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nate with human reason, which it leaves not to its own devices, but will either control or reprove its acts and speculations. This is an awkward peculiarity both of the reformed and of the primitive faith, which are one. It contravenes and baffles very effectively the projects and hopes of those who, in their career of movement and progress, as they imagine, are impatient of impediments and restraints, especially of a religious description. Popery seems to them much more convenient. Its anti-rationality is its great recommendation, for, thereby, it is at the actual epoch, and for all future time, incapacitated from influencing as a directing moral power the political affairs and the secular temper and aspirations of the world. It comports, in this particular, well with the wilful spirit of the age, which would not be without spiritual blandishments and delusions, without a nominal religion, but only free from allegiance to any superior authority over the mind a species of allegiance which the Church of Rome can never again obtain, but which the reformed Church enforces pertinaciously, and extorts even from the rebellious, frustrating, or moderating, or leavening with her own will all their schemes.

From whatever cause it may have arisen, it is certain, at least, that M. Guizot, in his Essay, shows a strong partiality towards Popery. He says that that superstition has been associated with all the advances of European civilisation, whilst he knows very well that modern civilisation dates from the Reformation, and has ever met in Catholicism its main antagonist. He says that the Church of Rome first proclaimed the distinction between the spiritual and temporal power, and is thus the mother of civil liberty all over the world, whilst he knows whatever contrary doctrine, at a particular moment, for a subdolous purpose, may have been announced by that church, she has ever been the direst foe of freedom of all kinds; and that, far from renouncing her claims to supremacy over kings and governments, despite the distinction she is asserted to have made, she has ever, when she has had the power, held fast by them; and that no later than eight years ago, Charles X. of France was hurled from his throne, in consequence of yielding to her pretensions to direct his councils, and mould to her will the policy of his

Cabinet. It is needless, however, to show the hollowness of all M. Guizot's coaxing and flattering arguments in favour of Romanism; they carry their own refutation with them to every one who has the smallest instruction in the gospel or in history.

But we must take notice of another assertion which that gentleman makes. He affirms that Catholicism is acquiring a revived influence in France. We doubt the fact. We have ourselves lately travelled through many of the French provinces for the purpose of ascertaining their religious state; we possess, also, means of obtaining the most authentic information on the subject, and all that we have seen and all that we have learnt on this matter leads us to conclude that Popery has lost its hold upon the French populace, never effectually to recover it. Yet, granting that we may be under a mistake in this particular, to what does the revival of Catholicism, of which M. Guizot speaks, amount? He has himself described, in the little work before us, that superstition, when thinking to do it honour, as the Cloaque, the common sewer of human infirmities, as a fit receptacle only for the diseased and the rickety in understanding, for those who can only think and feel passively by receiving impressions from others, for those who love, in abandoning themselves to an external guidance, to stimulate and becalm their imagination with opiates, and who are not shocked but edified, as they deem, by seeing the most degrading and disgusting mummeries married to pomps and splendours the most imposing. And at the same time that he was giving this description of Romanism, a ceremony, which affords a choice illustration of the truth of this description under its most striking aspect, took place in Paris. There, in one of the first churches, the one where the royal family and the chief nobility are to be seen most frequently, three church bells have lately been christened. The Duke de Berwick and the Count de Lobau were the godfathers, and two noble dames, whose names we have forgotten, the godmothers. The bells were covered with white linen,-the sign of the cross was traced upon them, they were sprinkled with holy water, and solemnly baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. And this, and such ceremonials as this, constitute the revi

*

val of Catholicism, in which M. Guizot rejoices. By such abominable exterior rites, and by an internal superstitiousness so forcibly depicted by his eloquent pen, the Romish, as distinct from the Protestant faith, is alone to be discriminated. When one, therefore, who is not a Catholic, and who professes not to be an infidel, congratulates his country upon the reascendency of these abominations, as exhibiting a genuine expression of Christianity, he is guilty of the most blasphemous outrage upon Christ and his gospel it is possible to conceive. Popery is a delusion, infidelity is a denial of revelation altogether; but when an individual, who is neither Papist nor unbeliever, sets forth a crapulous tawdry mockery, which his judgment must abhor, and which he has himself confessed to be adapted only to mental feebleness, as the Christian religion, he pours a scalding ignominy upon that religion such as it has never be fore received. Neither the corruption nor the renunciation of Christianity are so dishonouring and deadly to it as its identification with imbecility, or a fantastic indolence and enthusiasm of the fancy, which is equivalent to a relinquishment of the reasoning faculties. But it is time now to lift the veil from M. Guizot's real motive in publishing the Essay on which we are commenting. The pacification between powers essentially antagonistic, however dogmatically and impiously insisted on, is evidently proposed merely as a mask to conceal his real object. M. Guizot is not a man seriously to recommend an impracticability, or to waste his time on abstruse, flimsy germanisms. The purpose of his production before us is, no doubt, a specific one; and it is not difficult to discover what that is. nounces emphatically, at the beginning, in the middle, and at the close of his article, that the pacification of which he speaks must take place; and this triple reiteration of the word must, in the same sense, printed in italics, opened our eyes at once to the mean ing and jet of his whole argument. The must proclaims, most assuredly, some premeditated physical restraint to be imposed upon one, at least, of the three powers on which he des

cants.

He an

Now, as it is manifest that infidelity is not liable to constraint of this kind, and that Catholicism, both from its

extensive establishment in France, and from the encouragement it is meeting with from the French Government, has no severity from that quarter to fear, but, on the contrary, much promotive kindness to trust in, it is clear that the emphatic reiterated must of M. Guizot is to fall upon Protestantism.

The French Protestants form a weak party, and the few of that denomination, who are zealous for the propagation of their creed, are a compact little body, peculiarly exposed to assault and oppression from the temporal authorities. They, too, have been of late years, and are likely to continue to be, the only disturbers of the pacification scheme. It is evident, therefore, at whom the thunder of M. Guizot's MUST is pointed. He has been put forward to prepare the way for some tyrannic policy, of which the evangelical Protestants of France are to be the victims. Whenever any

atrocious act of public injustice is to be perpetrated in that country, it is sure to be preceded by a pompous display of set phrases, in which the liberality and enlightenments of tyranny are sought to be demonstrated; and as words usually stand for things with Frenchmen, this verbal logic, in the face of contradictory facts, suffices generally to persuade them that they possess the freedom and superlative wisdom of which so loud a boast is made.

We do not mean, nevertheless, to be understood that the French Government is bigoted, or has any disposition to enter on a course of religious persecution. On the contrary, we are thoroughly convinced that nothing can be more distasteful or abhorrent to the inclinations of that government than conduct of this character. The desire of Louis Philippe, of his Ministers, and of the whole Legislature of France, is, I am persuaded, to be largely tolerant in all which relates to religion. But this tolerating spirit has its origin in an impartial indifference towards all creeds, or rather perhaps in the latitudinarian sentiment respecting Christian faiths, which M. Guizot's Essay so vividly exhibits. Proselytism, therefore, appears to them to be a very malignant species of superstition; and they would consequently check the zeal of Protestants to make converts in the same degree as they

would keep down the dominating exclusive pretensions of Popery, or probably with much greater severity. Should Protestantism remain quiet within its present bounds in France, it would assuredly receive their protection, and be guarded scrupulously from all molestation. But all efforts that may be made to extend its influence in an aggressive direction upon the pagan irreligiousness which overspreads that land, brought about by the Church of Rome, by exposing the errors of that church, will certain. ly be met by the utmost repressive rigour from the French judicial tribunals. Instances of this have already several times occurred, in which justice and law, the Charte and the most indisputable principles of religious freedom, have been set aside, in order to obstruct the progress of the Gospel. And we perceive a very clear intimation in the pages under our review, that proceedings of this kind are to be systematically persevered in, whenever occasion may offer, for the same purpose.

It behoves, then, French Protestants to understand well their position, and they cannot do this without understanding their own importance. If they consider themselves as what they numerically are, a mere fraction of the French population; if they regard themselves as nationally an insignificant body of men; if they believe that the action of their zeal should be confined to narrow circles; that individual conversions, however numerous, should form the limit of their hope, they misconceive, we apprehend, the peculiar nature of their situation. Its peculiarity and its extreme momentousness consists in this, viz., that the great mass of their countrymen, Popish and Infidel, must receive the light of the Gospel from them, or they will, according to all human appearances, never be visited by it at all. In Popery for the intellect, and beyond Protestantism, there is no Christianity. If Frenchmen, therefore, cannot be brought over to the adoption of the reformed faith, they must for ever remain destitute of religion. The thought that this great change among them may be to any considerable extent effected, may, we know, strike our readers as preposterously absurd; yet they should reflect, that as there is but one step from the

sublime to the ridiculous, so also there is only one step from the ridiculous to the sublime. M. Guizot himself has said with brilliant and profound conciseness:-" Quand on a raison, on a souvent beaucoup plus raison qu'on ne croit,"-which may be thus paraphrased:-" a right principle, vigorously asserted, may stretch in its consequences infinitely beyond the most sanguine anticipations." There are, besides, many considerations which should elevate the hope of zealous Protestants to take a wide view of the work which Providence has entrusted to them in France; and the principal of these is, that the place which religion should hold in the heart of man is there unoccupied, whether by infidelity, or philosophy, or superstition, or any strong popular interest in public affairs, or revolutionary passion, all of which have fallen into a febrile atrophy, whilst the void which is left in the bosoms of Frenchmen is so painfully felt, that there is a cry for spiritual aliment from one end of the land to the other."Who will show us any good?" is the question with which every production that issues from the French press teems-the burden of the intellect and of the affections of the whole nation. that nation then, at large, Protestantism should address itself; and if the Evangelical party of that kingdom were thorougly convinced of this-if they comprehended the grandeur of their mission, they would derive inspiration from the large perspective it opens before them; and every effort to discourage or restrain their zeal would only afford them proof of their past success, and, instead of disheartening, would bring with it a fresh supply of courage to speed them on their philanthropic career. It is the genius of the Gospel to produce by small despised means great effects. These great effects should, consequently, never be lost sight of. To entertain petty prospects as the result of the proclamation and energetic enforcement of divine truth, is to betray a sentiment strongly akin to incredulity; and this very pettiness of prospect, which springs from a shrunken timid soul, delivers over those who aspire not beyond it an easy prey into the hands of the oppressor.

To

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF CONSCIOUSNESS.

PART V.
CHAPTER I.

THE question of Liberty and Necessity has been more perplexed and impeded in its solution by the confounding of a peculiar and very important distinction, than by all the other mistakes and oversights burdened upon. it besides. The distinction to which we allude is one which ought to be constantly kept in mind, and followed out as a clue throughout the whole philosophy of man- -the distinction, namely, between one's existence for others, and one's existence for one'sself, or, in other words, the distinction between unconscious and conscious existence. This distinction, we remark, is very commonly confounded; that is to say, the separate species of existence specified, instead of being regarded as two, are generally regarded as only one; and the consequence is, that all the subsequent conclusions of psychology are more or less perplexed and vitiated by this radical entanglement, and more particularly is the great question just mentioned involved in obscurity thereby, and, to all appearance, doomed to revolve in the weary rounds of endless and barren speculation. We have already, in various parts of this discussion, endeavoured to establish a complete distinction between these two kinds of being; and now, with a view of throwing some light on the intricate question of Liberty and Necessity, not derived from reasoning, but from immediate fact, we proceed to illustrate and enforce this discrimination more strenuously than ever.

What, then, is our existence for others; and in what respect is it to be taken into account in a scientific estimate of ourselves? A little reflection will explain to us what it is, together with all its actual or possible accompaniments.

It will be admitted that except in man there is no consciousness any where throughout the universe. If, therefore, man were deprived of consciousness, the whole universe, and all that dwell therein, would be destitute of that act. Let us suppose, then, that

this deprivation actually takes place, and let us ask, What difference would it make in the general aspect and condition of things? As far as the objects of the external universe, animals and so forth, are concerned, it would confessedly make none; for all these are without consciousness at any rate, and therefore cannot be affected by its ab

sence.

as the

The stupendous machinery of nature would move round precisely as heretofore. But what difference would the absence of consciousness make in the condition of man? Little or none, we reply, in the eyes of a spectator ab, extra. In the eyes of a Being different from man, and who regards him, we shall suppose, from some other sphere, man's ongoings without consciousness would be the same, or nearly the same, as they were with consciousness. Such a Being would occupy precisely the same position towards the unconscious man conscious man at present holds towards the unconscious objects of creation; that is to say, man would still exist for this Being, and for him would evolve all his varied phenomena. We are not to suppose that man in this case would be cut off from any of those sources of inspiration which make him a rational, a passionate, a sentient, and an imaginative creature. On the contrary, by reason of the very absence of consciousness, the flood-gates of his being would stand wider than before, and let in upon him stronger and deeper currents of inspiration. He would still be visited by all his manifold sensations, and by all the effects they bring along with them; he would still be the creature of pleasure and of pain; his emotions and desires would be the same as ever, or even more overwhelming; he would still be the inspired slave of all his soft and all his sanguinary passions, for, observe, we are not supposing him deprived of any of these states of being, but only of the consciousness, or reference to self, of them-only of that notion and reality of self which generally accompanies them—a partial cur

tailment perfectly conceivable, and one which sometimes actually takes place; for instance, in that abnormal condition of humanity denominated somnambulism. In the case we are supposing, then, man's reason or intelligence would still be left to him. He would still be a mathematician like the bee, and like the beaver a builder of cities. He might still, too, have a language and a literature of a certain kind, though destitute, of course, of all allusions and expressions of a conscious or personal character. But the "Goddess" or the "Muse" might and would still infuse into his heart the gift of song; and then an unconscious Homer, blind in soul as well as blind in sight, filled by the transmitted power of some foreign afflatus, might have sung the wrath of an unconscious Achilles, and the war waged against Troy by heroic somnambulists from Greece. For poetry represents the derivative and unconscious, just as philosophy represents the free and conscious, elements of humanity; and is itself, according to every notion of it entertained and expressed from the earliest times down to the present, an inspired or fatalistic developement, as is evident from the fact, that all great poets, in the exercise of their art, have ever referred away their power from themselves to the "God," the "Goddess," the "Muse," or some similar source of inspiration always foreign to themselves.* "Est Deus," says the poet,

"Est Deus in nobis, agitante calescimus

illo."

Listen, also, to the testimony of our own Milton, who, in one of his elegies, gives voice to the belief that he owed his genius to the spring, and, like a tree in the budding woods, was wont to blossom into song beneath the vivifying spirit of that genial time. "Fallor?" he asks,

"Fallor? an et nobis redeunt in carmina vires,

Ingeniumque mihi munere veris adest?"

The sublimest works of intelligence, then, are quite possible; and may be easily conceived to be executed with

out any consciousness of them on the part of the apparent and immediate agent. Suppose man to be actuated throughout his whole nature by the might of some foreign agency; and he may realize the most stupendous operations, and yet remain in darkness, and incognizant of them all the while. A cognizance of these operations certainly does not necessarily go hand in hand with their performance. What is there in the workings of human passion that consciousness should necessarily accompany it, any more than it does the tossings of the stormy sea? What is there in the radiant emotions which issue forth in song, that consciousness should naturally and necessarily accompany them, any more than it does the warblings and the dazzling verdure of the sun-lit woods? What is there in the exercise of reason, that consciousness should inevitably go along with it, any more than it accompanies the mechanic skill with which the spider spreads his claggy snares? There is obviously nothing. The divorce, then, between consciousness, and all these powers and operations, may be conceived as perfectly complete; and this conception is all that is here necessary for thepurposes of our coming argument.

Existence, then, together with all the powers and operations just indicated, might be truly predicated of man, even in his unconscious state. And even more than this might be affirmed of him. We could not, indeed, with propriety, say (the reason of which will appear by and by) that man, without consciousness, would be invested in any degree with a moral character. Yet even here, according to the moral philosophy of Paley and his school, in which morality is expounded as the mere adaptation of means to ends in the production of the social welfare-which adaptation might be perfectly well effected without any consciousness on the part of man, just as bees and other animals adapt means to ends without being aware of what they are about-according to this view, man, although unconscious, would still be a moral creature. Neither, without consciousness, would

Hence the truth of the common saying-Poeta nascitur non fit; an adage which is directly reversed in the case of the philosopher-Philosophus fit non nascitur. † Miltoni Poemata. Elegia quinta. In adventum Veris.

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