LITERARY CRITICISM.

An Examination of the Human Mind. By the Rev.
John Ballantyne. W. Blackwood, Edinburgh, 1828.

PRICE 10d.

could not be explained, until the sacredness of, religion, in the end, became subservient and secondary to the very subtleties that were originally invented for its aid. These impieties and fooleries, indeed, were subsequently destroyed by the promulgation of the Inductive Laws; but, like the stains on female honour, their memory and influence have never been altogether obliterated. One great lesson, nevertheless, has been taught to philosophers in general, by this very stigma,—namely, the danger of prosecuting their speculations with any other view than the discovery of truth, for its own sake; and the absurdity of setting out with the determination of involving their opinions with preconceived notions or systems.

To the great majority of people, metaphysics is, perhaps, the most appalling combination of vowels and consonants in the English language. It is regarded as a sort of cabalistic dialect,-difficult to pronounce, and most impossible to comprehend,-generally made up into treatises of four volumes and upwards, which receive their final accomplishment in the purposes of the snuff- This lesson, however, the author of the volume before vender, or the devices of the trunk-maker. It is the us seems to have overlooked; for, at the very outset, he only branch of science of which a man makes a merit of lays down, as a positive criterion of the truth of any knowing nothing, and young ladies avow ignorance system, that it cannot, by any inferences, lead to a conwithout blushing. In short, it is looked upon as some. clusion which a full moiety of the Christian world hold thing disreputable to human beings, and excusable only to be indubitable; and, in perfect accordance with such in divinity-students and dissenting weavers. Even as a preface, we have all manner of texts from holy writ to far back as the middle of the last century, when the solve the most legitimate and appropriate questions of mental impulse that paved the way to revolution, of natural theology. This is equally repugnant to good government in France, and of opinion throughout Eu- taste, and to the plainest principles and ordinary rules of tope, had lent a deeper interest and intensity to the ab- philosophical reasoning;-and although the author's stract and fundamental doctrines of man's constitution plea of being but slightly conversant with the metaphyand rights, even then we find the most acute and ele- sical writings of others, may serve as an apology in cases gant philosopher of his age,—perhaps of his country,- of oversight or mistake,-we apprehend that it cannot regretting the comparative apathy of his contemporaries stand him in stead for raising, on the very violation of to abstruse theories, and reluctantly frittering his own a rule, a charge of Atheism (as clearly as implication system into detached essays, as the only means of gain- can) against the very individual to whom the doctrines ng a hearing with the public. And yet it is curious, that of the existence of a Deity, and of the immateriality and what is thus obnoxious in a systematic and symmetri- immortality of the soul, as dictates of natural religion, cal form, is the habitual study and practice of every owe more than to all his predecessors. It is either childCian. The whole business and conduct of life is nothing ish or Jesuitical to make any distinction in Atheism beelse than the practical application of those individual tween a genius like Brown and his doctrine. At that laws, which it is the province of philosophy to correct, rate, Atheism might abound all over the world, and yet arrange, analyse, and illustrate. În the most trivial ac- it would be impossible to point out a disbeliever in his tions some theory is formed, some ratiocination made, God. We can conceive of even a mind like Pope's being -upon those very principles which, in their more ex- gradually blinded by the metaphysical plausibilities of tended application, constitute the body and the value of another, until he became the instrument of disseminametaphysical science, and of physical discovery. So ting a system which, had he seen its consequences, he wonderful, indeed, do the splendours of intellectual art would have abjured and detested; but that the most appear, when brought together, and made palpable to subtle and profound intellect of modern times was unView in the annals of philosophy, that "we can scarcely able to perceive, what to Mr Ballantyne appears so very bring ourselves to think that genius is but a form of ge- obvious, is altogether incredible indeed. We would teral tendencies of association, which all partake; and fain hope, that the passage which has called forth our that its magnificent conceptions rise according to the animadversions is merely one of the hasty and undigestsame simple laws which regulate the course of vulgared remarks, of which the volume affords so many specithought."

The distaste for systems of abstract inquiry that has so long prevailed, is attributable, therefore, not to the subject matter itself,-for its immediate application comes me to the business and bosom of every rational being, › but to the repulsive aspect which, under the dogmas and drivelling of the schoolmen, philosophy for a peGod assumed. Urged by a zeal no less blind than petuous, for the support of a creed, as uninfluenal on the heart as incomprehensible to the mind, their tale energies were devoted to mystify matters which

mens; and that, should a second edition ever afford an opportunity of correction, the author will be prompt to cancel an imputation, which justice should have withheld him from throwing on the living, and charity from casting on the dead.

We have insisted thus long on the tone and temper of this work, because the author has weakened his own positions by a perpetual appeal, when hard pushed, to devotional consequences, instead of sound logic: As, where he combats Edward's doctrine of the Will, by declaring, "that it is purely physical necessity, or fatal

ity,"

"-where he overthrows Reid's theory of Contingen-stance, we have primarily any idea of extension, real or cy, by the simple assertion, that it proves "the whole comparative, either of the nervous expanse affected, or universe must be under the supreme jurisdiction of of the body producing the impression? On the contrary, chance," or where he denounces Dugald Stewart for it is notorious, that if, with our eyes shut, the hand is having broached a theory, which, notwithstanding "the carried over any superficies, the idea of extension deappearances of piety under some of its aspects," leads di- pends, not on the position of sensitive surfaces employed rectly to more impious results-than we choose to copy, in the act of palpation, nor on the portion of space tra but which the author has elaborately detailed in a note versed,-but on the comparative celerity or slowness at pp. 242 and 243. Such impotent conclusions could with which the operation is performed. On making only beget a smile, were it not that they appear a kind the experiment, it will be found, that so far from "the of retributive justice towards the philosopher last named, idea of extension corresponding with the extent of imwho, when the fire of genius was nearly extinct, raked pression," we are completely ignorant of the longituup its flickering embers for the purpose of blasting the dinal dimensions, whether we use a finger or a hand, fair fame of a departed, and, in our opinion, superior, or whether the body be two yards or five yards in length. Or, to put the matter in another light,-if the idea of genius. extension depend ultimately on the extent of the nervous extremity affected, the puncture of a pin should suggest little more than the idea of a mathematical point,-which hath position but not magnitude. And yet, (when once the idea of extension has been obtained by other means,) there is, perhaps, no impression, which, in its apparent diffusion, conveys an idea of greater extent. The truth is, that even in our tactual impressions, we do not uniformly refer our immediate sensations to the part affected, as in the case of those who, having lost a limb, ascribe any feeling in the fragment left, to the extremity of which they were long since denuded.

It is time, however, that we proceed to give some account of the work itself. From the introduction,-by far the best piece of composition in the book, and which contains some sound and acute remarks on the mode of conducting philosophical speculations, we learn that the volume now given to the public contains only one of four sections, into which the "Examination" is divided; and that the publication of the rest is (very judiciously, we think,) delayed, until the receptio nof their precursor is ascertained. We are further informed that the author is an amateur, "not extensively acquainted" with writings on the subject of which he treats, and, therefore, as he very truly says, liable to appropriate to himself what may really belong to those who have gone before." Such is the account given by Mr Ballantyne of his intentions, his acquirements, and his book; and after a careful perusal of the latter, it seems to us pretty apparent, that it is the work of one, who is an admirer of what in the days of Beattie was so popular under the misnomer of "the Common Sense Philosophy." Not that in his individual doctrines he is to be confounded with that interjectional and stipendiary polemic,-or even with the more temperate, though equally untenable, arguments of Dr Reid ; but his great aim, in the peculiar system he has adopted, is, like theirs, to measure philosophical theories by popular or vulgar opinion; and to take the ordinary feelings and indiscriminate language of mankind, as the ultimate basis, standard, and appeal, in abstract speculation. This leads him, at every other page, to assume as axiomatic, proven, or needless of explanation, points, on which great doubt, and diversity of opinion, prevail.

In no instance is this more conspicuous than in the first chapter, "On the Sensitive Principle," where, without the slightest preparation, and while expecting some hypothesis or explication of the sentient principle, and its susceptibilities, as the ground-work of future deductions, we are plunged at once into a theory of the Ideas of Extension. Here, in opposition to Brown, who held that such ideas are acquired, and not original; and to Reid, who supposed them to result, not from actual impression, but from the consequent sensations, he ascribes their origin, as well as that of our ideas of duration, to what he styles the "law of correspondence." We give the enunciation of this law in his own words. "Every impression on a sensitive part of the body suggests a sensation; and, in connexion with it, an idea of a portion of extension corresponding to the portion of nervous expansion affected." Ideas of extension, therefore, are concomitant and coeval with our sensations; or, in other words, the very first impression on any of the sensitory organs, (which are merely the extremities of nervous expansion,) necessarily suggests the idea of extension and its various modifications of figure, &c. &c. Now, to this explanation we have only one objection, viz. that it is utterly at variance with the facts and phenomena it is meant to elucidate, even in the impressions of touch, where the idea of extension in the impinging object is most likely to arise. Will any one pretend, that with the tactual feeling of an external sub

Hitherto we have spoken only of the sense of touch, as subversive of mere sensual impressions affording our first notions of extension. But if we take the most cursory survey of sight, taste, smell, and hearing, the theory becomes supremely ridiculous. We should like to know what ideas of extension arise from the odour of a rose, -or if they do arise, whether we have an idea of greater magnitude in smelling with one nostril, with half a nostril, or with both nostrils, or whether a rose of small dimensions suggests its comparative diminutiveness when coming after the fragrance of a bulkier predecessor? In taste,-the doctrine may excuse a glutton for taking large mouthfuls, but it will scarcely satisfy a philosopher of temperate habits.

Our author's theory of our conceptions of Duration we regard as equally unsound,—and his notions on Association scarcely less so. He combats the opinions of Hume and others on the latter point, and maintains that ideas suggest one another, not by any similarity or relation between their objects, but by the simple affinity of precedence between themselves. He endeavours to reduce the commonly received laws of association to this single principle, but at such length that we have not space to follow him into details.

It

The third chapter treats of Volition, under which he includes Attention, Abstraction, Imagination, (in part,) and Causation. He defines Volition to be "the power of detaining our ideas for a longer or shorter period, with a view to the attainment or accomplishment of something;" and characterises it as an original principle of our constitution, "on which, strictly speaking, none of the other It is it which acts on them, and acts principles act. only occasionally as we see meet to employ it." is in this chapter, and particularly in the 5th and 6th sections, when speaking of the freedom of the mind, and the causative influence of volition, that an unfounded apprehension of consequences has hurried the author beyond his depth, and made him, as is usually the case with drowning men, catch at straws. there is in the mind some power or susceptibility, by which, in the choice and attainment of objects, its deci sions are regulated, is beyond the reach of doubt. But that this principle is not, like every other mental susceptibility, called into exercise, and modified and controlled, by the circumstances and objects among which it is placed, is improbable from analogy, and contradicted by experience.

That

It must never be forgotten that what we call distinct powers or principles of the mind,

are nothing else than general denominations, under which certain classes of feelings are arranged; and that so far from any absolute diversity or divisibility of powers, we only know of mind as something capable of existing in certain states, which constitute our whole catalogue of feelings, whether sensations, appetites, or emotions; and susceptible, likewise, of affection and change of state, by the infinity of objects of which it is cognizant. Of these states or modes of mind, there is one termed Desire by some,-Will by others, and Volition by a third party; but which, in all cases, is simply the perception of any object, coupled with the wish to obtain it. This feeling is, perhaps, with the exception of sensation, the most frequent and abiding, in which the mind exists; but still it is as dependent for its rise, force, and duration, upon previous states or affections of the mental principle, as any sensation or emotion whatever. How any existent feeling suggests that which immediately follows it, we do not pretend to explain; but that, in the infinite series of mental states, every mutation has its cause in some antecedent affection, and becomes itself the necessary generator of another change, is perfectly apparent, if we suppose any relation or congruity between the sensations, emotions, and notions of human beings. In short, Desire, or, as our author terms it, Volition, is always an effect of some determinate cause; and, like every other effect, the necessary result of its antecedent. We say necessary; for, according to any rational definition of cause and effect, it is impossible to conceive the existence of the first, without the instantaneous production of the other. Mr Ballantyne, indeed, informs us, that he knows causes, which, in identical circumstances, are not uniformly followed by identical results; and he gives us to understand, that a man may be placed, at different times, in precisely the same situation, as to all motives and capability of acting, and yet his volitions may be different each time, or he may have no volition at all. We shall not pretend to contradict this, as we are not aware that any parallel phenomena ever occurred in this world; but we will give ten to one,-as a friend of ours offers to all manufacturers of the marvellous,—that the like does not take place again.

ject.

From what we have said, it must be pretty apparent | that we have no high opinion of this work. Indeed, we have only been induced to give it the attention it has met with, from the importance of the subjects which it was intended to expound. It is defective in arrangement, lame in reasoning,-and so stiff and dry in style, as to be absolutely insufferable to any other than those who are accustomed to the perusal of mediocre metaphysi

cians.

The murmur of the ocean is for ever around them; the four winds of heaven know them as the children of the storm, and the nurslings of the breeze. They have been over that pathless wilderness of waves, which submits not, as the passive earth does, to human control. On its wide fields mortal hand never sowed or reaped; never does bring forth its spontaneous fruits for man ;-it is boundless because unexplored-omnipotent because irresistible. The lord of the creation sinks into helplessness before its might. Wealth and pride go down with a shriek into its depths, and the solitary sea-bird, in whose sight they perish, wheels far away with a shrill cry of scorn, that they should thus idly have braved their fate. And not the daring navigator alone, but all the habitable globe, seems to be at the mercy of the deep. For a time, perhaps for many ages, it may consent to act in accordance with certain unknown and mysterious laws which regulate the heavenly bodies; but who shall say when it may again, as it has done before, burst its bounds, and roll sullenly on over a vanished world? It is a useless question-an unprofitable speculation; but these and similar reflections, though dimly perceived, and seldom expressed, tend more or less to tinge the seaman's character as well as the complexion of the landsman's thoughts, when we happen to consider the nature of his pursuits.

It is true that this is the poetical side of the subject, and that there is another more familiar and not less just, which detracts considerably from the romance that might otherwise attach itself to the habits and occupations of the sailor. He is in general uneducated, ignorant, simple, unrefined; he ploughs the ocean without medi. tating on its grandeur; he comes into port, and he can tell you little of what he has seen. To him his ship is merely a vehicle for transporting goods from one country to another, and the sea is the mountainous road by which he inust continually travel. He may launch forth upon its waters and return no more; but so have thousands, and when a fate is common it ceases to inspire dread. What, then, is to hinder him from passing over the surface of the waves with as much indifference as the fish passes beneath them? What is he but a fish who occasionally walks about upon dry land? When the sea is calm, it is well; when a storm comes, he must weather it the best way he can. As for the poetry of the thing-its beauty and sublimity, a glass of grog and a bit of fresh beef are worth them all.

Yet, disenchant it as we will, the ocean is full of ro

There still remains an interminable chapter on the Motive Principle, in which the author seems to be in much the same predicament with ourselves, viz. sorely puzzled to discover the meaning of his "Law of Congruity." This, perhaps, was his excuse for writing so much about it. It must be ours, for dropping the sub-mance, not in itself alone, but in that which it contains. Its icebergs, its coral reefs, its wild rocks, and its lovely islands, smiling far away like stars in the coronet of night, live in the imagination, and rouse the mind into activity. Then the stories that have been told by the adventurous mariner who has wandered out of the common tracks; who has been placed in situations novel, if not appalling, and the history of whose sensations tends to throw additional light upon human nature, these can never lose their interest so long as the tides flow. Of all kinds of romance, the romance of real life is the wildest and most absorbing; and in proportion as it is founded upon that romance, fiction acquires a value. Hence, the great charm of De Foe's History of Robinson Crusce; and hence, the anxiety that has long been felt to know exactly the real incidents from which that history takes its rise. In the work before us Mr Howell has undertaken to supply the information. It was an undertaking well adapted to Mr Howell's peculiar habits and turn of mind. The books he has already published, all of which have sold extensively, prove, that besides a very general stock of knowledge, and a liking for laborious research, he posTHERE are few sorts of reading in which the lands-sesses the art of arranging his ideas lucidly, and expressman takes a more romantic interest than the adventures of those who "go down to the great sea in ships." They are a peculiar people who live upon an element of their own; their habits, and thoughts, and feelings, are not as ours.

The Life and Adventures of Alexander Selkirk; containing the real incidents upon which the Romance of Robinson Crusoe is founded. By John Howell, Editor of the "Journal of a Soldier of the 71st Regiment,' "The Life and Adventures of John Nicol, Mariner," and Author of An Essay on the War-galleys of the Ancients." Edinburgh; Oliver and Boyd. 1829. Pp. 196.

ing them in plain simple language, without pretension, and without affectation. Altogether, Mr Howell is a person sui generis. Belonging, as he does, to the lower ranks of life, supporting himself entirely as a mechanic,

by honest industry, obliged to combat with the disadvantages of birth and adverse fortune of various kinds, he has, nevertheless, rescued himself by his own decided abilities, from the neglect to which his lowly sphere would have consigned him; and is now not unfrequently honoured, in his humble shop, by visits from Professor Leslie, Sir Walter Scott, and many other scientific and literary characters of the first eminence. We think it right to mention these facts of the author, and we have now a few words to say of his book.

tion seems to be, that in the one case we read of feelings and occupations of a simple sailor, whose o study was how to keep himself alive; and in the o we are informed of philosophical meditations and aus devotion.

It must not, at the same time, be denied, that tho it is right to divest the subject of the romance attac to it by the novelist, it still retains a very considera interest; and Mr Howell, as a conscientious inqu into the truth of the case, has the merit of placing whole circumstances of Selkirk's peculiar destiny in proper light. We shall present our readers with on two extracts, which relate particularly to the great i dent of Selkirk's life, and which we, of course, consi the most amusing and instructive part of the work. ving told us that he was born in the year 1676, of m parents, at Largo, in Fife, and that he turned ou spoiled and wayward boy, our biographer, having materials to work upon, brings us quickly down to 17 in which year Selkirk, who had early shown a prop sity for the sea, and had acquired some little reputa as a man of skill and courage, left the Downs as ing-master, in one of the two ships with which Dam proceeded on a cruising expedition to the South S After being furnished with some details of the voy which at this time of day possess little general inter we at length arrive at the island of Juan Fernandez which Selkirk's vessel had come for repairs. had by this time quarrelled so seriously with his capt that he determined, at whatever risk, not to return his vessel. The following is the account Mr Ho gives us of his resolution to remain alone on the isla and of his first feelings when he saw his comrades part, never to return :

Sell

Though it is not absolutely proved, there is every reason to believe that the circumstances stated in Cook's Second Voyage Round the World concerning Alexander Selkirk, meagre as they are, suggested to De Foe the first hint of Robinson Crusoe; and, as Mr Howell justly remarks, "the first perusal of the Adventures of Robinson Crusoe forms an era, not the least important in the pleasures which the young mind derives from the divine gift of letters." When, therefore, we come to understand that Robinson Crusoe was not a real person, but that there was a real person on an uninhabited island, under precisely similar circumstances, we are very much inclined at first sight to argue a fortiori, that if we could be made to feel so intense an interest in a man of straw, we must needs feel still greater interest in a bona fide reality of flesh and blood. And so we should, provided his biographer, honestly determined to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth-could find, in connexion with him, a stock of incidents, so minute and artfully arranged as those which the vivid fancy of De Foe supplied. But, on the contrary, little except a few general and leading facts has been recorded. All that even Cook has told us of Selkirk is meagre and unsatisfactory; nor have others been more explicit, for nothing is to be found but cursory notices and accidental allusions in the Voyages of Funnel, Rogers, Ulloa, and Anson; while the separate pamphlets and papers which appeared concerning him in the magazines and other periodicals of the day, were either catch-penny impositions or theoretical speculations. De Foe drew upon his own imagination, and with its assistance evaded these difficulties; but imagination has little to do with biography, and the consequence is, that the small volume before us, with the exception of some 20 or 30 pages of interesting matter, bears too evident marks of being patched out with extraneous and supplementary care before it could be made to attain even its present moderate size. The truth is, that a hundred and thirty years ago, when the science of navigation was not so well understood as it is now, the mere circumstance of being left for a shorter or longer period on an uninhabited island, was not considered so very wonderful. Cook, in alluding to Selkirk, has expressly said; "This solitary life is not so amazing: we have mentioned two other persons who, at several times, continued long on the same island, and without these conveniences, this man we here speak of was furnished with; and yet it was never thought worth while to give any particular account of their behaviour there." More than twenty years before Selkirk came to reside on the Island of Juan Fernandez, the celebrated Dampier left one of his men there by mistake, who remained alone upwards of three years. Subsequently several of Davis's crew were left in a similar predicament. Indeed, there used to be nothing more common than sailors being left, either through accident or design, on uninhabited islands or coasts at which ships touched. The genius of De Foe has almost impressed the belief that no man ever suffered in this way but Robinson Crusoe; and it is with regret we learn, on examining the subject, that he is not "When urged by hunger he fed upon seals, and s so singular an exception as we had been led to believe. shell-fish as he could pick up along the shore. We cannot, in fact, see, that any man in this situation, reason of this was the aversion he felt to leave the be is in circumstances very materially different from those and the care he took to save his powder. Though s which were voluntarily made for themselves, by the her- and shell-fish were but sorry fare, his greatest inco mits of old who lived among the mountains of Abyssi-nience was the want of salt and bread, which made nia, or in the deserts of Egypt. The principal distinc- loathe his food until reconciled to it by long use.

"From the beginning to the end of September, vessel remained undergoing repairs. The disagreem instead of being made up, became greater every day, strengthened the resolution which Selkirk had mad leave the vessel. Just before getting under weigh, was landed with all his effects, and he leaped on sh with a faint sensation of freedom and joy. He sh hands with his comrades, and bade them adieu hearty manner, while Stradling sat in the boat urg their return to the ship, which order they instantly of ed; but no sooner did the sound of their oars, as t left the beach, fall on his ears, than the horrors of ing left alone, cut off from all human society, perh for ever, rushed upon his mind. His heart sunk wit him, and all his resolution failed. He rushed into water, and implored them to return and take him board with them. To all his entreaties Stradling tur a deaf ear, and even mocked his despair ;-denoun the choice he had made of remaining upon the islan rank mutiny, and describing his present situation as most proper state for such a fellow, where his exan would not affect others.

"For many days after being left alone, Selkirk under such great dejection of mind, that he never ta food until urged by extreme hunger, nor did he g sleep until he could watch no longer, but sat with eyes fixed in the direction where he had seen his s mates depart, fondly hoping that they would return free him from his misery. Thus he remained sea upon his chest, until darkness shut out every obst from his sight. Then did he close his weary eyes, not in sleep; for morning found him still anxio hoping the return of the vessel.