them into one Thought, or disjoining them as dissimilar or incompatible, belongs to the spontaneity, or self-activity, of the intellect.

In the ordinary exercise of our faculties, Intuitions are so intermingled with Thoughts, so quickly pass into them, and are so closely connected with them, that it is difficult to illustrate the distinction between the two by giving an example of an Intuition so isolated and peculiar that there will be no danger of confounding it with any portion of a voluntary and more complex process of mind. But a good illustration may perhaps be found in the case, so frequently referred to, of a person born entirely blind, and subsequently enabled by a surgical operation, for the first time, to see. Suppose that the first visual sensation given to such a person. were that of a flash of red light. This sensation, it is evident, would be to him entirely peculiar or sui generis. He could not, at first, refer it to any class of things with which he was formerly acquainted; he could not give it a name; he could not analyze it into parts or attributes. He did not will to produce or to modify it; it comes to him, so to speak, of its own accord. He could know it, but not recognize it, as the presentation of an entirely new object, by which his mind was involuntarily affected in a new and surprising manner. Such, we may suppose, are the Intuitions of brutes; and the faculty of Intuitions, as the Perceptive or Acquisitive faculty may be called,—a mere receptivity, unmodified by any voluntary act of the patient,—is probably the most prominent of the few mental powers which brutes possess in common with man. In respect only to Intuitions produced in him by external causes, man has no advantage over the lower animals.

But although all our knowledge begins in Intuitions, it does not end with them. In man, the mere receptivity of mind is so soon modified by its spontaneity, the mere Intuition so quickly passes into voluntary or consciously active

Thought properly so called,

that we can hardly tell where

the one ends and the other begins. To recur to the case just mentioned; the moment the person who has now first received his sight begins to consider or reflect upon the new presentation that has thus been made to him, he probably, in a certain sense, recognizes it as a new sensation, that is, he refers it to a class of feelings with which he was formerly acquainted, as coming to him through the other senses, and which, as similar in some respects, though different in others, he has ranked together and called by one name, "sensations" or "feelings." Such recognition is an act of Thought properly so called. It includes comparison of this Intuition with others, and a conscious discrimination of those respects in which it is similar to others from those in which it is unlike them. The Perceptive faculty gives us Intuitions of single objects, each of which is to us a distinct unit, having no connection or relation with anything else; the Understanding, a higher faculty, gives us Thoughts, or enables us to analyze each thing into its parts or attributes, and thus to recognize its various points of resemblance and difference, and so to form classes of things. The former power furnishes the rude material-"the Matter," as it is technically called — of our knowledge; the latter supplies "the Form," elaborating and disposing this rude material in a systematic way, or according to regular laws, by throw ing it into groups, so as to render it conceivable to Thought. Hence the Understanding has been called the unifying faculty, by which the many is reduced to unity.

upon a

If we look out of a window for the first time landscape that is entirely new to us, the momentary glance gives us only an Intuition of the scene, or a confused knowledge of it as one whole, without any distinction of parts, and without recognition of any of these parts as former objects of knowledge. This is because the Understanding requires time to do its work. But if we dwell long enough

upon the scene, first, we recognize (or know over again) one familiar set of objects, and call them trees; then, other classes of objects previously known, and call them respectively buildings, rocks, hills, &c. Lastly, we consider the relations of these objects and classes of objects to each other and to similar objects formerly known, in respect to distance, magnitude, color, &c., and are thus enabled to think the landscape as a whole. This Thought contains a far more perfect knowledge than the Intuition, which was all that the senses gave us at the first momentary glance.

Now, how much is implied in the successive recognition of the component parts of this knowledge as objects previously known, and therefore appropriately designated by a familiar name? Of course, as the landscape is supposed to be now seen for the first time, we do not recognize any individual tree, building, or hill in it as precisely the same object that we have formerly seen. We mean only that we recognize it as similar to some former objects of knowledge; that is, having seen many objects which agreed with each other as similar in many of their parts, -as possessing trunks, branches, and leaves, we have formed them into one class, and called them trees. The object in the new landscape is then recognized, not as familiar in itself, but as belonging to a familiar class of things; we do not recognize it as an Intuition, but as a Concept, not as this tree, but as a tree. Conception is that act of the Understanding or Thinking faculty whereby we unite similar objects into one class by overlooking their points of difference and forming their common attributes into one Concept or Thought, the name of which thus becomes the common name of all the individuals included in the class. Here, again, the unifying office of the Understanding appears; the Concept reduces the many to unity,- brings together many objects into one Thought or many attributes into one subject. Thus we are properly said to know many objects which we

have never seen; for, through hearing or reading descriptions of them, we have formed a right Concept of what they are, and thus are enabled to recognize-i. e. know them over again— and call them by their appropriate name, when we do see them. But this evidently is only mediate knowledge, and is more or less imperfect and inadequate, depending on the scantiness or fulness of the Concept. As Mr. Mansel remarks, a Concept "is not the adequate and actual representative of any single object, but an inadequate and potential representative of many." And again, "it is not the sensible image of one object, but an intelligible relation between many."

Concepts can never come to us from without, for the external world has no Concepts. It has not even Intuitions or Percepts, but only real objects, that is, persons and things, and their marks or attributes. Every real object has an indefinite or countless number of such attributes; for, however long and carefully we may observe it, we can never be sure that we have ascertained all its elements and qualities. Carry the chemical analysis of it one step further than before, or place it in new relations with other real objects, and it will manifest new properties or activities, the existence of which was formerly unsuspected. Observation, which proceeds by a series of Intuitions, can make known to us an indefinite number of these attributes, but can never exhaust them. Hence the knowledge which we can acquire by Intuition, though constantly increasing in fulness and complexity, can never become complete, and is always attended with some uncertainty; as any conclusions that we form respecting the object may be vitiated by the presence of a quality or element of whose existence we were ignorant. Moreover, the limited compass and finite powers of the human mind cannot take in at once all even of those attributes whose presence is perfectly known. The image or representation of the object in our minds immediately

becomes confused, when we attempt to make it grasp too much, or to comprehend, in truth, more than a very few of the known attributes. Giving up the attempt at completeness, then, we form a Concept of the object embracing comparatively few of its ascertained qualities, but selecting those which are most distinctive and essential, in order thereby more readily to discriminate it from other objects of a different class. Such a Concept is certainly incomplete, but it is clear in proportion to the narrowness of its dimensions. We can more easily grasp it in thought, and contemplate it at once in its entireness, because it has so little complexity. On the other hand, the lack of fulness is apt to render the boundaries of the Concept somewhat less distinct. Consequently, any object, so far as it is known only mediately, or through such a Concept, is known only in a few of its leading attributes; and it may even be doubtful whether another object, which resembles it in these attributes, but departs very widely from it in others, ought to be ranked in the same class with it, and called by the same name, or not. If my Concept of tree, for instance, is limited to these few particulars, a vegetable organism possessing a main trunk, branches, and leaves, it will be doubtful whether many small plants ought to be called trees or shrubs. But if I attempt to enlarge the Concept by introducing more attributes, so as to distinguish tree fully from all other plants, the idea becomes cumbrous and confused; we cannot so easily embrace it in a single act of thought.

While the Percept or Intuition belongs only to the particular attribute or object-this one color, house, tree, or stone which has impressed it upon the mind, the Concept refers to all the things whose common or similar attributes or traits it conceives (con-capio), or grasps together into one class and one act of mind. Thus, for example, the Concept red color includes all similar red colors of any object whatever; the Concept tree refers to all trees, the