Sect.  XLVI.  The Soul has an Absolute Command over the Body.

Be pleased to observe that the command of my mind over my body is supreme and absolute in its bounded extent, since my single will, without any effort or preparation, causes all the members of my body to move on a sudden and immediately, according to the rules of mechanics.  As the Scripture gives us the character of God, who said after the creation of the universe, “Let there be light, and there was light”—­in like manner, the inward word of my soul alone, without any effort or preparation, makes what it says.  I say, for instance, within myself, through that inward, simple, and momentaneous word, “Let my body move, and it moves.”  At the command of that simple and intimate will, all the parts of my body are at work.  Immediately all nerves are distended, all the springs hasten to concur together, and the whole machine obeys, just as if every one of the most secret of those organs heard a supreme and omnipotent voice.  This is certainly the most simple and most effectual power that can be conceived.  All the other beings within our knowledge afford not the like instance of it, and this is precisely what men that are sensible and persuaded of a Deity ascribe to it in all the universe.

Shall I ascribe it to my feeble mind, or rather to the power it has over my body, which is so vastly different from it?  Shall I believe that my will has that supreme command of its own nature, though in itself so weak and imperfect?  But how comes it to pass that, among so many bodies, it has that power over no more than one?  For no other body moves according to its desires.  Now, who is it that gave over one body the power it had over no other?  Will any man be again so bold as to ascribe this to chance?

Sect.  XLVII.  The Power of the Soul over the Body is not only Supreme or Absolute, but Blind at the same time.

But that power, which is so supreme and absolute, is blind at the same time.  The most simple and ignorant peasant knows how to move his body as well as a philosopher the most skilled in anatomy.  The mind of a peasant commands his nerves, muscles, and tendons, which he knows not, and which he never heard of.  He finds them without knowing how to distinguish them, or knowing where they lie; he calls precisely upon such as he has occasion for, nor does he mistake one for the other.  If a rope-dancer, for instance, does but will, the spirits instantly run with impetuousness, sometimes to certain nerves, sometimes to others—­all which distend or slacken in due time.  Ask him which of them he set a-going, and which way he begun to move them?  He will not so much as understand what you mean.  He is an absolute stranger to what he has done in all the inward springs of his machine.  The lute-player, who is perfectly well acquainted with all the strings of his instrument, who sees them with his eyes, and touches them one after another with his fingers, yet