cted to such an
agreement, if it had quite forgot it. If the mind had freely, and
of its own accord, resolved to submit to the impressions of matter,
it would not, however, subject itself to them but when it should
remember such a resolution, which, besides, it might alter at
pleasure. Nevertheless, it is certain that in spite of itself it is
dependent on the body, and that it cannot free itself from its
dependence, unless it destroy the organs of the body by a violent
death. Besides, although the mind had voluntarily subjected itself
to matter, it would not follow that matter were reciprocally
subjected to the mind. The mind would indeed have certain thoughts
when the body should have certain motions, but the body would not be
determined to have, in its turn, certain motions, as soon as the
mind should have certain thoughts. Now it is most certain that this
dependence is reciprocal. Nothing is more absolute than the command
of the mind over the body. The mind wills, and, instantly, all the
members of the body are in motion, as if they were acted by the most
powerful machines. On the other hand, nothing is more manifest than
the power and influence of the body over the mind. The body is in
motion, and, instantly the mind is forced to think either with
pleasure or pain, upon certain objects. Now, what hand equally
powerful over these two divers and distinct natures has been able to
bring them both under the same yoke, and hold them captive in so
exact and inviolable a society? Will any man say it was chance? If
he does, will he be able either to understand what he means, or to
make it understood by others? Has chance, by a concourse of atoms,
hooked together the parts of the body with the mind? If the mind
can be hooked with some parts of the body, it must have parts
itself, and consequently be a perfect body, in which case, we
relapse into the first answer, which I have already confuted. If,
on the contrary, the mind has no parts, nothing can hook it with
those of the body, nor has chance wherewithal to tie them together.

In short, my alternative ever returns, and is peremptory and
decisive. If the mind and body are a whole made up of matter only,
how comes it to pass that this matter, which yesterday did not, has
this day begun to think? Who is it that has bestowed upon it what
it had not, and which is without comparison more noble than
thoughtless matter? What bestows thought upon it, has it not
i