renouncing all pleasure, and every superfluity. He not ouly denied himself the most common gratificat io n but he took also without reluctance, and even with pleasure, either as nourishment or as remedies, whatever was disagreeable to the senses; and he every day retrenched some part of his dress, food, or other things, which he considered as not absolutely necessary. To. wards the close of his life, he employed himself wholly in pious and moral reflections, writing down those which he judged worthy of being preserved. The first piece of paper he could find was employed for this purpose; and he commonly put down only a few words of each sentence, as he wrote them merely for his own use. The bits of paper upon which he had written these thoughts, were found after his death filed upon different pieces of string, without any order or connection; and being copied exactly as they were written, they were afterwards arranged and published.

The celebrated Bayle, speaking of this great man, says, A hundred volumes of sermons are not of so much avail as a simple account of the life of Pascal. His humility and his devotion mortified the libertines more than if they had been attacked by a dozen of missionaries. In a word, Bayle had so high an idea of this philosopher, that he calls him a paradox in the humun species. "When we consider his character (says be), we are almost inclined to doubt that he was born of a woman, like the man mentioned by Lucretius:

Pascal. danger which he apprehended. His friends did every thing in their power to banish this melancholy idea from his thoughts, and to cure him of his error, but without the desired effect; for though he would become calm and composed for a little, the phantom would in a few moments again make its appearance and torment him. The cause of his seeing this singular vision for the first time, is said to have been as follows: His physicians, alarmed on account of the exhausted state to which he was reduced, had advised him to substitute easy and ngreeable exercise for the fatiguing labours of the closet. One day, in the month of October 1654, having gone according to custom to take an airing on the Pont de Neuilly, in a coach and four, the two first horses suddenly took fright, opposite to a place where there was no parapet, and threw themselves violently into the Seine; but the traces luckily giving way, the carriage remained on the brink of the precipice. The shock which Pascal, in his languishing situation, must have received from this dreadful accident, may easily be imagined. It threw him into a fit, which continued for some time, and it was with great difficulty that he could be restored to his senses. After this period his brain became so deranged, that he was continually haunted by the remembrance of his danger, especially when his disorders prevented him from enjoying sleep. To the same cause was attributed a kind of vision or ecstacy that he had some time after: a memorandum of which he preserved during the remainder of his life in a bit of paper, put between the cloth and the lining of his coat, and which he always carried about him. Some of the Jesuits had the baseness and inhumanity to reproach this great genius with the derangement of his organs. In the Dictionary of Jansenist Books, he is called a hypochondriac, and a man of a wrong head and a bad heart. But, as a celebrated writer has observed, Pascal's disorder had in it nothing more surprising or disgraceful than a fever or the vertigo. During the last years of his life, in which he exhibited a melancholy example of the humiliating reverses which take place in this transitory scene, and which, if properly considered, might teach mankind not to be too proud of those abilities which a moment may take from them, be attended all the salutations (C), visited every church in which relicks were exposed, and had always a spiritual almanack, which gave an account of all those places where particular acts of devotion were performed. On this occasion it has been said, that "Religion renders great minds capable of little things, and little minds capable of great."

In company, Pascal was distinguished by the amiableness of his behaviour; by his easy, agreeable, and instructive conversation, and by great modesty. He possessed a natural kind of eloquence, which was in a manner irresistible. The arguments he employed for the most part produced the effect which he proposed; and though his abilities entitled him to assume an air of superiority, he never displayed that hanghty and imperious tone which may often be observed in men of shining talents. The philosophy of this great man consisted in VOL. XVI. Part I.

“Ut vix humana videatur stirpe creatus.” Mr Pascal died at Paris the 19th of August 1662, aged 39 years. He had been some time about a work against atheists and infidels, but did not live long enough to digest the materials he had collected. What was found among his papers was published under the title of Pensées, &c. or Thoughts upon religion and other subjects, and has been much admired. After his death appeared also two other little tracts; one of which is intitled, The equilibrium of fluids; and the other, The weight of the mass of air.

The works of Pascal were collected in five volumes 8vo, and published at the Hague by De Tunc, and at Paris by Nyon senior, in 1779. This edition of Pascal's works may be considered as the first published; at least the greater part of them were not before collected into one body; and some of them had remained only in manuscript. For this collection, the public were indebted to the abbé Bossu, and Pascal deserved to have such an editor. "This extraordinary man (says he) inherited from nature all the powers of genius. He was a geometrician of the first rank, a profound reasoner, and a sublime and elegant writer. If we reflect, that in a very short life, oppressed by continual infirmities, he invented a curious arithmetical machine, the elements of the calculation of chances, and a method of resolving various problems respecting the cycloid; that he fixed in an irrevocable manner the wavering opinions of the learned respecting the weight of the air; that be wrote one of the completest works which exist in the French language; and that in his Thoughts there are passages,

C

the

Pascal

But as the monarch refused to sacrifice the animal on P. account of his beauty, the god revenged his disobedience by inspiring Pasiphaë with an unnatural love for, Pa him. This fable, which is universally believed by the poets, who observe, that the minotaur was the fruit of this infamous commerce, is refuted by some writers; who suppose that the infidelity of Pasiphae to her husband was betrayed in her affection for an officer of the name of Taurus, and that Dædalus, by permitting bis house to be the asylum of the two lovers, was looked upon as accessory to the gratification of Pasiphaë's lust. From this amour with Taurus, as it is farther remarked, the queen became mother of twins; and the name of Minotaurus arises from the resemblance of the children to the husband and the lover of Pasiphaë. Minos had four sons by Pasiphaë, Castreus, Deucalion, Glaucus, and Androgeus; and three daughters, Hecate, Ariadne, and Phædra.

the depth and beauty of which are incomparable-we shall be induced to believe, that a greater genius never Pasiphae. existed in any age or nation. All those who had occasion to frequent his company acknowledged his superiority. His conversation instructed, without making those who heard him sensible of their own inferiority; and he was remarkably indulgent towards the faults of others. It may be easily seen by his Provincial Letters, and by some of his other works, that he was he born with a great fund of humour, which his infirmities could never entirely destroy. In company, he readily indulged in that harmless and delicate raillery which never gives offence, and which greatly tends to enliven conversation; but its principal object generally was of a moral nature. For example, ridiculing those authors who say, My Book, my Commentary, my History, they would do better (added he) to say, Our Book, our Commentary, our History; since there are in them much more of other people's than their own." An elegant Latin epitaph was inscribed on his tomb. See remarks on his philosophical character, in the First Dissertation, vol. 1st. SUPPLEMENT, p. 125.

PASCHAL, something belonging to the passover, or Easter. See PASSOVER and EASTER.

PAS-EP-A, the chief of the Lamas, particularly eminent for having invented characters for the Moguls. He was much esteemed by the Chinese, though the literati exclaimed against the manner in which the people demonstrated their affection. There is still at Pekin a myau or temple, built in honour of Pas-ep-a in the time of the Mogul emperors. He died in 1279.

PASIGRAPHY (from xas, omnis, and yeapa, scri bo), the art of writing on any subject whatever, so as to be universally understood by all nations upon earth. The idea of establishing such a language is deemed by many extremely fanciful and absurd, while the practicability of it is as strenuously contended for by others. Hints respecting such a system of writing as might be understood by all mankind, are to be met with in the writings of many eminent philosophers; but if such an attempt failed in the hands of a Leibnitz, a Kircher, a Becher, a Wilkins, and some others, it is at least to be presumed, that the execution of a pasigraphy, or universal language, will always be found to bear a striking analogy to the chimerical sentiments which were formerly entertained respecting the doctrines of the quadrature of the circle, the multiplication of the cube, the philosopher's stone, or perpetual motion, all of which have been finely ridiculed by Dean Swift in his idea of circular shot. Kant is clearly of opinion, however, that such a pasigraphy falls within the limits of possibility;-nay, he even asserts, that it will actually be established at some future period. And, while none of its admirers venture to bid us believe that it will ever be universally spoken, or understood, they confidently think, that, by means of it, the valuable labours of erudition and human genius will be effectually prevented from ever falling into oblivion. See a Memoir on this subject in Nicholson's Journal, ii. 342. 4to.

PASIPHAE, in fabulous bistory, daughter of the Sun by Perseis, who married Minos king of Crete. She disgraced herself by an unnatural passion for a bull, which we are told she was enabled to gratify by means of the artist Daedalus. This celebrated bull had been given to Minos by Neptune, to be offered on his altars.

PASQUIN, a mutilated statue at Rome, in a corner of the palace of the Ursini. It takes its name from a cobler of that city called Pasquin, famous for his sneers and gibes, and who diverted himself by passing his jokes on all that went through that street. After his death, as they were digging up the pavement before his door, they found in the earth the statue of an ancient gladiator, well cut, but maimed and half-spoiled: this they set up in the place, where it was found, and by common consent named it Pasquin. Since that time all satires are attributed to that figure; and are either put into its mouth, or pasted upon it, as if they were written by Pasquin redivivus; and these are addressed by Pasquin to Marforio, another statue at Rome. When Marforio is attacked, Pasquin comes to his assistance; and, when Pasquin is attacked, Marforio assists him in his turn; that is, the people make the statues speak just what they please.

PASQUINADE, a satirical libel fastened to the statue of Pasquin: these are commonly short, witty, and pointed; and from hence the term has been applied to all lampoons of the same cast.

PASS, or PASSADE, in fencing, an advance or leap forward upon the enemy. Of these there are several kinds; as passes within, above, beneath, to the right, the left, and passes under the line, &c. The measure of the pass is when the swords are so near as that they may touch one another.

PASS, in a military sense, a strait and difficult passage, which shuts up the entrance into a country.

PASS Parole, in military affairs, a command given at the head of an army, and thence communicated to the rear, by passing it from mouth to mouth.

PASSADE, in the manege, is a turn or course of a horse backwards or forwards on the same spot of ground. Hence there are several sorts of passades, according to the different ways of turning, in order to part or return upon the same tread, which is called closing the passade; as the passade of one time, the passade of five times, and the raised or high passades, into which the demivolts are made into curvets. See HORSEMANSHIP.

North-west PASSAGE. North-east PASSAGE.

(See NORTH-West Passage, NORTH-East Passage, and POLE.

Right of PASSAGE, in commerce, is an imposition or duty exacted by some princes, either by land or sea, in certain close and narrow places in their territories, on

all

Passion. human nature. We are grateful not only to the benefactors of ourselves as individuals, but also to the benefactors of our country; and that, too, when we are conscious that from our gratitude neither they nor we can reap any advantage. Nay, we are impelled to be grateful even when we have reason to believe that the objects of our gratitude know not our existence. This passion cannot be the effect of reasoning, or of association founded on reasoning; for, in such cases as those mentioned, there are no principles from which reason can infer the propriety or usefulness of the feeling. That public spirit, or the affection which we bear to our country, or to any subordinate community of which we are members, is founded on instinct is deemed so certain, that the man destitute of this affection, if there be any such, has been pronounced as great a monster as he who has two heads.

* Essays on the Ac

tive Powers

of Man.

All the disinterested passions are founded on what philosophers have termed benevolent affection. Instead therefore of inquiring into the origin of each passion separately, which would swell this article to no purpose, let us listen to one of the finest writers as well as ablest reasoners of the age, treating of the origin of benevolent affection. "We may lay it down as a principle (says Dr Reid*), that all benevolent affections are in their nature agreeable; that it is essential to them to desire the good and happiness of their objects; and that their objects must therefore be beings capable of happiness. A thing may be desired either on its own account, or as the means in order to something else. That only can properly be called an object of desire which is desired upon its own account; and therefore I consider as benevolent those affections only which desire the good of their object ultimately, and not as means in order to something else. To say that we desire the good of others, only to procure some pleasure or good to ourselves, is to say that there is no benevolent affection in human nature. This indeed has been the opinion of some philosophers both in ancient and in later times. But it appears as unreasonable to resolve all benevolent affections into self-love, as it would be to resolve hunger and thirst into self-love. These appetites are necessary for the preservation of the individual. Benevolent affections are no less necessary for the preservation of society among men; without which men would become an easy prey to the beasts of the field. The benevolent affections planted in human nature, appear therefore no less necessary for the preservation of the human species than the appetites of hunger and thirst." In a word, pity, gratitude, friendship, love, and patriotism, are founded on different benevolent affections; which our learned author holds to be original parts of the human constitution."

This reasoning has certainly great force; and if authority could have any weight in settling a question of this nature, we know not that name to which greater deference is due than the name of him from whom it is taken. Yet it must be confessed that the philosophers, who consider the affections and passions as early and deep rooted associations, support their opinion with very plausible arguments. On their principles we have endeavoured elsewhere to account for the passions of fear and love, (see INSTINCT and LOVE); and we may here safely deny the truth of what has been stated respecting fear, which seems to militate against that account. We have

attended with much solicitude to the actions of chil- Pass dren; and have no reason to think that they feel terror on the brink of a precipice till they have been repeatedly warned of their danger in such situations by their parents or their keepers. Every person knows not only that they have no original or instinctive dread of fire, which is as dangerous to them as any precipice; but that it is extremely difficult to keep them from that destructive element till they are either capable of weighing the force of arguments, or have repeatedly experienced the pain of being burnt by it. With respect to sudden resentment, we cannot help considering the argument, which is brought in proof of its being instinctive, as proving the contrary in a very forcible manner. Instinct is some mysterious influence of God upon the mind exciting to actions of beneficial tendency: but can any benefit arise from wreaking our impotent vengeance on a stock or a stone? or is it supposable that a Being of infinite wisdom would excite us to actions so extravagantly foolish? We learn from experience to defend ourselves against rational or sensible enemies by retaliating the injuries which they inflict upon us; and if we have been often injured in any particular manner, the idea of that injury becomes in time so closely associated with the means by which it has been constantly repelled, that we never receive such an injury—a blow for instance-without being prompted to make the usual retaliation, without reflecting whether the object be sensible or insensible. So far from being instinctive does resentment appear to us, that we think an attentive observer may easily perceive how the seeds of it are gradually infused into the youthful mind; when the child, from being at first a timid creature shrinking from every pain, learns by degrees to return blow for blow and threat for threat.

But instead of urging what appears to ourselves of most weight against the instinctive system, we shall lay before our readers a few extracts from a dissertation on the origin of the passions, by a writer whose elegance of language and ingenuity of investigation do honour to the school of Hartley.

is

“When an infant is born (says Dr Sayers +), there + Disquisi every reason to suppose that he is born without ideas, tions Metaphysical These are rapidly communicated through the medium and Liteof the senses. The same senses are also the means of rary. conveying to him pleasure and pain. These are the hinges on which the passions turn: and till the child is acquainted with these sensations, it would appear that no passion could be formed in his mind; for till he has felt pleasure and pain, how can he desire any object, or wish for its removal? How can be either love or hate? Let us observe then the manner in which love and hatred are formed; for on these passions depend all the rest. When a child endures pain, and is able to detect the cause of it, the idea of pain is connected in hie mind with that of the thing which produced it; and if the object which occasioned pain be again presented to the child, the idea of pain associated with it arises also. This idea consequently urges the child to avoid or to remove the object; and thus arises the passion of dislike or hatred. In the same manner, the passion of liking or love is readily formed in the mind of a child from the association of pleasant ideas with certain ob jects which produced them.

"The passions of hope and fear are states of the

ourselves, it must of course soon follow, that we should Passion, experience pleasure from a view of his happiness any way produced; such happiness raising at all times pleasant ideas when it is presented to our minds. This is another feature of a disinterested affection, to feel delight from the mere increase of happiness in the object whom we love.

Passion. mind depending upon the good or bad prospects of gratifying love or hatred; and joy or sorrow arises from the final success or disappointment which attends the exertions produced by love or by hatred. Out of these passions, which have all a perceptible relation to our own good, and are universally acknowledged to be selfish, all our other passions are formed."

To account for the passions called disinterested, he observes, that in the history of the human mind we find many instances of our dropping an intermediate idea, which has been the means of our connecting two other ideas together; and that the association of these two remains after the link which originally united them has vanished. Of this fact the reader will find sufficient evidence in different articles of this work (see INSTINCT, No 19. and METAPHYSICS, N° 101.): and, to apply it to the disinterested passions, let us suppose, with Dr Sayers, that any individual has done to us many offices of kindness, and has consequently much contributed to our happiness; it is natural for us to seek with some anxiety for the continuance of those pleasures which he is able to communicate. But we soon discern, that the surest way of obtaining the continuance of his friendly offices is to make them, as much as possible, a source of pleaɛure to himself. We therefore do every thing in our power to promote his happiness in return for the good he has conferred upon us, that thus we may attach him to us as much as we are able. Hitherto all is plainly selfish. We have been evidently endeavouring, for the sake of our own future gratification, to promote the happiness of this person : but observe the consequence. We have thus, by contemplating the advantage, to be derived to ourselves from promoting the prosperity of our friend, learned to associate a set of pleasaut ideas with his happiness; but the link which has united them gradually escapes us, while the union itself remains. Continuing to associate pleasure with the well-being of our friend, we endeavour to promote it for the sake of his immediate gratification, without looking farther; and in this way his happiness, which was first attended to only as a means of future enjoyment, finally becomes an end. Thus then the passion which was originally selfish, is at length disinterested; its gratification being completed merely by its success in promoting the happiness of another.

In this way does our author account for the origin of gratitude; which at last becomes a habit, and flows spontaneously towards every man who has either been or intended to be our benefactor. According to him, it is easy to observe also, that from associating pleasure with the happiness of an individual when we procure it

"It may be objected, perhaps, that parents seem to have an instinctive disinterested love of their offspring: but surely the love of a parent (A) for a new-born infant is not usually equal to that for a child of four or five years old. When a child is first born, the prospect and hopes of future pleasure from it are sufficient to make a parent anxious for its preservation. As the child grows up, the hope of future enjoyment from it must increase: hence would pleasure be associated with the well-being of the child, the love of which would of course become in due time disinterested."

Our author does not analyze pity, and trace it to its source in selfishness; but he might easily have done it, and it has been ably done by his master. Pity or compassion is the uneasiness which a man feels at the misery of another. It is generated in every mind dur ing the years of childhood; and there are many circumstances in the constitution of children, and in the mode of their education, which make them particularly susceptible of this passion. The very appearance of any kind of misery which they have experienced, or of any signs of distress which they understand, excite in their minds painful feelings, from the remembrance of what they have suffered, and the apprehension of their suffering it again. We have seen a child a year old highly entertained with the noise and struggles made by its elder brother when plunged naked in a vessel filled with cold water. This continued to be the case for many days, till it was thought proper to plunge the younger as well as the elder; after which the dailyentertainment was soon at an end. The little creature bad not been itself plunged above twice till it ceased to find diversion by its brother's sufferings.— On the third day it cried with all the symptoms of the bitterest anguish upon seeing its brother plunge, though no preparation was then made for plunging itself; but surely this was not disinterested sympathy, but a feeling wholly selfish, excited by the remembrance of what it had suffered itself, and was apprehensive of suffering again. In a short time, however, the painful feelings accompanying the sight of its brother's struggles, and the sound of his cries, were doubtless so associated with that sight and that sound, that the appearance of the latter would have brought the former