ent Greek philosophy was divided, into three branches--Physics,
Ethics, and Logic; and after praising such general division of
philosophy, as being perfectly agreeable to the nature of things, says
that, 'as the human, mind and the Deity, in whatever their essence may
be supposed to consist, are parts of the great system, of the universe,
and parts too, productive of the most important effects, whatever was
taught in the ancient schools of Greece concerning their nature, made a
part of the system of Physics.'

Dr. Campbell, in his 'Philosophy of Rhetoric,' ventures to assign 'local
habitation,' as well as 'name' to spirit itself. Nay, he makes something
of Deity, and the Soul; for spirit, says he, which here comprises only
the Supreme Being and the human Soul, is surely as much included under
the idea of natural object as body is, and is knowable to the
philosopher purely in the same way--by observation and experience.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the importance of these
opinions--they are eminently worthy of attention. If God is a
spirit--and spirit 'is surely as much a natural object as body is'--the
idea of something supernatural cannot for one instant be entertained. If
God is really no more than a 'part' of the great system of the universe,
to immaterialise Him is absurd, inconsistent, and idolatrous. Let it be
granted that God is 'part of nature, and a part too, productive of most
important effects;' and what Logician will be fool-hardy enough to
declare Him without body, parts, or passions?

Nor are Locke's _dicta_ as to the compass of the understanding easier to
be explained away than these of Dr. Campbell and Adam Smith. If we
cannot know more than 'the nature of things as they are in themselves,'
their relations, manner of operation, &c. only ignorant or cunning men
will pretend acquaintance with the supernatural. That nothing natural
can possibly conceive what is above nature is indeed so palpably true as
to deserve a place among philosophical axioms. Imagination itself,
however lofty, wild, or daring its flights, cannot quit the
universe--matter is its prison, where, like Sterne's starling, it is
'caged and can't get out.' Fortunately, however, imagination, though a
prisoner, has abundance of room to legitimately exercise itself in. But,
is it not obvious that if, as Des Cartes and D'Alembert contended, the
'imitations of imagination are imitations entirely confined to the
material world,' all conc