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3. When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we are unable to make a proper discrimination in point of utility and importance, among the ideas which are presented to us; and by attempting to grasp at every thing, we fail in making those moderate acquisitions which are suited to the limited powers of the human mind. As our information extends, our selection becomes more judicious and more confined; and our knowledge of useful and connected truths advances rapidly, from our ceasing to distract the attention with such as are detached and insignificant.

4. Every object of our knowledge is related to a variety of others; and may be presented to the thoughts, sometimes by one principle of association, and sometimes by another. In proportion, therefore, to the multiplication of mutual relations among our ideas (which is the natural result of growing information, and in particular, of habits of philosophical study,) the greater will be the number of occasions on which they will recur to the recollection, and the firmer will be the root which each idea, in particular, will take in the memory. It follows, too, from this observation, that the facility of retaining a new fact, or a new idea, will depend on the number of relations which it bears to the former objects of our knowledge; and, on the other hand, that every such acquisition, so far from loading the memory, gives us a firmer hold of all that part of our previous information, with which it is in a great degree connected.

5. In the last place, the natural powers of memory are, in the case of the philosopher, greatly aided by his peculiar habits of classification and arrangement. As this is by far the most important improvement of which memory is susceptible, it will be considered more particularly than any of the others that have been mentioned.

The advantages which the memory derives from a proper classification of our ideas, may best be conceived by attending to its effects, in enabling us to conduct, with ease, the common business of life. In what inextricable confusion would the lawyer or merchant be immediately involved, if he were to deposit in his cabinet promiscuously, the various written documents which daily and hourly pass through his hands? Nor could this confusion be prevented by the natural powers of memory, however vigorous they might happen to be. By a proper distribution of these documents, and a judicious reference of them to a few general titles, a very ordinary memory is enabled to accomplish more, than the most retentive, unassisted by method. We know, with certainty, where to find any article we may have occasion for, if it be in our possession; and the search is confined within reasonable limits, instead of being allowed to wander at random amidst a chaos of particulars.

Or, to take an instance still more immediately applicable to our purpose: suppose that a man of letters were to record, in a common-place book without any method, all the various ideas and facts which occurred to him in the course of his studies; what difficulties would he perpetually experience in applying his acquisitions to use? and how completely and easily might these difficulties be obviated by referring the particulars of his information to certain general heads? It is obvious, too, that, by doing so, he would not only have his knowledge much more completely under his command, but as the particulars classed together would all have some connexion more or less, with each other, he would be enabled to trace with advantage those mutual relations among his ideas, which it is the object of philosophy to ascertain.

A common-place book, conducted without any method, is an exact picture of the memory of a man whose inqui

ries are not directed by philosophy. And the advantages. of order in treasuring up our ideas in the mind, are perfectly analogous to its effects when they are recorded in writing.

Nor is this all. In order to retain our knowledge distinctly and permanently, it is necessary that we should frequently recall it to our recollection. But how can this be done without the aid of arrangement? Or supposing that it were possible, how much time and labour would be necessary for bringing to our view the various particulars of which our information is composed? In proportion as it is properly systematized, this time and labour are abridged. The mind dwells habitually, not on detached facts, but on a comparatively small number of general principles; and by means of these, it can summon up, as occasion may require, an infinite number of particulars associated with them; each of which, considered as a solitary truth, would have been as burdensome to the memory, as the general principle with which it is connected.

CHAPTER VIII.

OF DISCERNING, AND OTHER OPERATIONS OF THE MIND.

I. No Knowledge without Discernment.

ANOTHER faculty we may take notice of in our minds, is that of discerning and distinguishing between the several ideas it has. It is not enough to have a confused perception of something in general: unless the mind

had a distinct perception of different objects and their qualities, it would be capable of very little knowledge, though the bodies that affect us were as busy about us as they are now, and the mind continually employed in thinking. On this faculty of distinguishing one thing from another, depends the evidence and certainty, of several, even very general propositions, which have passed for innate truths, because men, overlooking the true cause why those propositions find universal assent, impute it wholly to native uniform impressions, whereas in truth it depends upon this discerning faculty of the mind, whereby it perceives two ideas to be the same or different.

II. Difference between Wit and Judgment.

How much the imperfection of accurately discriminating ideas one from another lies either in the dullness or faults of the organs of sense, or want of acuteness, exercise, or attention in the understanding, or hastiness and precipitancy, natural to some tempers, we will not here examine; it suffices to take notice, that this is one of the operations that the mind may reflect on and observe in itself. It is of that consequence to its other knowledge, that so far as this faculty is in itself dull, or not rightly made use of, for the distinguishing of one thing from another, so far our notions are confused, and our reason and judgment disturbed or misled. If in having our ideas in the memory ready at hand consists quickness of parts in this of having them unconfused, and being able, nicely to distinguish one thing from another, where there is but the least difference, consists, in a great measure, the ex actness of judgment and clearness of reason, which is to be observed in one man above another. And hence, perhaps, may be given some reason of that common observation, that men who have a great deal of wit, and prompt

memories, have not always the clearest judgment or deepest reason for wit lying most in the assemblage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy; judgment, on the contrary, lies quite on the other side, in separating carefully, one from another, ideas, wherein can be found the least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude, and by affinity to take one thing for another. This is a way of proceeding contrary to metaphor and allusion, wherein for the most part lies that entertainment and pleasantry of wit which strikes so lively on the fancy, and therefore is so acceptable to all people, because its beauty appears at first sight, and there is required no labour of thought to examine what truth or reason there is in it. The mind, without looking any farther, rests satisfied with the agreeableness of the picture, and the gayety of the fancy; and it is a kind of an affront to go about to examine it by the severe rules of truth and good reason; whereby it appears that it consists in something that is not perfectly conformable to them.

III. Clearness alone hinders confusion.

To the well distinguishing our ideas, it chiefly contributes, that they be clear and determinate; and where they are so, it will not breed any confusion or mistake about them, though the senses should, (as sometimes they do) convey them from the same object differently on dif ferent occasions, and so seem to err: for though a man in a fever should from sugar have a bitter taste, which at another time would produce a sweet one, yet the idea of bitter in that man's mind would be as clear and distinct from the idea of sweet as if he had tasted only gall. Nor

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