which his Lordship bestows on that of the admired author of the English History, dry, inanimate, and without the least colouring of classical elegance.'

After declaring our sentiments with equal sincerity and freedom concerning the demerit of his Lord'hip's performance, justice obliges us to observe, that we approve of the admiration and enthusiasm which he every where discovers for the Grecian Janguage and literature. The Greeks, doubtless, are our masters in almost every art that is either elegant or useful. Their works of poetry and eloquence are still unrivalled ; but their philosophical disquisitions, whether concerning mind or body, have been greatly improved by the labour and ingenuity of succeeding ages. Lord M. however, is unwilling to make any such distinction; and his admiration of ancient metaphysics (which we consider as the least valuable part of Grecian science), degenerating into extravagance and absurdity, there is danger that he may hurt the cause which he means to defend. In proof of this observation we shall citę a passage, which it is scarcely posible to believe should have been written in a country enlightened by the discoveries of modern philosophy :

• What I have said in the preceding chapter concerning the connection of the prædicate or attribute with the subject, in propofitions of which both the terms are general, is not to be underitood by a reader who does not know the difference betwixt Sense and Intellect, Generals and Particulars, Genus and Species, Accident and Substance; for (I myf repeat it again, though I jould give of.

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