ccur
simultaneously; we do not possess the intellectual organ, nor
apparently any rudiment of the organ, which would enable us to pass,
by a process of reasoning, from the one to the other. They appear
together, but we do not know why. Were our minds and senses so
expanded, strengthened, and illuminated, as to enable us to see and
feel the very molecules of the brain; were we capable of following all
their motions, all their groupings, all their electric discharges, if
such there be; and were we intimately acquainted with the
corresponding states of thought and feeling, we should be as far as
ever from the solution of the problem, "How are these physical
processes connected with the facts of consciousness?" The chasm
between the two classes of phenomena would still remain intellectually
impassable.' [Footnote: Bishop Butler's reply to the Lucretian in the
'Belfast Address' is all in the same strain.]

Compare this with the answer which Mr. Martineau puts into the mouth
of his physicist, and with which I am generally credited by Mr.
Martineau's readers, both in England and America--'"It [the problem of
consciousness] does not daunt me at all. Of course you understand
that all along my atoms have been affected by gravitation and
polarity; and now I have only to insist with Fechner on a difference
among molecules: there are the inorganic, which can change only their
place, like the particles in an undulation; and there are the organic,
which can change their order, as in a globule that turns itself inside
out. With an adequate number of these our problem will be
manageable." "Likely enough," we may say ["entirely unlikely," say
I], "seeing how careful you are to provide for all emergencies; and
if any hitch should occur in the next step, where you will have to
pass from mere sentiency to thought and will, you can again look in
upon your atoms, and fling among them a handful of Leibnitz's monads,
to serve as souls in little, and be ready, in a latent form, with that
Vorstellungs-faehigkeit which our picturesque interpreters of nature
so much prize."'

'But surely,' continues Mr. Martineau, 'you must observe that this
"matter" of yours alters its style with every change of service:
starting as a beggar with scarce a rag of "property" to cover its
bones, it turns up as a prince when large undertakings are wanted. "We
must radically change our notions of matter," says Professor Tyndall;
and then, he ventures to believ