"3. The subject and predicate of a proposition which affirms something to be, may have a real and certain connexion _consequentially_; and so the existence of the thing may be consequentially necessary, as it may be surely and firmly connected with something else, that is necessary in one of the former respects. As it is either fully and thoroughly connected with that which is absolutely necessary in its own nature; or with something which has already made sure of its existence. This necessity lies _in_, and may be explained _by_, the connexion between two or more propositions, one with another. Things which are _perfectly connected_ with other things that are necessary, are necessary themselves, by a necessity of consequence." After having defined what he means by philosophical or metaphysical necessity, he tells us, that this is the sense in which he uses the word, when he endeavours to show that necessity is not inconsistent with liberty. And yet under "this sense," how many totally distinct ideas are embraced! The eternal existence of being in general; the attributes of God; the proposition that two and two are four; the equality of the radii of a circle; the moral duty that we should do as we would be done by; the existence of a thing which has already come to pass; the existence of things, that are connected with that which is absolutely necessary in itself, or with something that has already made sure of its existence; the connexion of two or more propositions with each other--all these things are included in his definition of philosophical necessity! And yet he tells us, that he uses the term in this sense (in what sense?) when he undertakes to reconcile liberty with necessity! When he says, that he employs the word in _this_ sense, one would suppose that, as a great metaphysician, he referred to some one of its precise and definite significations; but no such thing. He merely refers to its philosophical sense, which, according to his own explanation, embraces a multitude of different ideas. Hence, although he may keep close to this philosophical sense of the word, "in the ensuing discourse;" yet he may, before the discourse is concluded, shift his position a thousand times from one of these ideas to another. And he may always seem, to superficial observers, to speak of the same thing; because although the things spoken of are really different, they are all drawn together under one definition, and called by one name. He not only may have done this; he actually has done it. And if he had formed the express design to envelope the whole subject in a cloud of sophistry, he could not have taken a better course to accomplish his object.