terms and conditions, it could not enter into an agreement with the mind.  On the other hand, the mind does not remember that it ever made an agreement with matter; nor could it be subjected 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 itself, and how can it give what it has not?  Let us even suppose that thought should result from a certain configuration, ranging, and degree of motion a certain way, of all the parts of matter:  what artificer has had the skill to find out all those just, nice, and exact combinations, in order to make a thinking machine?  If, on the contrary, the mind and body are two distinct natures, what power superior to those two natures has been able to unite and tie together without the mind’s assent, or so much as its knowing which way that union was made?  Who is it that with such absolute and supreme command over-rules both minds and bodies, and keeps them in society and correspondence, and under a sort of incomprehensible policy?