of external nature, these being condensed into 'onomatopoeias.' We then explained that there can be no such thing as 'abstract terms,' but that the law of Onomatopoeia in the first place, and that of Correspondence in the second, have combined to furnish the entire framework and superstructure of language. To continue the subject according to the requirements of order, it is necessary therefore that we replace ourselves for a while beside the first framers of language, and note the gradual steps by which they would proceed with its construction; or in other words, how the theory we have been explaining has had its outbirth in practice.

80. On the condensation of any given sound into an onomatopoetic word, it would serve, primarily, for the designation of the object producing that sound. Then it would be applied to objects resembling the original by virtue of agreement in their essences or qualities; and then it would be extended to the denomination of circumstances exclusively connected with our interior being. This process would go on with every onomatopoeia separately. It would not be, however, after any specific rate, but according to the verbal necessities of the would-be speakers. Every word would thus have three stages. The first would be that of its purely onomatopoetic application; the second its extension to related physical objects; and the third would be its extension to the invisible things of our inner being. Until these three provinces of meaning have been obtained by a word, its functions are not fully developed; and it has none beyond these, for these three comprise all that are possible; completion being marked here, as everywhere else throughout the universe, by ternary composition. Considered in reference to language,especially that portion of it required to denote sensations, thoughts, and sentiments, the world would thus continually prove itself to the fathers of spoken language, a repertory of picturesque and lovely symbols, adapted to render audible and pleasing what would otherwise have been no more than mystery and silence. It is impossible to conceive of a more benevolent institution, inasmuch as it operates both ways. For as some author remarks, the very same circumstances which would open an easy vent to the utterance of the speakers of early times, are those which would simultaneously assist and charm the apprehensions of their hearers. Of course the principle is the same now, but then it would act with infinitely greater beauty, because there was not a single word but what exhibited all the evidence of having been constructed by it; and because social intercourse was wholly dependent on the practical recognition of its function.

81. At this immense distance of time it is manifestly impossible to

pronounce as to the particulars of any specific procedure of the primitive framers of language. For transcripts of their conduct we must therefore look to what has been done in later ages, under the impulse of the same great natural laws of mental action by which they were directed. Examples are abundant in all the ancient languages. We there see primitive words giving rise to large families of secondary terms, many of which we have taken up in modern times, and still further expanded. (To be continued.)

THAT THE RATIONAL MIND IS THAT WHICH IS PROPERLY CALLED MAN.

(Now first translated from the Latin* of Swedenborg.)

THE external form does not make a man, for an ape has also a face similar to man's, still it is an ape. A human form may also be made of wax; it is however only wax, and the image of a man. Neither does the external form of the body constitute a man, for brute animals are also gifted with a similar structure, and furnished with similar members and viscera; yea, this is the case with the more imperfect animals, such as insects. Neither does speech make a man, for a parrot speaks, which, however, is not a man. The animal mind (animus) also does not constitute a man, for brute animals also enjoy a similar animal mind, and are, in like manner as man, affected with the love of their body and of the world.

But a man is a man because he enjoys a rational mind; that is, because he can freely think and judge, and can freely will and determine. A man also is esteemed by others according to the quality of his rational mind; if he indulges his animal disposition and temper only, and if he is stupid and dull, he is called a brute, or an animal, and is not acknowledged as a man, except that he is still possessed of a human faculty which can think. The more, therefore, the understanding is developed, or the more elevated the rational mind is, the more he becomes a man. If he excels others he acquires something which is called suprahuman and divine, or which is something above man.

We also in ourselves acknowledge only that to be our own which we possess in our rational mind; for every thing in the whole system receives its quality from the mind. Wherefore all kinds of love, both superior and inferior, flow together into the rational mind, as into their

* For an account of the work from which this extract is taken, see above, p. 361.

centre, from which they again flow out.

Thus the principle of all concentration of the entire Wherefore all other things

actions, and the end of all sensations, or the [human system] is in the rational mind. which are out of the mind are regarded as its instruments and organs, the nature of which the mind knows not, nor does it care to know, provided they render it obsequious service. And it would appear that God regards, as it were, these natural things as of minor importance, and that he places them only among the number of instrumental means, because he has not revealed to us of what nature they are, and how the mind acts by them; but has only given them and furnished the mind with them, that they may be most obsequious and ready for the production of every effect by which the mind can attain its ends.

We love only that which, as it were, blandishes this our rational mind as something peculiarly our own; for every one wishes to appear, as to his quality, by his mind, and if he employs adornments for his body, it is that he may shew the quality of his mind. Hence it is that we hate that which assaults this mind, and we often become angry on such occasions. The reason also why we fear for the body is, lest the mind be deprived of its organs and powers of action.

In our rational mind there is the countenance of the soul (anima), as in the body there is the countenance and effigy of the animal mind (animus). Thus the rational mind may be called the body of the soul (anima), because it is formed into the image of its operations. This mind indicates of what nature the soul is; for if the soul were not spiritual and immortal, no such a mind, in which what is spiritual and natural is conjoined, could possibly be formed. Wherefore, since what is spiritual and at the same time what is natural is in the rational mind, it possesses those things which the man possesses, as in a kind of centre, in which there is a conflux of all things which constitute the man, wherefore the rational mind is that which is called the man. When this rational mind is destroyed the man perishes; that is, he is then a spirit, because he lives only as to his soul.*

This is the reason why a man is called internal and external. The spiritual principle, which flows into the rational mind, forms the interior

* The author teaches in his theological works, that man by death, by no means loses his rational mind, but that he becomes, if regenerate, far more rational than he could possibly be in the world. But his merely natural rational mind, which is in connection with his animal mind becomes at death quiescent, and he rises into his spiritual rational, which belongs to his spiritual mind. The author, after his especial spiritual illumination, had of course much clearer ideas on this subject than when he wrote the above; still it is astonishing to see the clear analysis he gives of the mind, when investigating its faculties and powers as a natural philosopher,-EDITOR.

ar superior man; but the natural principle, which flows in from the animal mind, is the external man. It is the rational mind which perceives in itself what the external and internal man suggest and persuade. The external man is therefore the same as an animal, and the internal man is the same as an angel.

THE NATURE OF INSTINCT AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF REASON.

(Concluded from page 328.)

BEASTS do not think. because they have no ideas, and consequently a thinking principle is no part of their nature. This is the distinctive endowment of man, and hence he speaks. Moreover man's speech is of a twofold character, because he has an interior and exterior thought. He can speak from his interior thought, and at the same time from his exterior; and he can speak from his interior thought alone, and conceal his interior sentiments, or utter things which are contrary to them, as is the case with those who dissemble and flatter. This is man's power and peculiarity alone. All the sounds of his speech proceed from his lungs through the organs of utterance, and these sounds have many variations, all dependent on the state of the affections. Hence the tones of a man's voice, under certain circumstances, indicate the quality of his affections, but the nature of his understanding can be exhibited only in his speech. The affections of anger, sorrow, or love, are discoverable by the distinctive sounds which they utter, but the sentiments which belong to those affections can only be unfolded through the instrumentality of language. To make a verbal announcement of the intellectual sentiments which belong to the affections, is the sole prerogative of man. Beasts have their respective affections, but they have no mental sentiments connected with them; and therefore they are destitute of speech. They possess the organs of voice, and give utterance to sounds, but they have not the power to talk; they have no use for such a power, because they have no mind, properly so called.

Of course we are aware of many of the anecdotes which are told of animal sagacity; but such circumstances are not descriptive of the natural habits of the animals; they are deviations from their common nature. They did not communicate to their descendants the instinct necessary to perform similar acts, nor did they ever teach them to their species: man is the only teaching being, because he is the only thinking and progressive creature. The principles of philosophy are not to be eliminated

from the devious exceptions to general nature. We do not conclude that all men are giants from the circumstance of there having been a Goliah; nor do we think that all ravens wait with food upon humanity, because in old times one is recorded to have fed the prophet. To arrive at a knowledge of the true principles of this subject, we must study what is common and general, and not permit ourselves to be led away by what is eccentric and exceptional. The anecdotes of animals are such, just because the circumstances were deviations from their usual habits; and these deviations have, for the most part, arisen either from domestication or some other direct influence of human teaching; but still the ability to perform them has always perished with the individual on whom it had been superinduced.

We learn what is the instinct of animals by observing their habits among themselves; and it cannot be denied that there are some species whose pursuits display great appearances of political and economical skill. Nevertheless all the contrivances of animal ingenuity shew that they are only actuated by the principles of self-preservation and the continuation of their species.

Among the most remarkable evidence of skilful instinct, the economy of the bee is the most common and conspicuous. Its proceedings may be taken as a fair type of high instinctive action. But what it does is the result of an involuntary impulse, and not the consequence of a meditative principle. Its actions are one round of sameness in all its generations; and therefore it has none of the proper elements of artistic skill. Art diversifies, instinct is uniform. Reason enlightens and ad

vances; instinct is blind and stationary.

Does the bee, when the summer advances, begin to think about the magnificence of the season, and argue with itself concerning the advantages of industry? Does it say within itself, I will now go forth and gather the luxuriant juices of those select and opening flowers which adorn the fertile country, and therefrom provide myself with food and habitation against the inclemencies of the succeeding winter? Does it reflect upon the proportion which it will turn to wax, and determine on the mathematical form of the dwelling to be constructed with it; or does it meditate concerning the residue which is to be converted into honey for food? Certainly none of such efforts at ratiocination take place; they are the acts, not of a thinking principle, but of a necessary impulse. The same is true in other cases.

No one can imagine that the drone, in erecting his labyrinthian dwelling, first determines upon its complicated architecture, and that its intri