“The positive philosophy,” he tells us, “falls naturally into five divisions, or five fundamental sciences, whose order of succession is determined by the necessary or invariable subordination (estimated according to no hypothetical opinions) of their several phenomena; these are, astronomy, mechanics, (la physique,) chemistry, physiology, and lastly, social physics.  The first regards the phenomena the most general, the most abstract, the most remote from humanity; they influence all others, without being influenced by them.  The phenomena considered by the last are, on the contrary, the most complicated, the most concrete, the most directly interesting to man; they depend more or less on all the preceding phenomena, without exercising on them any influence.  Between these two extremes, the degrees of speciality, of complication and personality, of phenomena, gradually increase, as well as their successive dependence.”—­Vol.  I. p. 96.

The principle of classification is excellent, but is there no rank dropt out of this hierarchy?  The metaphysicians, or psychologists, who are wont to consider themselves as standing at the very summit—­where are they?  They are dismissed from their labours—­their place is occupied by others—­and what was considered as having substance and reality in their proceedings, is transferred to the head of physiology.  The phrenologist is admitted into the hierarchy of science as an honest, though hitherto an unpractised, and not very successful labourer; the metaphysician, with his class of internal observations, is entirely scouted.  M. Comte considers the mind as one of those abstract entities which it is the first business of the positive philosophy to discard.  He speaks of man, of his organization, of his thought, but not, scientifically, of his mind.  This entity, this occult cause, belongs to the metaphysic stage of theorizing.  “There is no place,” he cries, “for this illusory psychology, the last transformation of theology!”—­though, by the way, so far as a belief in this abstract entity of mind is concerned, the metaphysic condition of our knowledge appears to be quite as old, quite as primitive, as any conception whatever of theology.  Now, whether M. Comte be right in this preference of the phrenologist, we will not stay to discuss—­it were too wide a question; but thus much we can briefly and indisputably show, that he utterly misconceives, as well as underrates, the kind of research to which psychologists are addicted.  As M. Comte’s style is here unusually vivacious, we will quote the whole passage.  Are we uncharitable in supposing that the prospect of demolishing, at one fell swoop, the brilliant reputations of a whole class of Parisian savans, added something to the piquancy of the style?