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UNDERSTANDING by DAVID HUME Harvard Classics Volume 37 Copyright
1910 P.F. Collier & Son Prepared by About
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August 1993. SECTION I OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.
MORAL philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated
after two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit,
and may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation
of man- kind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action;
and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing
one object, and avoiding another, according to the value which
these objects seem to possess, and accord- ing to the light in
which they present themselves. As vir- tue, of all objects, is
allowed to be the most valuable, this species of philosophers
paint her in the most amiable colours; borrowing all helps from
poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy and
obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the imagination,
and engage the affections. They select the most striking observations
and instances from common life; place opposite characters in a
proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the
views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths
by the soundest precepts and most illustrious examples. They make
us feel the difference between vice and virtue; they excite and
regulate our sentiments; and so they can but bend our hearts to
the love of probity and true honour, they think, that they have
fully attained the end of all their labours. The other species
of philosophers consider man in the light of a reasonable rather
than an active being, and endeavour to form his understanding
more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a
subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it,
in order to find those principles, which regulate our under- standing,
excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular
object, action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all
literature, that philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond
controversy, the foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism;
and should for ever talk of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue,
beauty and de- formity, without being able to determine the source
of these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task, they
are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from particular
instances to general principles, they still push on their enquiries
to principles more general, and rest not satisfied till they arrive
at those original principles, by which, in every science, all
human curiosity must be bounded. Though their speculations seem
abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim
at the approbation of the learned and the wise; and think them-
selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole
lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute
to the instruction of posterity. It is certain that the easy and
obvious philosophy will always, with the generality of mankind,
have the preference above the accurate and abstruse; and by many
will be recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful
than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds the heart
and affections; and, by touching those principles which actuate
men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model
of perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse
philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter
into business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves
the shade, and comes into open day; nor can its principles easily
retain any in- fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings
of our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of
our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the
profound philosopher to a mere plebeian. This also must be confessed,
that the most durable, as well as justest fame, has been acquired
by the easy philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto
to have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice
or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able to support
their renown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a profound
philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reasonings; and
one mistake is the necessary parent of another, while he pushes
on his consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion,
by its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular opinion.
But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common sense
of mankind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by
accident he falls into error, goes no farther; but renewing his
appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind,
returns into the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous
illusions. The fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that
of Aristotle is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and
still maintains his reputation: but the glory of Malebranche is
confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And Addison, perhaps,
will be read with pleasure, when Locke shall be entirely forgotten.
The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little
acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute nothing
either to the advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives
remote from communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles
and notions equally remote from their comprehension. On the other
hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing
deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation
where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of
all relish for those noble entertainments. The most perfect character
is supposed to lie between those extremes; retaining an equal
ability and taste for books, company, and business; preserving
in conversation that discernment and delicacy which arise from
polite letters; and in business, that probity and accuracy which
are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse
and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more
useful than compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw
not too much from life, require no deep appli- cation or retreat
to be comprehended, and send back the student among mankind full
of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every exigence
of human life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable,
science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement en- tertaining.
Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science
his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds
of human understanding, that little satisfac- tion can be hoped
for in this particular, either from the extent of security or
his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable
being: but neither can he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing,
or preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also an active
being; and from that disposition, as well as from the various
necessities of human life, must submit to business and occupation:
but the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always support
its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has
pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to the human
race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these biases
to draw too much, so as to incapacitate them for other occupations
and entertainments. Indulge your passion for science, says she,
but let your science be human, and such as may have a direct reference
to action and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches
I prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy
which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they
involve you, and by the cold reception which your pretended discoveries
shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philosopher; but, amidst
all your philosophy, be still a man. Were the generality of mankind
contented to prefer the easy philosophy to the abstract and profound,
without throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might
not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general opinion,
and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, his own taste
and sentiment. But as the matter is often carried farther, even
to the absolute rejecting of all pro- found reasonings, or what
is commonly called metaphysics, we shall now proceed to consider
what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf. We may begin with
observing, that one considerable advantage, which results from
the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its subserviency to
the easy and humane; which, without the former, can never attain
a sufficient degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts,
or reasonings. All polite letters are nothing but pictures of
human life in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us
with different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridi-
cule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set
before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this
undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick apprehension,
possesses an accurate knowledge of the in- ternal fabric, the
operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions,
and the various species of senti- ment which discriminate vice
and virtue. How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may
appear, it becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would
describe with success the obvious and outward appearances of life
and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most hideous
and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful to the painter
in delineating even a Venus or an Helen. While the latter employs
all the richest colours of his art, and gives his figures the
most graceful and engaging airs; he must still carry his attention
to the inward structure of the human body, the position of the
muscles, the fabric of the bones, and the use and figure of every
part or organ. Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty,
and just reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt
the one by depreciating the other. Besides, we may observe, in
every art or profession, even those which most concern life or
action, that a spirit of accuracy, however acquired, carries all
of them nearer their perfection, and renders them more subservient
to the interests of society. And though a philosopher may live
remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully cultivated
by several, must gradually diffuse itself through- out the whole
society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and calling.
The politician will acquire greater foresight and subtility, in
the subdividing and balancing of power; the lawyer more method
and finer principles in his reasonings; and the general more regularity
in his discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations.
The stability of modern governments above the ancient, and the
accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably will
still improve, by similar gradations. Were there no advantage
to be reaped from these studies, beyond the gratification of an
innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be despised; as
being one accession to those few safe and harmless pleasures,
which are bestowed on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive
path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning;
and whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or
open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a benefactor
to mankind. And though these researches may appear painful and
fatiguing, it is with some minds as with some bodies, which being
endowed with vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise,
and reap a pleasure from what, to the generality of mankind, may
seem burden- some and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful
to the mind as well as to the eye; but to bring light from obscurity,
by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and rejoicing. But
this obscurity in the profound and abstract philos- ophy, is objected
to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source
of uncertainty and error. Here in- deed lies the justest and most
plausible objection against a considerable part of metaphysics,
that they are not properly a science; but arise either from the
fruitless efforts of human vanity, which would penetrate into
subjects utterly inaccessible to the understanding, or from the
craft of pop- ular superstitions, which, being unable to defend
themselves on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to
cover and protect their weakness. Chased from the open country,
these robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in
upon every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it with
religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, if he
remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many, through cowardice
and folly, open the gates to the enemies, and willingly receive
them with reverence and submission, as their legal sovereigns.
But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should desist
from such researches, and leave superstition still in possession
of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an opposite conclusion,
and perceive the necessity of carrying the war into the most secret
recesses of the enemy? In vain do we hope, that men, from frequent
disappointment, will at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover
the proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many persons
find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling such topics;
besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair can never reasonably
have place in the sciences; since, how- ever unsuccessful former
attempts may have proved, there is still room to hope, that the
industry, good fortune, or improved sagacity of succeeding generations
may reach discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adventurous
genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself
stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his predecessors;
while he hopes that the glory of achieving so hard an adventure
is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning,
at once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously
into the nature of human understanding, and show, from an exact
analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted
for such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to this
fatigue in order to live at ease ever after: and must cultivate
true metaphysics with some care, in order to destroy the false
and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some persons, affords a safeguard
against this deceitful philos- ophy, is, with others, overbalanced
by curiosity; and de- spair, which, at some moments, prevails,
may give place after- wards to sanguine hopes and expectations.
Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted
for all persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert
that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which being
mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable
to careless reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom.
Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en- quiry,
the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are
many positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny
into the powers and faculties of human nature. It is remarkable
concerning the operations of the mind, that, though most intimately
present to us, yet, whenever they become the object of reflexion,
they seem involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find
those lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish
them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same aspect
or situation; and must be apprehended in an in- stant, by a superior
penetration, derived from nature, and improved by habit and reflexion.
It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable part of science barely
to know the different operations of the mind, to separate them
from each other, to class them under their proper heads, and to
correct all that seeming disorder, in which they lie involved,
when made the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering
and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed with regard
to external bodies, the objects of our senses, rises in its value,
when directed towards the operations of the mind, in proportion
to the difficulty and labour, which we meet with in performing
it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography, or
delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is
at least a satis- faction to go so far; and the more obvious this
science may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more con-
temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all pretenders
to learning and philosophy. Nor can there remain any suspicion,
that this science is uncertain and chimerical; unless we should
entertain such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation,
and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind is endowed
with several powers and faculties, that these powers are distinct
from each other, that what is really distinct to the immediate
perception may be distinguished by reflexion; and consequently,
that there is a truth and falsehood in all propositions on this
subject, and a truth and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass
of human understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of
this kind, such as those between the will and understanding, the
imagination and passions, which fall within the com- prehension
of every human creature; and the finer and more philosophical
distinctions are no less real and certain, though more difficult
to be comprehended. Some instances, especially late ones, of success
in these enquiries, may give us a juster notion of the certainty
and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we esteem it
worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system of
the planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote
bodies; while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much success,
delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so intimately
concerned? But may we not hope, that philosophy, cultivated with
care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may carry
its researches still farther, and discover, at least in some degree,
the secret springs and principles, by which the human mind is
actuated in its operations? Astronomers had long contented themselves
with proving, from the phaenomena, the true motions, order, and
magnitude of the heavenly bodies: till a philosopher, at last,
arose, who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also deter-
mined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the planets
are governed and directed. The like has been performed with regard
to other parts of nature. And there is no reason to despair of
equal success in our enquiries concerning the mental powers and
economy, if prosecuted with equal capacity and caution. It is
probable, that one operation and principle of the mind depends
on another; which, again, may be resolved into one more general
and universal: and how far these researches may possibly be carried,
it will be difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful
trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that attempts of
this kind are every day made even by those who philosophize the
most negligently: and nothing can be more requisite than to enter
upon the enterprize with thorough care and attention; that, if
it lie within the compass of human understanding, it may at last
be happily achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with
some confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is
not desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how
much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this species
of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto
been accustomed, when they considered the vast multitude and diversity
of those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search
for some common principle, on which this variety of sentiments
might depend. And though they have sometimes carried the matter
too far, by their passion for some one general principle; it must,
however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting to
find some general principles, into which all the vices and virtues
were justly to be resolved. The like has been the endeavour of
critics, logicians, and even politicians: nor have their attempts
been wholly unsuccessful; though perhaps longer time, greater
accuracy, and more ardent application may bring these sciences
still nearer their per- fection. To throw up at once all pretensions
of this kind may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and
dogmatical, than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy,
that has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and prin-
ciples on mankind. What though these reasonings concerning human
nature seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension? This affords
no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it seems impossible,
that what has hitherto escaped so many wise and profound philosophers
can be very obvious and easy. And whatever pains these researches
may cost us, we may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not
only in point of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we
can make any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of
such unspeakable importance. But as, after all, the abstractedness
of these speculations is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage
to them, and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care
and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have,
in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light upon subjects,
from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred the wise, and obscurity
the ignorant. Happy, if we can unite the boundaries of the different
species of philosophy, by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness,
and truth with novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in
this easy manner, we can undermine the foundations of an abstruse
philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served only as a shelter
to superstition, and a cover to absurdity and error! SECTION II
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS EVERY one will readily allow, that there
is a consider- able difference between the perceptions of the
mind, when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure
of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards re- calls to his memory
this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These faculties
may mimic or copy the percep- tions of the senses; but they never
can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the original sentiment.
The utmost we say of them, even when they operate with greatest
vigour, is, that they represent their object in so lively a manner,
that we could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind
be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at
such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether
undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid,
can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the
description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought
is still inferior to the dullest sensation. We may observe a like
distinction to run through all the other perceptions of the mind.
A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a very different manner
from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that
any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from
a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake that
conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion.
When we reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought
is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly; but the colours
which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of those in
which our original per- ceptions were clothed. It requires no
nice discernment or metaphysical head to mark the distinction
between them. Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions
of the mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished
by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible
and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The other
species want a name in our language, and in most others; I suppose,
because it was not requisite for any, but philosophical purposes,
to rank them under a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore,
use a little freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that
word in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term
impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when
we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will.
And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less
lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect
on any of those sensations or movements above mentioned. Nothing,
at first view, may seem more unbounded than the thought of man,
which not only escapes all human power and authority, but is not
even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form
monsters, and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the
imagination no more trouble than to conceive the most natural
and familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one planet,
along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the thought can
in an instant transport us into the most dis- tant regions of
the universe; or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded
chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. What
never was seen, or heard of, may yet be conceived; nor is any
thing beyond the power of thought, except what implies an absolute
contradiction. But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is
really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this creative
power of the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of compounding,
transposing, augmenting, or diminishing the materials afforded
us by the senses and experience. When we think of a golden mountain,
we only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which
we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive;
because, from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue; and this
we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which is an animal
familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are derived
either from our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and com-
position of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, to express
myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble
perceptions are copies of our impressions or more lively ones.
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, be sufficient.
First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however compounded
or sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such
simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment.
Even those ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of
this origin, are found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived
from it. The idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent,
wise, and good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations
of our own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities
of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry to what
length we please; where we shall always find, that every idea
which we examine is copied from a similar impression. Those who
would assert that this position is not universally true nor without
exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting
it; by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived
from this source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would
maintain our doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception,
which corresponds to it. Secondly. If it happen, from a defect
of the organ, that a man is not susceptible of any species of
sensation, we always find that he is as little susceptible of
the cor- respondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colours;
a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense in which
he is deficient; by opening this new inlet for his sensations,
you also open an inlet for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty
in conceiving these objects. The case is the same, if the object,
proper for exciting any sensation, has never been applied to the
organ. A Lap- lander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine.
And though there are few or no instances of a like deficiency
in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly incapable
of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species; yet we
find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man
of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty;
nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship
and gener- osity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may
possess many senses of which we can have no conception; because
the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the only
manner by which an idea can have access to the mind, to wit, by
the actual feeling and sensation. There is, however, one contradictory
phenomenon, which may prove that it is not absolutely impossible
for ideas to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions.
I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct
ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound, which
are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each other;
though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this be true of different
colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the
same colour; and each shade produces a distinct idea, independent
of the rest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by
the continual grada- tion of shades, to run a colour insensibly
into what is most remote from it; and if you will not allow any
of the means to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny
the extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have
enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become perfectly
acquainted with colours of all kinds except one particular shade
of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to
meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except
that single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from
the deepest to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive
a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that
there is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous
colour than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be possible for
him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and
raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though
it had never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there
are few but will be of opinion that he can: and this may serve
as a proof that the simple ideas are not always, in every instance,
derived from the correspondent impressions; though this instance
is so singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does
not merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself,
simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of it,
might render every dispute equally intelligible, and banish all
that jargon, which has so long taken possession of metaphysical
reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas, especially
abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure: the mind has but
a slender hold of them: they are apt to be confounded with other
resembling ideas; and when we have often employed any term, though
with- out a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a deter-
minate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that
is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and vivid:
the limits between them are more exactly deter- mined: nor is
it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them.
When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a philosophical
term is employed without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent),
we need but enquire, from what impression is that supposed idea
derived? And if it be impossible to assign any, this will serve
to confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light
we may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise,
concerning their nature and reality.[1] [1] It is probable that
no more was meant by these, who denied innate ideas, than that
all ideas were copies of our impressions; though it must be confessed,
that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with such
caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about
their doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent
to natural, then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must
be allowed to be innate or natural, in whatever sense we take
the latter word, whether in opposi- tion to what is uncommon,
artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant, contemporary
to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth
while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before,
at, or after our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly
taken in a very loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing
for any of our per- ceptions, our sensations and passions, as
well as thoughts. Now in this sense, I should desire to know,
what can be meant by asserting, that self- love, or resentment
of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate ?
But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense
above explained, and understanding by innate, what is original
or copied from no precedent perception, then may we assert that
all our impressions are innate, and our ideas not innate. To be
ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was betrayed
into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde-
fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without
ever touch- ing the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution
seem to run through that philosopher's reasonings on this as well
as most other subjects. SECTION III OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS
IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion be- tween
the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that in their
appearance to the memory or imagination, they introduce each other
with a certain degree of method and regularity. In our more serious
thinking or discourse this is so observable that any particular
thought, which breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas,
is immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our wildest
and most wandering reveries, nay in our very dreams, we shall
find, if we reflect, that the imagination ran not altogether at
adventures, but that there was still a connexion upheld among
the different ideas, which suc- ceeded each other. Were the loosest
and freest conversa- tion to be transcribed, there would immediately
be observed something which connected it in all its transitions.
Or where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of discourse
might still inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his
mind a succession of thought, which had gradually led him from
the subject of conversation. Among different languages, even where
we cannot suspect the least connexion or communication, it is
found, that the words, expressive of ideas, the most compounded,
do yet nearly correspond to each other: a certain proof that the
simple ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound together
by some universal principle, which had an equal influence on all
mankind. Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that
different ideas are connected together; I do not find that any
philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the principles
of association; a subject, however, that seems worthy of curiosity.
To me, there appear to be only three principles of connexion among
ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause
or Effect. That these principles serve to connect ideas will not,
I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts
to the original:[1] the mention of one apartment in a building
naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse concerning the others:[2]
and if we think of a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting
on the pain which follows it.[3] But that this enumeration is
complete, and that there are no other principles of association
except these, may be difficult to prove to the satisfaction of
the reader, or even to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do,
in such cases, is to run over several instances, and examine carefully
the principle which binds the different thoughts to each other,
never stopping till we render the principle as general as possible.[4]
The more instances we examine, and the more care we employ, the
more assurance shall we acquire, that the enumeration, which we
form from the whole, is com- plete and entire. [1] Resemblance.
[2] Contiguity. [3] Cause and effect. [4] For instance, Contrast
or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas: but it may perhaps,
be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resem- blance. Where
two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that is,
the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation
of an object, implies the idea of its former existence. SECTION
IV SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF THE UNDERSTANDING
PART I ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally
be divided into two kinds, to wit, Rela- tions of Ideas, and Matters
of Fact. Of the first kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra,
and Arithmetic; and in short, every affirmation which is either
intuitively or demonstratively certain. That the square of the
hypothenuse is equal to the square of the two sides, is a proposition
which expresses a relation between these figures. That three times
five is equal to the half of thirty, expresses a relation between
these numbers. Propositions of this kind are discoverable by the
mere operation of thought, without dependence on what is anywhere
existent in the universe. Though there never were a circle or
triangle in nature, the truths demonstrated by Euclid would for
ever retain their certainty and evidence. Matters of fact, which
are the second objects of human reason, are not ascertained in
the same manner; nor is our evidence of their truth, however great,
of a like nature with the foregoing. The contrary of every matter
of fact is still possible; because it can never imply a contradiction,
and is conceived by the mind with the same facility and dis- tinctness,
as if ever so conformable to reality. That the sun will not rise
to-morrow is no less intelligible a propo- sition, and implies
no more contradiction than the affirma- tion, that it will rise.
We should in vain, therefore, attempt to demonstrate its falsehood.
Were it demonstratively false, it would imply a contradiction,
and could never be dis- tinctly conceived by the mind. It may,
therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire what is
the nature of that evidence which assures us of any real existence
and matter of fact, beyond the present testimony of our senses,
or the records of our memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable,
has been little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns;
and therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so
important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while we march
through such difficult paths without any guide or direction. They
may even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and destroying that
implicit faith and security, which is the bane of all reasoning
and free enquiry. The discovery of defects in the common philosophy,
if any such there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement,
but rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something more
full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to the public.
All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be founded on
the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of that relation alone
we can go beyond the evidence of our memory and senses. If you
were to ask a man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is
absent; for instance, that his friend is in the country, or in
France; he would give you a reason; and this reason would be some
other fact; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of
his former resolutions and promises. A man finding a watch or
any other machine in a desert island, would conclude that there
had once been men in that island. All our rea- sonings concerning
fact are of the same nature. And here it is constantly supposed
that there is a connexion between the present fact and that which
is inferred from it. Were there nothing to bind them together,
the inference would be entirely precarious. The hearing of an
articulate voice and rational discourse in the dark assures us
of the pres- ence of some person: Why? because these are the effects
of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with it. If
we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature, we shall
find that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect,
and that this relation is either near or remote, direct or collateral.
Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect
may justly be inferred from the other. If we would satisfy ourselves,
therefore, concerning the nature of that evidence, which assures
us of matters of fact, we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge
of cause and effect. I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition,
which admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation
is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but
arises entirely from experience, when we find that any particular
objects are constantly conjoined with each other. Let an object
be presented to a man of ever so strong natural reason and abilities;
if that object be entirely new to him, he will not be able, by
the most accurate examination of its sensible qualities, to discover
any of its causes or effects. Adam, though his rational faculties
be supposed, at the very first, entirely perfect, could not have
inferred from the fluidity and transparency of water that it would
suffo- cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it
would consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities
which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro- duced
it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can our reason,
unassisted by experience, ever draw any in- ference concerning
real existence and matter of fact. This proposition, that causes
and effects are discoverable, not by reason but by experience,
will readily be admitted with regard to such objects, as we remember
to have once been altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious
of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling
what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of marble
to a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy; he will never
discover that they will adhere together in such a manner as to
require great force to separate them in a direct line, while they
make so small a resistance to a lateral pressure. Such events,
as bear little analogy to the common course of nature, are also
readily confessed to be known only by experience; nor does any
man imagine that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction
of a load- stone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori.
In like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an intricate
machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no difficulty
in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience. Who will
assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why milk or bread
is proper nourishment for a man, not for a lion or a tiger? But
the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have the same
evidence with regard to events, which have become familiar to
us from our first appearance in the world, which bear a close
analogy to the whole course of nature, and which are supposed
to depend on the simple qualities of objects, without any secret
structure of parts. We are apt to imagine that we could discover
these effects by the mere operation of our reason, without experience.
We fancy, that were we brought on a sudden into this world, we
could at first have inferred that one Billiard-ball would communicate
motion to another upon impulse; and that we needed not to have
waited for the event, in order to pro- nounce with certainty concerning
it. Such is the influence of custom, that, where it is strongest,
it not only covers our natural ignorance, but even conceals itself,
and seems not to take place, merely because it is found in the
highest degree. But to convince us that all the laws of nature,
and all the operations of bodies without exception, are known
only by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suf-
fice. Were any object presented to us, and were we required to
pronounce concerning the effect, which will result from it, without
consulting past observation; after what manner, I beseech you,
must the mind proceed in this operation? It must invent or imagine
some event, which it ascribes to the object as its effect; and
it is plain that this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The
mind can never possibly find the effect in the supposed cause,
by the most accurate scrutiny and examination. For the effect
is totally different from the cause, and consequently can never
be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a quite
distinct event from motion in the first; nor is there anything
in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the other. A stone
or piece of metal raised into the air, and left without any support,
immediately falls: but to consider the matter a priori, is there
anything we discover in this situation which can beget the idea
of a downward, rather than an upward, or any other motion, in
the stone or metal? And as the first imagination or invention
of a particular effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary,
where we con- sult not experience; so must we also esteem the
supposed tie or connexion between the cause and effect, which
binds them together, and renders it impossible that any other
effect could result from the operation of that cause. When I see,
for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line towards
another; even suppose motion in the second ball should by accident
be suggested to me, as the result of their contact or impulse;
may I not conceive, that a hundred dif- ferent events might as
well follow from that cause? May not both these balls remain at
absolute rest? May not the first ball return in a straight line,
or leap off from the second in any line or direction? All these
suppositions are con- sistent and conceivable. Why then should
we give the preference to one, which is no more consistent or
conceivable than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never
be able to show us any foundation for this preference. In a word,
then, every effect is a distinct event from its cause. It could
not, therefore, be discovered in the cause, and the first invention
or conception of it, a priori, must be entirely arbitrary. And
even after it is suggested, the con- junction of it with the cause
must appear equally arbitrary; since there are always many other
effects, which, to reason, must seem fully as consistent and natural.
In vain, there- fore, should we pretend to determine any single
event, or infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of
observa- tion and experience. Hence we may discover the reason
why no philosopher, who is rational and modest, has ever pretended
to assign the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show
distinctly the action of that power, which produces any single
effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost effort
of human reason is to reduce the principles, productive of natural
phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular
effects into a few gen- eral causes, by means of reasonings from
analogy, experi- ence, and observation. But as to the causes of
these general causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery;
nor shall we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular
ex- plication of them. These ultimate springs and principles are
totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elas- ticity,
gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion by impulse;
these are probably the ultimate causes and prin- ciples which
we shall ever discover in nature; and we may esteem ourselves
sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reasoning, we
can trace up the particular phenomena to, or near to, these general
principles. The most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only
staves off our ignorance a little longer: as perhaps the most
perfect philosophy of the moral or metaphysical kind serves only
to discover larger portions of it. Thus the observation of human
blindness and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets
us at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid
it. Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural
philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into the
knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of reasoning
for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part of mixed mathematics
proceeds upon the supposition that certain laws are established
by nature in her operations; and abstract reasonings are employed,
either to assist ex- perience in the discovery of these laws,
or to determine their influence in particular instances, where
it depends upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus,
it is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the mo-
ment or force of any body in motion is in the compound ratio or
proportion of its solid contents and its velocity; and consequently,
that a small force may remove the greatest obstacle or raise the
greatest weight, if, by any contrivance or machinery, we can increase
the velocity of that force, so as to make it an overmatch for
its antagonist. Geometry assists us in the application of this
law, by giving us the just dimensions of all the parts and figures
which can enter into any species of machine; but still the discovery
of the law itself is owing merely to experience, and all the abstract
reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards the
knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider merely
any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, inde- pendent
of all observation, it never could suggest to us the notion of
any distinct object, such as its effect; much less, show us the
inseparable and inviolable connexion between them. A man must
be very sagacious who could discover by reasoning that crystal
is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without being previously
acquainted with the operation of these qualities. PART II BUT
we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfac- tion with regard
to the question first proposed. Each solution still gives rise
to a new question as difficult as the foregoing, and leads us
on to farther enquiries. When it is asked, What is the nature
of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact? the proper answer
seems to be, that they are founded on the relation of cause and
effect. When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all
our reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may
be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on our
sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all conclusions
from experience? this implies a new question, which may be of
more difficult solution and explication. Philosophers, that give
themselves airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard
task when they encounter per- sons of inquisitive dispositions,
who push them from every corner to which they retreat, and who
are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The
best expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our
preten- sions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before
it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of merit
of our very ignorance. I shall content myself, in this section,
with an easy task, and shall pretend only to give a negative answer
to the question here proposed. I say then, that, even after we
have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our conclusions
from that experience are not founded on reason- ing, or any process
of the understanding. This answer we must endeavour both to explain
and to defend. It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept
us at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded
us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of ob- jects;
while she conceals from us those powers and prin- ciples on which
the influence of those objects entirely de- pends. Our senses
inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread; but
neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities
which fit it for the nourish- ment and support of a human body.
Sight or feeling con- veys an idea of the actual motion of bodies;
but as to that wonderful force or power, which would carry on
a moving body for ever in a continued change of place, and which
bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of this we
cannot form the most distant conception. But not- withstanding
this ignorance of natural powers[1] and princi- ples, we always
presume, when we see like sensible quali- ties, that they have
like secret powers, and expect that effects, similar to those
which we have experienced, will follow from them. If a body of
like colour and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly
eat, be pre- sented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the
experi- ment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and
support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought, of which
I would willingly know the foundation. It is allowed on all hands
that there is no known connexion between the sensible qualities
and the secret powers; and consequently, that the mind is not
led to form such a con- clusion concerning their constant and
regular conjunction, by anything which it knows of their nature.
As to past Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain
information of those precise objects only, and that precise period
of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why this experience
should be extended to future times, and to other objects, which
for aught we know, may be only in appearance similar; this is
the main question on which I would insist. The bread, which I
formerly eat, nourished me; that is, a body of such sensible qualities
was, at that time, endued with such secret powers: but does it
follow, that other bread must also nourish me at another time,
and that like sensible qualities must always be attended with
like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise neces- sary.
At least, it must be acknowledged that there is here a consequence
drawn by the mind; that there is a certain step taken; a process
of thought, and an inference, which wants to be explained. These
two propositions are far from being the same. I have found that
such an object has always been attended with such an effect, and
I foresee, that other objects, which are, in appearance, similar,
will be attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please,
that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the other:
I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you insist
that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning, I desire you
to produce that reasoning. The connexion between these propositions
is not intuitive. There is re- quired a medium, which may enable
the mind to draw such an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning
and argu- ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my
comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to produce it, who
assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our conclusions
concerning matter of fact. This negative argument must certainly,
in process of time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating
and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way and
no one be ever able to discover any connecting propo- sition or
intermediate step, which supports the understand- ing in this
conclusion. But as the question is yet new, every reader may not
trust so far to his own penetration, as to conclude, because an
argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore it does not really
exist. For this reason it may be requisite to venture upon a more
difficult task; and enumerating all the branches of human knowledge,
en- deavour to show that none of them can afford such an argument.
All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely, demonstrative
reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral reasoning,
or that concerning matter of fact and existence. That there are
no demonstrative argu- ments in the case seems evident; since
it implies no con- tradiction that the course of nature may change,
and that an object, seemingly like those which we have experi-
enced, may be attended with different or contrary effects. May
I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body, falling from
the clouds, and which, in all other respects, resembles snow,
has yet the taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more
intelligible proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will
flourish in December and January, and decay in May and June? Now
whatever is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies
no contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demon-
strative argument or abstract reasoning a priori. If we be, therefore,
engaged by arguments to put trust in past experience, and make
it the standard of our future judgment, these arguments must be
probable only, or such as regard matter of fact and real existence
according to the division above mentioned. But that there is no
argument of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that
species of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We
have said that all arguments concerning existence are founded
on the relation of cause and effect; that our knowledge of that
relation is derived entirely from experi- ence; and that all our
experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition that the
future will be conformable to the past. To endeavour, therefore,
the proof of this last supposition by probable arguments, or arguments
regarding existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and
taking that for granted, which is the very point in question.
In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on the similarity
which we discover among natural objects, and by which we are induced
to expect effects similar to those which we have found to follow
from such objects. And though none but a fool or madman will ever
pretend to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that
great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a philoso-
pher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the principle
of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to experience,
and makes us draw advantage from that similarity which nature
has placed among different objects. >From causes which appear
similar we expect similar effects. This is the sum of all our
experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident that, if this conclusion
were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon
one in- stance, as after ever so long a course of experience.
But the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no
one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the same
taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long course
of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance
and security with regard to a particular event. Now where is that
process of reasoning which, from one instance, draws a conclusion,
so different from that which it infers from a hundred instances
that are nowise different from that single one? This question
I propose as much for the sake of information, as with an intention
of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such
reasoning. But I keep my mind still open to instruction, if any
one will vouchsafe to bestow it on me. Should it be said that,
from a number of uniform experi- ments, we infer a connexion between
the sensible qualities and the secret powers; this, I must confess,
seems the same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question
still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is founded?
Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, which join propositions
so very wide of each other? It is confessed that the colour, consistence,
and other sensible qualities of bread appear not, of themselves,
to have any connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and
sup- port. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers from
the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without the
aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers,
and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here, then, is our natural
state of ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of
all objects. How is this remedied by experience? It only shows
us a number of uniform effects, resulting from certain objects,
and teaches us that those particular objects, at that particular
time, were en- dowed with such powers and forces. When a new object,
endowed with similar sensible qualities, is produced, we expect
similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect. >From
a body of like colour and consistence with bread we expect like
nourishment and support. But this surely is a step or progress
of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, I have
found, in all past instances, such sensible qualities conjoined
with such secret powers: And when he says, Similar sensible qualities
will always be con- joined with similar secret powers, he is not
guilty of a tau- tology, nor are these propositions in any respect
the same. You say that the one proposition is an inference from
the other. But you must confess that the inference is not intuitive;
neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it, then? To say
it is experimental, is begging the question. For all inferences
from experience suppose, as their founda- tion, that the future
will resemble the past, and that similar powers will be conjoined
with similar sensible qualities. If there be any suspicion that
the course of nature may change, and that the past may be no rule
for the future, all experience becomes useless, and can give rise
to no in- ference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore,
that any arguments from experience can prove this resemblance
of the past to the future; since all these arguments are founded
on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the course of things
be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that alone, without some
new argument or inference, proves not that, for the future, it
will continue so. In vain do you pretend to have learned the nature
of bodies from your past experience. Their secret nature, and
consequently all their effects and influence, may change, without
any change in their sensible qualities. This happens some- times,
and with regard to some objects: Why may it not happen always,
and with regard to all objects? What logic, what process or argument
secures you against this supposi- tion? My practice, you say,
refutes my doubts. But you mistake the purport of my question.
As an agent, I am quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher,
who has some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I
want to learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no
enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give me
satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do better than
propose the difficulty to the public, even though, perhaps, I
have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We shall at least, by
this means, be sensible of our ignorance, if we do not augment
our knowledge. I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable
arrogance who concludes, because an argument has es- caped his
own investigation, that therefore it does not really exist. I
must also confess that, though all the learned, for several ages,
should have employed themselves in fruit- less search upon any
subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash to conclude positively
that the subject must, therefore, pass all human comprehension.
Even though we examine all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude
them un- fit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion,
that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination not accurate.
But with regard to the present subject, there are some considerations
which seem to remove all this accusation of arrogance or suspicion
of mistake. It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants--
nay infants, nay even brute beasts--improve by experience, and
learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the effects
which result from them. When a child has felt the sensation of
pain from touching the flame of a candle, he will be careful not
to put his hand near any candle; but will expect a similar effect
from a cause which is similar in its sensible qualities and appearance.
If you assert, there- fore, that the understanding of the child
is led into this conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination,
I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor have you
any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. You cannot say that
the argument is abstruse, and may possibly escape your enquiry;
since you confess that it is obvious to the capacity of a mere
infant. If you hesitate, therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection,
you produce any intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner,
give up the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which
engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and to expect
similar effects from causes which are, to appear- ance, similar.
This is the proposition which I intended to enforce in the present
section. If I be right, I pretend not to have made any mighty
discovery. And if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to be
indeed a very backward scholar; since I cannot now discover an
argument which, it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before
I was out of my cradle. [1] The word, Power, is here used in a
loose and popular sense. The more accurate explication of it would
give additional evidence to this argument. See Sect. 7. SECTION
V SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS PART I THE passion for philosophy,
like that for religion, seems liable to this inconvenience, that,
though it aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpation
of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent management, to foster
a predominant inclination, and push the mind, with more determined
resolution, towards that side which already draws too much, by
the bias and propensity of the natural temper. It is certain that,
while we aspire to the magnanimous firmness of the philosophic
sage, and en- deavour to confine our pleasures altogether within
our own minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like that
of Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of
selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well as
social enjoyment. While we study with attention the vanity of
human life, and turn all our thoughts towards the empty and transitory
nature of riches and honours, we are, perhaps, all the while flattering
our natural indolence, which, hating the bustle of the world,
and drudgery of business, seeks a pretence of reason to give itself
a full and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one species
of philosophy which seems little liable to this in- convenience,
and that because it strikes in with no dis- orderly passion of
the human mind, nor can mingle it- self with any natural affection
or propensity; and that is the Academic or Sceptical philosophy.
The academics al- ways talk of doubt and suspense of judgment,
of danger in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow
bounds the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all
speculations which lie not within the limits of common life and
practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary than such a
philosophy to the supine indolence of the mind, its rash arrogance,
its lofty pretensions, and its super- stitious credulity. Every
passion is mortified by it, except the love of truth; and that
passion never is, nor can be, carried to too high a degree. It
is surprising, therefore, that this philosophy, which, in almost
every instance, must be harmless and innocent, should be the subject
of so much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps, the
very circumstance which renders it so innocent is what chiefly
exposes it to the public hatred and resentment. By flattering
no irregular passion, it gains few partizans: By opposing so many
vices and follies, it raises to itself abundance of enemies, who
stigmatize it as libertine, pro- fane, and irreligious. Nor need
we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours to limit our
enquiries to common life, should ever undermine the reasonings
of common life, and carry its doubts so far as to destroy all
action, as well as speculation. Nature will always maintain her
rights, and prevail in the end over any abstract reasoning whatsoever.
Though we should conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section,
that, in all reasonings from experience, there is a step taken
by the mind which is not supported by any argument or process
of the understanding; there is no danger that these rea- sonings,
on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever be affected by
such a discovery. If the mind be not en- gaged by argument to
make this step, it must be induced by some other principle of
equal weight and authority; and that principle will preserve its
influence as long as human nature remains the same. What that
principle is may well be worth the pains of enquiry. Suppose a
person, though endowed with the strongest faculties of reason
and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world; he
would, indeed, immediately observe a continual succession of objects,
and one event following another; but he would not be able to discover
anything farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be
able to reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular
powers, by which all natural operations are performed, never appear
to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude, merely because
one event, in one instance, precedes another, that therefore the
one is the cause, the other the effect. Their conjunction may
be arbitrary and casual. There may be no reason to infer the existence
of one from the appearance of the other. And in a word, such a
person, without more experience, could never employ his conjecture
or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured of anything
beyond what was immediately present to his memory and senses.
Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience, and has
lived so long in the world as to have observed familiar objects
or events to be constantly conjoined to- gether; what is the consequence
of this experience? He immediately infers the existence of one
object from the appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all
his ex- perience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret
power by which the one object produces the other; nor is it by
any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw this inference.
But still he finds himself determined to draw it: and though he
should be convinced that his understanding has no part in the
operation, he would nevertheless continue in the same course of
thinking. There is some other principle which determines him to
form such a conclusion. This principle is Custom or Habit. For
wherever the repetition of any particular act or operation produces
a propensity to renew the same act or operation, without being
impelled by any reasoning or process of the under- standing, we
always say, that this propensity is the effect of Custom. By employing
that word, we pretend not to have given the ultimate reason of
such a propensity. We only point out a principle of human nature,
which is universally acknowledged, and which is well known by
its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or
pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest contented
with it as the ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all
our conclusions from experience. It is suf- ficient satisfaction,
that we can go so far, without repining at the narrowness of our
faculties because they will carry us no farther. And it is certain
we here advance a very intelligible proposition at least, if not
a true one, when we assert that, after the constant conjunction
of two ob- jects--heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity--
we are determined by custom alone to expect the one from the appearance
of the other. This hypothesis seems even the only one which explains
the difficulty, why we draw, from a thousand instances, an inference
which we are not able to draw from one instance, that is, in no
respect, different from them. Reason is incapable of any such
variation. The conclusions which it draws from consider- ing one
circle are the same which it would form upon surveying all the
circles in the universe. But no man, having seen only one body
move after being impelled by another, could infer that every other
body will move after a like impulse. All inferences from experience,
therefore, are effects of custom, not of reasoning.[1] Custom,
then, is the great guide of human life. It is that principle alone
which renders our experience useful to us, and makes us expect,
for the future, a similar train of events with those which have
appeared in the past. Without the influence of custom, we should
be entirely ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately
present to the memory and senses. We should never know how to
adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural powers in the production
of any effect. There would be an end at once of all action, as
well as of the chief part of speculation. But here it may be proper
to remark, that though our conclusions from experience carry us
beyond our memory and senses, and assure us of matters of fact
which hap- pened in the most distant places and most remote ages,
yet some fact must always be present to the senses or memory,
from which we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions.
A man, who should find in a desert country the remains of pompous
buildings, would conclude that the country had, in ancient times,
been cultivated by civil- ized inhabitants; but did nothing of
this nature occur to him, he could never form such an inference.
We learn the events of former ages from history; but then we must
peruse the volumes in which this instruction is contained, and
thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to another,
till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of these distant
events. In a word, if we proceed not upon some fact, present to
the memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely hypothetical;
and however the particular links might be connected with each
other, the whole chain of inferences would have nothing to support
it, nor could we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of
any real existence. If I ask why you believe any particular matter
of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason; and this
reason will be some other fact, connected with it. But as you
cannot proceed after this manner, in infinitum, you must at last
terminate in some fact, which is present to your memory or senses;
or must allow that your belief is entirely without foundation.
What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A simple one;
though, it must be confessed, pretty remote from the common theories
of philosophy. All belief of matter of fact or real existence
is derived merely from some object, present to the memory or senses,
and a customary conjunction between that and some other object.
Or in other words; having found, in many instances, that any two
kinds of objects--flame and heat, snow and cold--have always been
conjoined together; if flame or snow be pre- sented anew to the
senses, the mind is carried by custom to expect heat or cold,
and to believe that such a quality does exist, and will discover
itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the necessary result
of placing the mind in such circumstances. It is an operation
of the soul, when we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel
the passion of love, when we receive benefits; or hatred, when
we meet with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural
instincts, which no reasoning or process of the thought and understanding
is able either to produce or to prevent. At this point, it would
be very allowable for us to stop our philosophical researches.
In most questions we can never make a single step farther; and
in all questions we must terminate here at last, after our most
restless and curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be
pardonable, perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther
researches, and make us examine more accurately the na- ture of
this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is derived.
By this means we may meet with some ex- plications and analogies
that will give satisfaction; at least to such as love the abstract
sciences, and can be enter- tained with speculations, which, however
accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty.
As to readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following en- quiries
may well be understood, though it be neglected. PART II NOTHING
is more free than the imagination of man; and though it cannot
exceed that original stock of ideas fur- nished by the internal
and external senses, it has unlimited power of mixing, compounding,
separating, and dividing these ideas, in all the varieties of
fiction and vision. It can feign a train of events, with all the
appearance of reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place,
conceive them as existent, and paint them out to itself with every
circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it believes
with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore, consists the
difference between such a fiction and belief? It lies not merely
in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception as
commands our assent, and which is wanting to every known fiction.
For as the mind has authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily
annex this particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be
able to believe whatever it pleases; contrary to what we find
by daily experience. We can, in our conception, join the head
of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our power to
believe that such an animal has ever really existed. It follows,
therefore, that the difference between fiction and belief lies
in some sentiment or feeling, which is annexed to the latter,
not to the former, and which depends not on the will, nor can
be commanded at pleasure. It must be excited by nature, like all
other sentiments; and must arise from the particular situation,
in which the mind is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever
any object is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately,
by the force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that
object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception
is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose
reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief.
For as there is no matter of fact which we believe so firmly that
we cannot conceive the contrary, there would be no difference
between the conception as- sented to and that which is rejected,
were it not for some sentiment which distinguishes the one from
the other. If I see a billiard-ball moving toward another, on
a smooth table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon contact.
This conception implies no contradiction; but still it feels very
differently from that conception by which I represent to myself
the impulse and the communication of motion from one ball to another.
Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we should,
perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impossible task;
in the same manner as if we should endeavour to define the feeling
of cold or passion of anger, to a creature who never had any experience
of these sentiments. Belief is the true and proper name of this
feeling; and no one is ever at a loss to know the meaning of that
term; because every man is every moment conscious of the sentiment
represented by it. It may not, however, be improper to attempt
a description of this sentiment; in hopes we may, by that means,
arrive at some analogies, which may afford a more perfect explication
of it. I say, then, that belief is nothing but a more vivid, lively,
forcible, firm, steady con- ception of an object, than what the
imagination alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms,
which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express
that act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken
for such, more present to us than fictions, causes them to weigh
more in the thought, and gives them a superior influence on the
passions and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, it
is needless to dispute about the terms. The imagination has the
command over all its ideas, and can join and mix and vary them,
in all the ways possible. It may conceive fictitious objects with
all the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in a
manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as they might
have existed. But as it is impossible that this faculty of imagination
can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is evident that belief consists
not in the peculiar nature or order of ideas, but in the manner
of their conception, and in their feeling to the mind. I confess,
that it is impossible perfectly to explain this feeling or manner
of conception. We may make use of words which express something
near it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before,
is belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently under-
stands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no farther
than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind, which
distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the fictions of
the imagination. It gives them more weight and influence; makes
them appear of greater importance; en- forces them in the mind;
and renders them the governing principle of our actions. I hear
at present, for instance, a person's voice, with whom I am acquainted;
and the sound comes as from the next room. This impression of
my senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, to- gether
with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as
existing at present, with the same qualities and relations, of
which I formerly knew them possessed. These ideas take faster
hold of my mind than ideas of an en- chanted castle. They are
very different to the feeling, and have a much greater influence
of every kind, either to give pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.
Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, and
allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a conception
more intense and steady than what attends the mere fictions of
the imagination, and that this manner of conception arises from
a customary conjunction of the object with something present to
the memory or senses: I believe that it will not be difficult,
upon these supposi- tions, to find other operations of the mind
analogous to it, and to trace up these phenomena to principles
still more general. We have already observed that nature has established
connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner one idea
occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its cor- relative, and
carries our attention towards it, by a gentle and insensible movement.
These principles of connexion or association we have reduced to
three, namely, Resem- blance, Contiguity and Causation; which
are the only bonds that unite our thoughts together, and beget
that regular train of reflection or discourse, which, in a greater
or less degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here arises
a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty will
depend. Does it happen, in all these relations, that, when one
of the objects is presented to the senses or memory, the mind
is not only carried to the conception of the correlative, but
reaches a steadier and stronger conception of it than what otherwise
it would have been able to attain? This seems to be the case with
that belief which arises from the relation of cause and effect.
And if the case be the same with the other relations or principles
of associations, this may be established as a general law, which
takes place in all the operations of the mind. We may, therefore,
observe, as the first experiment to our present purpose, that,
upon the appearance of the picture of an absent friend, our idea
of him is evidently enlivened by the resemblance, and that every
passion, which that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow,
acquires new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there
concur both a relation and a present impression. Where the picture
bears him no resemblance, at least was not intended for him, it
never so much as conveys our thought to him: and where it is absent,
as well as the person, though the mind may pass from the thought
of the one to that of the other, it feels its idea to be rather
weakened than enlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure
in viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us;
but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him directly
than by reflection in an image, which is equally distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered
as instances of the same nature. The dev- otees of that superstition
usually plead in excuse for the mummeries, with which they are
upbraided, that they feel the good effect of those external motions,
and pos- tures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and
quick- ening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if directed
entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We shadow out the
objects of our faith, say they, in sensible types and images,
and render them more present to us by the immediate presence of
these types, than it is pos- sible for us to do merely by an intellectual
view and contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater
in- fluence on the fancy than any other; and this influence they
readily convey to those ideas to which they are related, and which
they resemble. I shall only infer from these practices, and this
reasoning, that the effect of resem- blance in enlivening the
ideas is very common; and as in every case a resemblance and a
present impression must concur, we are abundantly supplied with
experiments to prove the reality of the foregoing principle. We
may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind,
in considering the effects of contiguity as well as of resemblance.
It is certain that distance dimin- ishes the force of every idea,
and that, upon our approach to any object; though it does not
discover itself to our senses; it operates upon the mind with
an influence, which imitates an immediate impression. The thinking
on any object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous;
but it is only the actual presence of an object, that trans- ports
it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles from home,
whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I am two
hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the reflecting
on any thing in the neigh- bourhood of my friends or family naturally
produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the
objects of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy
transition between them; that transition alone is not able to
give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of some
immediate impression.[2] No one can doubt but causation has the
same influence as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and holy
men, for the same reason, that they seek after types or images,
in order to enliven their devotion, and give them a more intimate
and strong conception of those exemplary lives, which they desire
to imitate. Now it is evident, that one of the best reliques,
which a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a saint;
and if his cloaths and furniture are ever to be considered in
this light, it is be- cause they were once at his disposal, and
were moved and affected by him; in which respect they are to be
considered as imperfect effects, and as connected with him by
a shorter chain of consequences than any of those, by which we
learn the reality of his existence. Suppose, that the son of a
friend, who had been long dead or absent, were presented to us;
it is evident, that this object would instantly revive its correlative
idea, and recall to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities,
in more lively colours than they would otherwise have ap- peared
to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems to prove the principle
above mentioned. We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the
belief of the correlative object is always presupposed; without
which the relation could have no effect. The influence of the
picture supposes, that we believe our friend to have once existed.
Contiguity to home can never excite our ideas of home, unless
we believe that it really exists. Now I assert, that this belief,
where it reaches beyond the memory or senses, is of a similar
nature, and arises from similar causes, with the transition of
thought and vivacity of conception here explained. When I throw
a piece of dry wood into a fire, my mind is immediately carried
to con- ceive, that it augments, not extinguishes the flame. This
transition of thought from the cause to the effect proceeds not
from reason. It derives its origin altogether from custom and
experience. And as it first begins from an object, present to
the senses, it renders the idea or con- ception of flame more
strong and lively than any loose, floating reverie of the imagination.
That idea arises im- mediately. The thought moves instantly towards
it, and conveys to it all that force of conception, which is derived
from the impression present to the senses. When a sword is levelled
at my breast, does not the idea of wound and pain strike me more
strongly, than when a glass of wine is presented to me, even though
by accident this idea should occur after the appearance of the
latter object? But what is there in this whole matter to cause
such a strong conception, except only a present object and a customary
transition of the idea of another object, which we have been accustomed
to conjoin with the former? This is the whole operation of the
mind, in all our conclusions con- cerning matter of fact and existence;
and it is a satisfaction to find some analogies, by which it may
be explained. The transition from a present object does in all
cases give strength and solidity to the related idea. Here, then,
is a kind of pre-established harmony between the course of nature
and the succession of our ideas; and though the powers and forces,
by which the former is gov- erned, be wholly unknown to us; yet
our thoughts and conceptions have still, we find, gone on in the
same train with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle,
by which this correspondence has been effected; so neces- sary
to the subsistence of our species, and the regulation of our conduct,
in every circumstance and occurrence of hu- man life. Had not
the presence of an object, instantly excited the idea of those
objects, commonly conjoined with it, all our knowledge must have
been limited to the narrow sphere of our memory and senses; and
we should never have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ
our natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding
of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and contem- plation
of final causes, have here ample subject to employ their wonder
and admiration. I shall add, for a further confirmation of the
foregoing theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which
we infer like effects from like causes, and vice versa, is so
essential to the subsistence of all human creatures, it is not
probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious de- ductions
of our reason, which is slow in its operations; appears not, in
any degree, during the first years of infancy; and at best is,
in every age and period of human life, ex- tremely liable to error
and mistake. It is more conformable to the ordinary wisdom of
nature to secure so necessary an act of the mind, by some instinct
or mechanical tendency, which may be infallible in its operations,
may discover itself at the first appearance of life and thought,
and may be independent of all the laboured deductions of the under-
standing. As nature has taught us the use of our limbs, without
giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which they
are actuated; so has she implanted in us an instinct, which carries
forward the thought in a corre- spondent course to that which
she has established among external objects; though we are ignorant
of those powers and forces, on which this regular course and succession
of objects totally depends. [1] Nothing is more useful than for
writers, even, on moral, political, or physical subjects, to distinguish
between reason and experience, and to sup- pose, that these species
of argumentation are entirely different from each other. The former
are taken for the mere result of our intellectual facul- ties,
which, by considering a priori the nature of things, and examining
the effects, that must follow from their operation, establish
particular prin- ciples of science and philosophy. The latter
are supposed to be derived entirely from sense and observation,
by which we learn what has actually resulted from the operation
of particular objects, and are thence able to infer, what will,
for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the limitations
and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution,
may be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great
frailty and corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can
safely be trusted with unlimited authority; or from experience
and history, which inform us of the enormous abuses, that ambition,
in every age and country, has been found to make so imprudent
a confidence. The same distinction between reason and experience
is maintained in all our deliberations concerning the conduct
of life; while the experienced states- man, general, physician,
or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unprac- tised novice,
with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised.
Though it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures
with regard to the consequences of such a particular conduct in
such particular circumstances; it is still supposed imperfect,
without the assistance of experi - ence, which is alone able to
give stability and certainty to the maxims, derived from study
and reflection. But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus
universally received, both in the active and speculative scenes
of life, I shall not scruple to pro- nounce, that it is, at bottom,
erroneous, at least, superficial. If we examine those arguments,
which, in any of the sciences above mentioned, are supposed to
be mere effects of reasoning and reflection, they will be found
to terminate, at last, in some general principle or, con- clusion,
for which we can assign no reason but observation and experience.
The only difference between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly
esteemed the result of pure experience, is, that the former cannot
be estab- lished without some process of thought, and some reflection
on what we have observed, in order to distinguish its circumstances,
and trace its con- sequences: Whereas in the latter, the experienced
event is exactly and fully familiar to that which we infer as
the result of any particular situation. The history of a TIBERIUS
or a NERO makes us dread a like tyranny, were our monarchs freed
from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observa- tion
of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the
aid of a little thought, to give us the same apprehension; while
it serves as an instance of the general corruption of human nature,
and shows us the danger which we must incur by reposing an entire
confidence in mankind. In both cases, it is experience which is
ultimately the foundation of our inference and conclusion. There
is no man so young and inexperienced, as not to have formed, from
observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs
and the conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that, when
a man comes to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable
to error, till time and farther experience both enlarge these
maxims, and teach him their proper use and application. In every
situation or incident, there are many par- ticular and seemingly
minute circumstances, which the man of greatest talent is, at
first, apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his con-
clusions, and consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely
depend. Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the general
observations and maxims occur not always on the proper occasions,
nor can be immediately applied with due calmness and distinction.
The truth is, an unexperienced reasoner could be no reasoner at
all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and when we assign that
character to any one, we mean it only in a compara- tive sense,
and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more
imperfect degree. [2] 'Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an
errore quodam, ut, cum ea loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos
viros acceperimus multim esse versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando
eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut scriptum aliquod legamus?
Velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi Plato in mentem, quem accepimus
primum hic disputare solitum; cuius etiam illi hortuli propinqui
non memoriam solum mihi afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu
meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic eius auditor
Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus. Equidem etiam
curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, quae mihi minor
esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem,
Laelium, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis
est in locis; ut non sine causa ex his memopriae deducta sit disciplina.'--
Cicero de Finibus. Lib. v. SECTION VI OF PROBABILITY[1] THOUGH
there be no such thing as Chance in the world; our ignorance of
the real cause of any event has the same influence on the understanding,
and be- gets a like species of belief or opinion. There is certainly
a probability, which arises from a superiority of chances on any
side; and according as this superiority increases, and surpasses
the opposite chances, the probability receives a proportionable
increase, and be- gets still a higher degree of belief or assent
to that side, in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were
marked with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with
another figure or number of spots on the two remaining sides,
it would be more probable, that the former would turn up than
the latter; though, if it had a thousand sides marked in the same
manner, and only one side different, the probability would be
much higher, and our belief or expectation of the event more steady
and secure. This pro- cess of the thought or reasoning may seem
trivial and obvious; but to those who consider it more narrowly,
it may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation. It seems
evident, that, when the mind looks forward to discover the event,
which may result from the throw of such a dye, it considers the
turning up of each particular side as alike probable; and this
is the very nature of chance, to render all the particular events,
comprehended in it, en- tirely equal. But finding a greater number
of sides concur in the one event than in the other, the mind is
carried more frequently to that event, and meets it oftener, in
revolving the various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate
result depends. This concurrence of several views in one particular
event begets immediately, by an inexplicable con- trivance of
nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that event the advantage
over its antagonist, which is supported by a smaller number of
views, and recurs less frequently to the mind. If we allow, that
belief is nothing but a firmer and stronger conception of an object
than what attends the mere fictions of the imagination, this operation
may, perhaps, in some measure, be accounted for. The concurrence
of these several views or glimpses imprints the idea more strongly
on the imagination; gives it superior force and vigour; renders
its influence on the passions and affections more sensible; and
in a word, begets that reliance or security, which constitutes
the nature of belief and opinion. The case is the same with the
probability of causes, as with that of chance. There are some
causes, which are entirely uniform and constant in producing a
particular effect; and no instance has ever yet been found of
any failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire has always
burned, and water suffocated every human creature: the production
of motion by impulse and gravity is an universal law, which has
hitherto admitted of no exception. But there are other causes,
which have been found more irregular and uncertain; nor has rhubarb
always proved a purge, or opium a soporific to every one, who
has taken these medi- cines. It is true, when any cause fails
of producing its usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to
any irregularity in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes,
in the particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation.
Our reasonings, however, and conclusions concerning the event
are the same as if this principle had no place. Being determined
by custom to transfer the past to the future, in all our inferences;
where the past has been entirely regular and uniform, we expect
the event with the greatest assur- ance, and leave no room for
any contrary supposition. But where different effects have been
found to follow from causes, which are to appearance exactly similar,
all these various effects must occur to the mind in transferring
the past to the future, and enter into our consideration, when
we determine the probability of the event. Though we give the
preference to that which has been found most usual, and be- lieve
that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the other effects,
but must assign to each of them a particular weight and authority,
in proportion as we have found it to be more or less frequent.
It is more probable, in almost every country of Europe, that there
will be frost sometime in January, than that the weather will
continue open through out that whole month; though this probability
varies accord- ing to the different climates, and approaches to
a certainty in the more northern kingdoms. Here then it seems
evident, that, when we transfer the past to the future, in order
to determine the effect, which will result from any cause, we
transfer all the different events, in the same proportion as they
have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have existed a
hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and another once.
As a great number of views do here concur in one event, they fortify
and confirm it to the imagination, beget that sentiment which
we call belief, and give its object the preference above the contrary
event, which is not sup- ported by an equal number of experiments,
and recurs not so frequently to the thought in transferring the
past to the future. Let any one try to account for this operation
of the mind upon any of the received systems of philosophy, and
he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I shall think
it sufficient, if the present hints excite the curiosity of philosophers,
and make them sensible how defective all com- mon theories are
in treating of such curious and such sublime subjects. [1] Mr.
Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In
this view, we must say, that it is only probable that all men
must die, or that the sun will rise to-morrow. But to conform
our language more to common use, we ought to divide arguments
into demonstrations, proofs, and proba- bilities. By proofs meaning
such arguments from experience as leave no room for doubt or opposition.
SECTION VII OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION PART I THE great
advantage of the mathematical sciences above the moral consists
in this, that the ideas of the former, being sensible, are always
clear and determin- ate, the smallest distinction between them
is immediately per- ceptible, and the same terms are still expressive
of the same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is
never mis- taken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis.
The isos- celes and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more
ex- act than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be
defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes,
on all occasions, the definition for the term defined: or even
when no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented
to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly apprehended.
But the finer sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding,
the various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves
distinct, easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is
it in our power to recall the original object, as often as we
have oc- casion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is
gradually introduced into our reasonings: similar objects are
readily taken to be the same: and the conclusion becomes at last
very wide of the premises. One may safely, however, affirm, that,
if we consider these sciences in a proper light, their advantages
and disadvan- tages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both
of them to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility,
re- tains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must
carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reason- ing,
and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach
the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral ideas are apt,
without extreme care, to fall into obscurity and confusion, the
inferences are always much shorter in these disquisitions, and
the intermediate steps, which lead to the conclusion, much fewer
than in the sciences which treat of quantity and number. In reality,
there is scarcely a proposi- tion in Euclid so simple, as not
to consist of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reasoning
which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles
of the human mind through a few steps, we may be very well satis-
fied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws a bar
to all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment
of our ignorance. The chief ob- stacle, therefore, to our improvement
in the moral or meta- physical sciences is the obscurity of the
ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal difficulty in
the mathematics is the length of inferences and compass of thought,
requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our
prog- ress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want
of proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often dis- covered
by chance, and cannot always be found, when requisite, even by
the most diligent and prudent enquiry. As moral philosophy seems
hitherto to have received less im- provement than either geometry
or physics, we may con- clude, that, if there be any difference
in this respect among these sciences, the difficulties, which
obstruct the progress of the former, require superior care and
capacity to be sur- mounted. There are no ideas, which occur in
metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power,
force, energy or necessary connexion, of which it is every moment
necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall,
therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the
precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of
that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species
of philosophy. It seems a proposition, which will not admit of
much dis- pute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our
im- pressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us
to think of anything, which we have not antecedently felt, either
by our external or internal senses. I have endeavoured[1] to explain
and prove this proposition, and have expressed my hopes, that,
by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearness
and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they have
hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas, may, perhaps, be
well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration
of those parts or simple ideas, that compose them. But when we
have pushed up defini- tions to the most simple ideas, and find
still more ambiguity and obscurity; what resource are we then
possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these
ideas, and render them altogether precise and determinate to our
intel- lectual view? Produce the impressions or original senti-
ments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are
all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are
not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light
on their correspondent ideas, which lie in ob- scurity. And by
this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new microscope or species
of optics, by which, in the moral sciences, the most minute, and
most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under
our apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most
sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry. To be fully
acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connexion,
let us examine its impression; and in order to find the impression
with greater certainty, let us search for it in all the sources,
from which it may possibly be derived. When we look about us towards
external objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are
never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary
con- nexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause,
and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We
only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other.
The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the
second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses.
The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession
of objects: consequently, there is not, in any single, particular
instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the
idea of power or necessary connexion. From the first appearance
of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will result
from it. But were the power or energy of any cause discoverable
by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience;
and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by
mere dint of thought and reasoning. In reality, there is no part
of matter, that does ever, by its sensible qualities, discover
any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could
produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we
could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these
qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out
any other event which may result from them. The scenes of the
uni- verse are continually shifting, and one object follows another
in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force, which
actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed from us, and
never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities of body.
We know that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame;
but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much
as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that
the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies,
in single instances of their operation; because no bodies ever
discover any power, which can be the original of this idea.[2]
Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses,
give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by their operation
in particular instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived
from reflection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied
from any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every
moment conscious of internal power; while we feel, that, by the
simple command of our will, we can move the organs of our body,
or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces
motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination.
This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we
acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we
ourselves and all other intelligent beings are pos- sessed of
power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises
from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and on the
command which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the
body and faculties of the soul. We shall proceed to examine this
pretension; and first with regard to the influence of volition
over the organs of the body. This influence, we may observe, is
a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only
by experi- ence, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy
or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and
renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion
of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are
every moment conscious. But the means, by which this is effected;
the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an operation;
of this we are so far from being immediately conscious, that it
must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry. For first: Is
there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union
of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual substance acquires
such an influence over a material one, that the most refined thought
is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by
a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in
their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more extraordinary,
nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we
perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power;
we must know its connexion with the effect; we must know the secret
union of soul and body, and the nature of both these substances;
by which the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon
the other. Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of
the body with a like authority; though we cannot assign any reason
besides experience, for so remarkable a difference between one
and the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and
fingers, not over the heart or liver? This question would never
embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the former case,
not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of experience,
why the authority of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed
within such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted
with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also
know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries,
and no farther. A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or
arm, or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours,
at first to move them, and employ them, in their usual offices.
Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as
a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member
which remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness
never deceives. Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the
other, are we ever conscious of any power. We learn the influence
of our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches
us, how one event constantly follows another; without in- structing
us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and renders
them inseparable. Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate
object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member itself
which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits,
and, perhaps, something still more minute and more unknown, through
which the motion is successively propagated, ere it reach the
member itself whose motion is the immediate object of volition.
Can there be a more certain proof, that the power, by which this
whole operation is performed, so far from being directly and fully
known by an inward sentiment or consciousness is, to the last
degree, mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain
event. Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally
different from the one intended, is produced: This event produces
another, equally unknown: till at last, through a long succession,
the desired event is produced. But if the original power were
felt, it must be known: were it known, its effect also must be
known; since all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa,
if the effect be not known, the power cannot be known nor felt.
How indeed can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when
we have no such power; but only that to move certain animal spirits,
which, though they produce at last the motion of our limbs, yet
operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension?
We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any
temerity, though with assurance; that our idea of power is not
copied from any sentiment or consciousness of power within ourselves,
when we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their
proper use and office. That their motion follows the command of
the will is a matter of common experience, like other natural
events: But the power or energy by which this is effected, like
that in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable.[3]
Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy
in our own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise
up a new idea, fix the mind to the con- templation of it, turn
it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when
we think that we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy? I
believe the same arguments will prove, that even this command
of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy. First, It
must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that very
circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the
effect: for these are supposed to be synonymous. We must, therefore,
know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them.
But do we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human
soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to
produce the other? This is a real creation; a production of something
out of nothing: which implies a power so great, that it may seem,
at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite.
At least it must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor
known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event,
namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a command of the
will: but the manner, in which this operation is performed, the
power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.
Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as well
as its command over the body; and these limits are not known by
reason, or any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect,
but only by experience and observation, as in all other natural
events and in the operation of external objects. Our authority
over our sentiments and passions is much weaker than that over
our ideas; and even the latter authority is circumscribed within
very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate
reason of these boundaries, or show why the power is deficient
in one case, not in another. Thirdly, This self-command is very
different at different times. A man in health possesses more of
it than one languishing with sickness. We are more master of our
thoughts in the morning than in the evening: fasting, than after
a full meal. Can we give any reason for these varia- tions, except
experience? Where then is the power, of which we pretend to be
conscious? Is there not here, either in a spiritual or material
substance, or both, some secret mech- anism or structure of parts,
upon which the effect de- pends, and which, being entirely unknown
to us, renders the power or energy of the will equally unknown
and incomprehensible? Volition is surely an act of the mind, with
which we are sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider
it on all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative
power, by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a
kind of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may
be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the
various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of this
energy in the will, it requires as certain experience as that
of which we are possessed, to convince us that such ex- traordinary
effects do ever result from a simple act of volition. The generality
of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting for the more
common and familiar operations of nature--such as the descent
of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of animals,
or the nourishment of bodies by food: but suppose that, in all
these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause,
by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible
in its operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of
mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immedi- ately
expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly conceive
it possible that any other event could result from it. It is only
on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena, such as earthquakes,
pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves
at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner
in which the effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in
such difficulties, to have re- course to some invisible intelligent
principle[4] as the imme- diate cause of that event which surprises
them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the
common powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny
a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most
familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible
as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience the
frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able to comprehend
anything like Connexion between them. Here, then, many philosophers
think themselves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all occasions,
to the same principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in
cases that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge
mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and original
cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of every
event which appears in nature. They pretend that those objects
which are commonly denominated causes, are in reality nothing
but occasions; and that the true and direct principle of every
effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of
the Supreme Being, who wills that such particular objects should
for ever be conjoined with each other. Instead of saying that
one billiard-ball moves another by a force which it has derived
from the author of nature, it is the Deity himself, they say,
who, by a particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined
to this operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence
of those general laws which he has laid down to himself in the
government of the universe. But philosophers advanc- ing still
in their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally ignorant
of the power on which depends the mutual opera- tion of bodies,
we are no less ignorant of that power on which depends the operation
of mind on body, or of body on mind, nor are we able, either from
our senses or con- sciousness, to assign the ultimate principle
in one case more than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore,
reduces them to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity
is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body; and
that they are not the organs of sense, which, being agitated by
external objects, produce sensations in the mind; but that it
is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which excites
such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the organ.
In like manner, it is not any energy in the will that produces
local motion in our members: it is God himself, who is pleased
to second our will, in itself impotent, and to command that motion
which we erro- neously attribute to our own power and efficacy.
Nor do philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend
the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal opera-
tions. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is noth- ing but
a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn
our thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy,
it is not the will which creates that idea: it is the universal
Creator, who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present
to us. Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full
of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists but
by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his concession:
they rob nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order
to render their dependence on the Deity still more sensible and
immediate. They consider not that, by this theory, they diminish,
instead of magni- fying, the grandeur of those attributes, which
they affect so much to celebrate. It argues surely more power
in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior
creatures than to produce every thing by his own im- mediate volition.
It argues more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world
with such perfect foresight that, of itself, and by its proper
operation, it may serve all the purposes of providence, than if
the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its parts,
and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.
But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this
theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice: First,
it seems to me that this theory of the universal energy and operation
of the Supreme Being is too bold ever to carry conviction with
it to a man, sufficiently ap- prized of the weakness of human
reason, and the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its
operations. Though the chain of arguments which conduct to it
were ever so logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if
not an absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond
the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary,
and so remote from common life and ex- perience. We are got into
fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory;
and there we have no reason to trust our common methods of argument,
or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any
authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses.
And however we may flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every
step which we take, by a kind of ver- isimilitude and experience,
we may be assured that this fancied experience has no authority
when we thus apply it to subjects that lie entirely out of the
sphere of ex- perience. But on this we shall have occasion to
touch afterwards.[5] Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in
the arguments on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant,
it is true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other:
their force or energy is entirely incomprehensible: but are we
not equally ignorant of the manner or force by which a mind, even
the supreme mind, operates either on itself or on body? Whence,
I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We have no sentiment
or consciousness of this power in ourselves. We have no idea of
the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own
faculties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting
any thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all
energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter.
We surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the
other. Is it more difficult to conceive that motion may arise
from impulse than that it may arise from volition? All we know
is our profound ignorance in both cases.[6] PART II BUT to hasten
to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn out to
too great a length: we have sought in vain for an idea of power
or necessary connexion in all the sources from which we could
suppose it to be derived. It appears that, in single instances
of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny,
discover any thing but one event following another, without being
able to com- prehend any force or power by which the cause operates,
or any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same
difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on body--where
we observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the volition
of the former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie
which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by
which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will
over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible:
so that, upon the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature,
any one in- stance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All
events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows an-
other; but we never can observe any tie between them. They seem
conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of
any thing which never appeared to our outward sense or inward
sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to be that we have no
idea of connexion or power at all, and that these words are absolutely,
without any meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings
or common life. But there still remains one method of avoiding
this con- clusion, and one source which we have not yet examined.
When any natural object or event is presented, it is im- possible
for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture,
without experience, what event will result from it, or to carry
our foresight beyond that object which is immediately present
to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or experiment
where we have ob- served a particular event to follow upon another,
we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will
happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable
temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one single
experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular
species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined
with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one
upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning,
which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or existence.
We then call the one object, Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose
that there is some connexion between them; some power in the one,
by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the
great- est certainty and strongest necessity. It appears, then,
that this idea of a necessary connexion among events arises from
a number of similar instances which occur of the constant conjunction
of these events; nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one
of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions.
But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from
every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar;
except only, that after a repetition of similar in- stances, the
mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to
expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist.
This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary
transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant,
is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of
power or neces- sary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case.
Contem- plate the subject on all sides; you will never find any
other origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between
one instance, from which we can never receive the idea of con-
nexion, and a number of similar instances, by which it is suggested.
The first time a man saw the communication of motion by impulse,
as by the shock of two billiard balls, he could not pronounce
that the one event was connected: but only that it was conjoined
with the other. After he has ob- served several instances of this
nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What alteration
has happened to give rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing
but that he now feels these events to be connected in his imagination,
and can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance
of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected
with another, we mean only that they have ac- quired a connexion
in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they
become proofs of each other's ex- istence: A conclusion which
is somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient
evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by any general diffidence
of the un- derstanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every
con- clusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions can
be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make dis- coveries
concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and
capacity. And what stronger instance can be produced of the sur-
prising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than the present.
For surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports
to us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this
are founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence.
By means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects
which are removed from the present testimony of our memory and
senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach
us, how to control and regulate future events by their causes.
Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed
about this relation: yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form
concerning it, that it is impossible to give any just definition
of cause, except what is drawn from something extraneous and foreign
to it. Similar ob- jects are always conjoined with similar. Of
this we have experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore,
we may define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and
where all the objects similar to the first are followed by objects
similar to the second. Or in other words where, if the first object
had not been, the second never had existed. The appearance of
a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to
the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We may,
therefore, suitably to this experience, form another definition
of cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and whose
appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though
both these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to
the cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any
more perfect definition, which may point out that circum- stance
in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have
no idea of this connexion, nor even any distant notion what it
is we desire to know, when we en- deavour at a conception of it.
We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the
cause of this particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation?
We either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound,
and that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar
sounds; or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and
that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the senses,
and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the
relation of cause and effect in either of these two lights; but
beyond these, we have no idea of it.[7] To recapitulate, therefore,
the reasonings of this section: Every idea is copied from some
preceding impression or sentiment; and where we cannot find any
impression, we may be certain that there is no idea. In all single
instances of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing
that produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any
idea of power or necessary connexion. But when many uniform instances
appear, and the same object is always followed by the same event;
we then begin to entertain the notion of cause and connexion.
We then feel a new sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary
connexion in the thought or imagination between one object and
its usual attendant; and this sentiment is the original of that
idea which we seek for. For as this idea arises from a number
of similar instances, and not from any single instance, it must
arise from that circumstance, in which the number of instances
differ from every individual in- stance. But this customary connexion
or transition of the imagination is the only circumstance in which
they dif- fer. In every other particular they are alike. The first
instance which we saw of motion communicated by the shock of two
billiard balls (to return to this obvious illustra- tion) is exactly
similar to any instance that may, at present, occur to us; except
only, that we could not, at first, infer one event from the other;
which we are enabled to do at present, after so long a course
of uniform experience. I know not whether the reader will readily
apprehend this reasoning. I am afraid that, should I multiply
words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights,
it would only become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract
reason- ings there is one point of view which, if we can happily
hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the subject than
by all the eloquence and copious expression in the world. This
point of view we should endeavour to reach, and reserve the flowers
of rhetoric for subjects which are more adapted to them. [1] Section
II. [2] Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding
from experience, that there are several new productions in matter,
and concluding that there must somewhere be a power capable of
producing them, we arrive at last by this reasoning at the idea
of power. But no reasoning can ever give us a new, original, simple
idea; as this philosopher himself confesses. This, therefore,
can never be the origin of that idea. [3] It may be pretended,
that the resistance which we meet with in bodies, obliging us
frequently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this
gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong
endeavour, of which we are conscious, that is the original impression
from which this idea is copied. But, first, we attribute power
to a vast number of objects, where we never can suppose this resistance
or exertion of force to take place; to the Supreme Being, who
never meets with any resistance; to the mind in its command over
its ideas and limbs, in common thinking and motion, where the
effect follows immediately upon the will, without any exertion
or summoning up of force; to inanimate matter, which is not capable
of this sentiment. Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavour to
overcome resistance has no known connexion with any event: What
follows it, we know by experience; but could not know it a priori.
It must, how- ever, be confessed, that the animal nisus, which
we experience, though it can afford no accurate precise idea of
power, enters very much into that vulgar, inaccurate idea, which
is formed by it. [4] [three greek words] [5] Section XII. [6]
I need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much
talked of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter.
We find by experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues
for ever in its present state, till put from it by some new cause;
and that a body impelled takes as much motion from the impelling
body as it acquires itself. These are facts. When we call this
a vis inertiae, we only mark these facts, without pretending to
have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as, when
we talk of gravity, we mean certain effects, without comprehending
that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir ISAAC NEWTON
to rob second causes of all force or energy; though some of his
followers have endeavoured to establish that theory upon his authority.
On the contrary, that great philosopher had recourse to an etherial
active fluid to explain his universal attraction; though he was
so cautious and modest as to allow, that it was a mere hypothesis,
no to be insisted on, without more experi- ments. I must confess,
that there is something in the fate of opinions a little extraordinary.
DES CARTES insinuated that doctrine of the universal and sole
efficacy of the Deity, without insisting on it. MALEBRANCHE and
other CARTESIANS made it the foundation of all their philosophy.
It had, however, no authority in England. LOCKE, CLARKE, and CUDWORTH,
never so much as notice of it, but suppose all along, that matter
has a real, though subordinate and derived power. By what means
has it become so prevalent among our modern metaphysicians? [7]
According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power
is relative as much as that of cause; and both have a reference
to an effect, or some other event constantly conjoined with the
former. When we consider the unknown circumstance of an object,
by which the degree or quantity of its effect is fixed and determined,
we call that its power: and accordingly, it is allowed by all
philosophers, that the effect is the measure of the power. But
if they had any idea of power, as it is in itself, why could not
they Measure it in itself? The dispute whether the force of a
body in motion be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity;
this dispute, I say, need no t be decided by comparing its effects
in equal or unequal times; but by a direct mensuration and comparison.
As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c.,
which every where occur in common conversation, as well as in
philosophy; that is no proof, that we are acquainted, in any instance,
with the connecting principle between cause and effect, or can
account ultimately for the pro- duction of one thing to another.
These words, as commonly used, have very loose meanings annexed
to them; and their ideas are very uncertain and confused. No animal
can put external bodies in motion without the sentiment of a nisus
or endeavour; and every animal has a sentiment or feeling from
the stroke or blow of an external object, that is in motion. These
sensations, which are merely animal, and from which we can a priori
draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate objects,
and to sup- pose, that they have some such feelings, whenever
they transfer or receive motion. With regard to energies, which
are exerted, without our annexing to them any idea of communicated
motion, we consider only the constant experienced conjunction
of the events; and as we feel a customary con- nexion between
the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing
is more usual than to apply to external bodies every internal
sensation, which they occasion. SECTION VIII OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY
PART I IT might reasonably be expected in questions which have
been canvassed and disputed with great eagerness, since the first
origin of science, and philosophy, that the meaning of all the
terms, at least, should have been agreed upon among the disputants;
and our enquiries, in the course of two thousand years, been able
to pass from words to the true and real subject of the controversy.
For how easy may it seem to give exact definitions of the terms
employed in reasoning, and make these definitions, not the mere
sound of words, the object of future scrutiny and examination?
But if we consider the matter more narrowly, we shall be apt to
draw a quite opposite conclusion. From this circumstance alone,
that a controversy has been long kept on foot, and remains still
undecided, we may presume that there is some ambiguity in the
expression, and that the disputants affix different ideas to the
terms employed in the controversy. For as the faculties of the
mind are supposed to be naturally alike in every individual; otherwise
nothing could be more fruitless than to reason or dispute together;
it were impossible, if men affix the same ideas to their terms,
that they could so long form different opinions of the same subject;
especially when they communicate their views, and each party turn
themselves on all sides, in search of arguments which may give
them the victory over their antagonists. It is true, if men attempt
the discussion of questions which lie entirely beyond the reach
of human capacity, such as those concerning the origin of worlds,
or the economy of the intellectual system or region of spirits,
they may long beat the air in their fruitless contests, and never
arrive at any determinate conclusion. But if the question regard
any subject of common life and experience, nothing, one would
think, could preserve the dispute so long undecided but some ambiguous
expressions, which keep the antagonists still at a distance, and
hinder them from grappling with each other. This has been the
case in the long disputed question concerning liberty and necessity;
and to so remarkable a degree that, if I be not much mistaken,
we shall find, that all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have
always been of the same opinion with regard to this subject, and
that a few intelligible definitions would immediately have put
an end to the whole controversy. I own that this dispute has been
so much canvassed on all hands, and has led philosophers into
such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry, that it is no wonder, if
a sensible reader indulge his ease so far as to turn a deaf ear
to the proposal of such a question, from which he can expect neither
instruction or entertain- ment. But the state of the argument
here proposed may, perhaps, serve to renew his attention; as it
has more novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy,
and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure
reasoning. I hope, therefore, to make it appear that all men have
ever agreed in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty,
according to any reasonable sense, which can be put on these terms;
and that the whole controversy, has hitherto turned merely upon
words. We shall begin with examining the doctrine of necessity.
It is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations,
is actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural effect
is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause that no
other effect, in such particular circumstances, could possibly
have resulted from it. The degree and direction of every motion
is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness that
a living creature may as soon arise from the shock of two bodies
as motion in any other de- gree or direction than what is actually
produced by it. Would we, therefore, form a just and precise idea
of neces- sity, we must consider whence that idea arises when
we apply it to the operation of bodies. It seems evident that,
if all the scenes of nature were continually shifted in such a
manner that no two events bore any resemblance to each other,
but every object was entirely new, without any similitude to whatever
had been seen before, we should never, in that case, have attained
the least idea of necessity, or of a connexion among these objects.
We might say, upon such a supposition, that one object or event
has followed another; not that one was produced by the other.
The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown to mankind.
Inference and rea- soning concerning the operations of nature
would, from that moment, be at an end; and the memory and senses
remain the only canals, by which the knowledge of any real existence
could possibly have access to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of
necessity and causation arises entirely from the uniformity observable
in the operations of nature, where similar objects are constantly
conjoined together, and the mind is determined by custom to infer
the one from the appearance of the other. These two circum- stances
form the whole of that necessity, which we ascribe to matter.
Beyond the constant conjunction of similar objects, and the consequent
inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any necessity
or connexion. If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever
allowed, without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circum-
stances take place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the
operations of mind; it must follow, that all mankind have ever
agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they have hitherto
disputed, merely for not understanding each other. As to the first
circumstance, the constant and regular con- junction of similar
events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following considerations:
It is universally acknowl- edged that there is a great uniformity
among the actions of men, in all nations and ages, and that human
nature remains still the same, in its principles and operations.
The same motives always produce the same actions: the same events
follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice, self-love, vanity,
friendship, generosity, public spirit: these passions, mixed in
various degrees, and distributed through society, have been, from
the beginning of the world, and still are, the source of all the
actions and enterprises, which have ever been observed among mankind.
Would you know the sentiments, inclinations, and course of life
of the Greeks and Romans? Study well the temper and actions of
the French and English: You cannot be much mistaken in trans-
ferring to the former most of the observations which you have
made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so much the same,
in all times and places, that history informs us of nothing new
or strange in this particular. Its chief use is only to discover
the constant and universal principles of human nature, by showing
men in all varieties of circum- stances and situations, and furnishing
us with materials from which we may form our observations and
become ac- quainted with the regular springs of human action and
be- haviour. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions,
are so many collections of experiments, by which the politician
or moral philosopher fixes the prin- ciples of his science, in
the same manner as the physician or natural philosopher becomes
acquainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and other external
objects, by the ex- periments which he forms concerning them.
Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by Aristotle,
and Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under
our observation than the men described by Polybius and Tacitus
are to those who now govern the world. Should a traveller, returning
from a far country, bring us an account of men, wholly different
from any with whom we were ever acquainted; men, who were entirely
divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who knew no pleasure
but friendship, generosity, and public spirit; we should immedi-
ately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and prove
him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed his narration
with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies.
And if we would explode any forgery in history, we cannot make
use of a more convincing argu- ment, than to prove, that the actions
ascribed to any person are directly contrary to the course of
nature, and that no human motives, in such circumstances, could
ever induce him to such a conduct. The veracity of Quintus Curtius
is as much to be suspected, when he describes the super- natural
courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried on singly to attack
multitudes, as when he describes his super- natural force and
activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and
universally do we acknowledge a uni- formity in human motives
and actions as well as in the operations of body. Hence likewise
the benefit of that experience, acquired by long life and a variety
of business and company, in order to instruct us in the principles
of human nature, and regu- late our future conduct, as well as
speculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge
of men's in- clinations and motives, from their actions, expressions,
and even gestures; and again descend to the interpretation of
their actions from our knowledge of their motives and in- clinations.
The general observations treasured up by a course of experience,
give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to unravel all
its intricacies. Pretexts and appear- ances no longer deceive
us. Public declarations pass for the specious colouring of a cause.
And though virtue and honour be allowed their proper weight and
authority, that perfect disinterestedness, so often pretended
to, is never ex- pected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their
leaders; and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station.
But were there no uniformity in human actions, and were every
experiment which we could form of this kind irregular and anomalous,
it were impossible to collect any general observa- tions concerning
mankind; and no experience, however ac- curately digested by reflection,
would ever serve to any purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more
skilful in his calling than the young beginner but because there
is a certain uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and
earth towards the production of vegetables; and experience teaches
the old practitioner the rules by which this operation is governed
and directed. We must not, however, expect that this uniformity
of human actions should be carried to such a length as that all
men, in the same circumstances, will always act precisely in the
same manner, without making any allowance for the diversity of
characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a uniformity in every
particular, is found in no part of nature. On the contrary, from
observing the variety of conduct in different men, we are enabled
to form a greater variety of maxims, which still suppose a degree
of uniformity and regularity. Are the manners of men different
in different ages and countries? We learn thence the great force
of custom and education, which mould the human mind from its infancy
and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the behaviour
and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of the other? Is it
thence we become acquainted with the different characters which
nature has impressed upon the sexes, and which she preserves with
constancy and regu- larity? Are the actions of the same person
much diversified in the different periods of his life, from infancy
to old age? This affords room for many general observations concerning
the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the
different maxims which prevail in the different ages of human
creatures. Even the characters, which are peculiar to each individual,
have a uniformity in their influence; otherwise our acquaintance
with the persons and our obser- vation of their conduct could
never teach us their disposi- tions, or serve to direct our behaviour
with regard to them. I grant it possible to find some actions,
which seem to have no regular connexion with any known motives,
and are exceptions to all the measures of conduct which have ever
been established for the government of men. But if we would willingly
know what judgment should be formed of such irregular and extraordinary
actions, we may con- sider the sentiments commonly entertained
with regard to those irregular events which appear in the course
of nature, and the operations of external objects. All causes
are not conjoined to their usual effects with like uniformity.
An artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be disappointed
of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct
of sensible and intelligent agents. The vulgar, who take things
according to their first ap- pearance, attribute the uncertainty
of events to such an uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter
often fail of their usual influence; though they meet with no
impedi- ment in their operation. But philosophers, observing that,
almost in every part of nature, there is contained a vast variety
of springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their minuteness
or remoteness, find, that it is at least possible the contrariety
of events may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but
from the secret operation of contrary causes. This possibility
is converted into cer- tainty by farther observation, when they
remark that, upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects
always betrays a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their
mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the
stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it does not commonly
go right: But an artist easily perceives that the same force in
the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels;
but fails of its usual effects, perhaps by reason of a grain of
dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement. From the observation
of several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim that
the connexion between all causes and effects is equally necessary,
and that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from
the secret opposition of contrary causes. Thus, for instance,
in the human body, when the usual symptoms of health or sickness
disappoint our expectation; when medicines operate not with their
wonted powers; when irregular events follow from any particular
cause; the philosopher and physician are not surprised at the
matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity
and uniformity of those principles by which the animal economy
is conducted. They know that a human body is a mighty complicated
machine: That many secret powers lurk in it, which are altogether
beyond our comprehension: That to us it must often appear very
uncertain in its operations: And that therefore the irregular
events, which outwardly discover themselves, can be no proof that
the laws of nature are not observed with the greatest regularity
in its internal operations and government. The philosopher, if
he be consistent, must apply the same reasoning to the actions
and volitions of intelligent agents. The most irregular and unexpected
resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by those who
know every par- ticular circumstance of their character and situation.
A person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer: But
he has the toothache, or has not dined. A stupid fellow discovers
an uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But he has met with a sudden
piece of good fortune. Or even when an action, as sometimes happens,
cannot be particularly ac- counted for, either by the person himself
or by others; we know, in general, that the characters of men
are, to a certain degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in
a manner, the constant character of human nature; though it be
appli- cable, in a more particular manner, to some persons who
have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a con- tinued
course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and
motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstanding these
seeming irregularities; in the same manner as the winds, rain,
cloud, and other variations of the weather are supposed to be
governed by steady prin- ciples; though not easily discoverable
by human sagacity and enquiry. Thus it appears, not only that
the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions is as regular
and uniform as that between the cause and effect in any part of
nature; but also that this regular conjunction has been universally
acknowledged among mankind, and has never been the subject of
dispute, either in philosophy or common life. Now, as it is from
past experience that we draw all infer- ences concerning the future,
and as we conclude that objects will always be conjoined together
which we find to have always been conjoined; it may seem superfluous
to prove that this experienced uniformity in human actions is
a source whence we draw inferences concerning them. But in order
to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights we shall
also insist, though briefly, on this latter topic. The mutual
dependence of men is so great in all societies that scarce any
human action is entirely complete in itself, or is performed without
some reference to the actions of others, which are requisite to
make it answer fully the in- tention of the agent. The poorest
artificer, who labours alone, expects at least the protection
of the magistrate, to ensure him the enjoyment of the fruits of
his labour. He also expects that, when he carries his goods to
market, and offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers,
and shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others
to supply him with those commodities which are requisite for his
subsistence. In proportion as men extend their deal- ings, and
render their intercourse with others more com- plicated, they
always comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater variety
of voluntary actions, which they expect, from the proper motives,
to co-operate with their own. In all these conclusions they take
their measures from past ex- perience, in the same manner as in
their reasonings con- cerning external objects; and firmly believe
that men, as well as all the elements, are to continue, in their
operations, the same that they have ever found them. A manufacturer
reckons upon the labour of his servants for the execution of any
work as much as upon the tools which he employs, and would be
equally surprised were his expectations dis- appointed. In short,
this experimental inference and rea- soning concerning the actions
of others enters so much into human life that no man, while awake,
is ever a moment without employing it. Have we not reason, therefore,
to affirm that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine
of necessity according to the foregoing definition and ex- plication
of it? Nor have philosophers even entertained a different opinion
from the people in this particular. For, not to men- tion that
almost every action of their life supposes that opinion, there
are even few of the speculative parts of learn- ing to which it
is not essential. What would become of history, had we not a dependence
on the veracity of the historian according to the experience which
we have had of mankind? How could politics be a science, if laws
and forms of government had not a uniform influence upon society?
Where would be the foundation of morals, if par- ticular characters
had no certain or determinate power to produce particular sentiments,
and if these sentiments had no constant operation on actions?
And with what pretence could we employ our criticism upon any
poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the conduct and
sentiments of his actors either natural or unnatural to such characters,
and in such circumstances? It seems almost impossible, therefore,
to engage either in science or action of any kind without acknowledging
the doctrine of necessity, and this inference from motive to voluntary
actions, from characters to conduct. And indeed, when we consider
how aptly natural and moral evidence link together, and form only
one chain of argument, we shall make no scruple to allow that
they are of the same nature, and derived from the same principles.
A prisoner who has neither money nor interest, discovers the impossibility
of his escape, as well when he considers the obstinacy of the
gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is surrounded; and,
in all attempts for his freedom, chooses rather to work upon the
stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible nature of
the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold,
foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity
of his guards, as from the operation of the axe or wheel. His
mind runs along a certain train of ideas: the refusal of the soldiers
to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner; the separation
of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive motions, and death.
Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary actions;
but the mind feels no differ- ence between them in passing from
one link to another: Nor is it less certain of the future event
than if it were con- nected with the objects present to the memory
or senses, by a train of causes, cemented together by what we
are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced
union has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects
be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may
change the name of things; but their nature and their operation
on the understanding never change. Were a man, whom I know to
be honest and opulent, and with whom I live in intimate friendship,
to come into my house, where I am surrounded with my servants,
I rest assured that he is not to stab me before he leaves it in
order to rob me of my silver standish; and I no more suspect this
event than the falling of the house itself, which is new, and
solidly built and founded.--But he may have been seized with a
sudden and unknown frenzy.--So may a sudden earthquake arise,
and shake and tumble my house about my ears. I shall therefore
change the suppositions. I shall say that I know with certainty
that he is not to put his hand into the fire and hold it there
till it be consumed: and this event, I think I can foretell with
the same assurance, as that, if he throw himself out at the window,
and meet with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended
in the air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give the least
possibility to the former event, which is so con- trary to all
the known principles of human nature. A man who at noon leaves
his purse full of gold on the pavement at Charing-Cross, may as
well expect that it will fly away like a feather, as that he will
find it untouched an hour after. Above one half of human reasonings
contain inferences of a similar nature, attended with more or
less degrees of cer- tainty proportioned to our experience of
the usual conduct of mankind in such particular situations. I
have frequently considered, what could possibly be the reason
why all mankind, though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged
the doctrine of necessity in their whole practice and reasoning,
have yet discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in words,
and have rather shown a propensity, in all ages, to profess the
contrary opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for after
the following manner. If we examine the operations of body, and
the production of effects from their causes, we shall find that
all our faculties can never carry us farther in our knowledge
of this relation than barely to observe that particular objects
are constantly conjoined together, and that the mind is carried,
by a customary transition, from the appearance of one to the belief
of the other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance
be the result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still
entertain a strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther
into the powers of nature, and perceive something like a necessary
connexion between the cause and the effect. When again they turn
their reflections towards the opera- tions of their own minds,
and feel no such connexion of the motive and the action; they
are thence apt to suppose, that there is a difference between
the effects which result from material force, and those which
arise from thought and intelligence. But being once convinced
that we know nothing farther of causation of any kind than merely
the constant conjunction of objects, and the consequent inference
of the mind from one to another, and finding that these two circumstances
are universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions; we
may be more easily led to own the same necessity common to all
causes. And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of
many philosophers, in ascribing necessity to the determinations
of the will, we shall find, upon reflection, that they dissent
from it in words only, not in their real sentiment. Necessity,
according to the sense in which it is here taken, has never yet
been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philosopher.
It may only, perhaps, be pretended that the mind can per- ceive,
in the operations of matter, some farther connexion between the
cause and effect; and connexion that has not place in voluntary
actions of intelligent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can
only appear upon examination; and it is incumbent on these philosophers
to make good their assertion, by defining or describing that necessity,
and pointing it out to us in the operations of material causes.
It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this
question concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon
it by examining the faculties of the soul, the influence of the
understanding, and the operations of the will. Let them first
discuss a more simple question, namely, the operations of body
and of brute unintelligent matter; and try whether they can there
form any idea of causation and necessity, except that of a constant
conjunc- tion of objects, and subsequent inference of the mind
from one to another. If these circumstances form, in reality,
the whole of that necessity, which we conceive in matter, and
if these circumstances be also universally acknowledged to take
place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end;
at least, must be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as
long as we will rashly suppose, that we have some farther idea
of necessity and causation in the opera- tions of external objects;
at the same time, that we can find nothing farther in the voluntary
actions of the mind; there is no possibility of bringing the question
to any determinate issue, while we proceed upon so erroneous a
supposition. The only method of undeceiving us is to mount up
higher; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to
material causes; and to convince ourselves that all we know of
them is the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned.
We may, perhaps, find that it is with dif- ficulty we are induced
to fix such narrow limits to human understanding: but we can afterwards
find no difficulty when we come to apply this doctrine to the
actions of the will. For as it is evident that these have a regular
con- junction with motives and circumstances and characters, and
as we always draw inferences from one to the other, we must be
obliged to acknowledge in words that necessity, which we have
already avowed, in every deliberation of our lives, and in every
step of our conduct and behaviour.[1] But to proceed in this reconciling
project with regard to the question of liberty and necessity;
the most contentious question of metaphysics, the most contentious
science; it will not require many words to prove, that all mankind
have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that
of necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also,
has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by liberty,
when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot surely mean that
actions have so little connexion with motives, inclinations, and
circumstances, that one does not follow with a certain degree
of uniformity from the other, and that one affords no inference
by which we can conclude the existence of the other. For these
are plain and acknowl- edged matters of fact. By liberty, then,
we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to
the determin- ations of the will; this is, if we choose to remain
at rest, we may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now this hypothetical
liberty is universally allowed to belong to every one who is not
a prisoner and in chains. Here, then, is no subject of dispute.
Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we should be careful
to observe two requisite circumstances; First, that it be consistent
with plain matter of fact; secondly, that it be consistent with
itself. If we observe these circum- stances, and render our definition
intelligible, I am per- suaded that all mankind will be found
of one opinion with regard to it. It is universally allowed that
nothing exists without a cause of its existence, and that chance,
when strictly ex- amined, is a mere negative word, and means not
any real power which has anywhere a being in nature. But it is
pretended that some causes are necessary, some not neces- sary.
Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let any one define
a cause, without comprehending, as a part of the definition, a
necessary connexion with its effect; and let him show distinctly
the origin of the idea, expressed by the definition; and I shall
readily give up the whole con- troversy. But if the foregoing
explication of the matter be received, this must be absolutely
impracticable. Had not objects a regular conjunction with each
other, we should never have entertained any notion of cause and
effect; and this regular conjunction produces that inference of
the understanding, which is the only connexion, that we can have
any comprehension of. Whoever attempts a defi- nition of cause,
exclusive of these circumstances, will be obliged either to employ
unintelligible terms or such as are synonymous to the term which
he endeavours to define.[2] And if the definition above mentioned
be admitted; liberty, when opposed to necessity, not to constraint,
is the same thing with chance; which is universally allowed to
have no existence. PART II THERE is no method of reasoning more
common, and yet none more blameable, than, in philosophical disputes,
to endeavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pre- tence
of its dangerous consequences to religion and mor- ality. When
any opinion leads to absurdities, it is cer- tainly false; but
it is not certain that an opinion is false, because it is of dangerous
consequence. Such topics, there- fore, ought entirely to be forborne;
as serving nothing to the discovery of truth, but only to make
the person of an antagonist odious. This I observe in general,
without pre- tending to draw any advantage from it. I frankly
submit to an examination of this kind, and shall venture to affirm
that the doctrines, both of necessity and of liberty, as above
explained, are not only consistent with morality, but are absolutely
essential to its support. Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably
to the two definitions of cause, of which it makes an essential
part. It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects,
or in the inference of the understanding from one object to another.
Now necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed, are at bottom
the same) has universally, though tacitly, in the schools, in
the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed to belong to the
will of man; and no one has ever pretended to deny that we can
draw inferences concerning human actions, and that those inferences
are founded on the experienced union of like actions, with like
motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only par- ticular
in which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will
refuse to give the name of necessity to this property of human
actions: but as long as the meaning is understood, I hope the
word can do no harm: or that he will maintain it possible to discover
something farther in the operations of matter. But this, it must
be acknowledged, can be of no consequence to morality or religion,
whatever it may be to natural philosophy or metaphysics. We may
here be mistaken in asserting that there is no idea of any other
necessity or connexion in the actions of body: But surely we ascribe
nothing to the actions of the mind, but what everyone does, and
must readily allow of. We change no circumstance in the received
orthodox system with regard to the will, but only in that with
regard to material objects and causes. Nothing, therefore, can
be more innocent, at least, than this doctrine. All laws being
founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed as a fundamental
principle, that these motives have a regular and uniform influence
on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil actions.
We may give to this influence what name we please; but, as it
is usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed a cause,
and be looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which we
would here establish. The only proper object of hatred or vengeance
is a person or creature, endowed with thought and conscious- ness;
and when any criminal or injurious actions excite that passion,
it is only by their relation to the person, or connexion with
him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and perishing;
and where they proceed not from some cause in the character and
disposition of the person who performed them, they can neither
redound to his honour, if good; nor infamy, if evil. The actions
themselves may be blameable; they may be contrary to all the rules
of morality and religion: but the person is not answerable for
them; and as they proceeded from nothing in him that is durable
and constant, and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it
is impossible he can, upon their account, become the object of
punishment or vengeance. According to the principle, therefore,
which denies necessity, and consequently causes, a man is as pure
and untainted, after having committed the most horrid crime, as
at the first moment of his birth, nor is his character anywise
concerned in his actions, since they are not derived from it,
and the wickedness of the one can never be used as a proof of
the depravity of the other. Men are not blamed for such actions
as they perform ignorantly and casually, whatever may be the consequences.
Why? but because the principles of these actions are only momentary,
and terminate in them alone. Men are less blamed for such actions
as they perform hastily and unpre- meditatedly than for such as
proceed from deliberation. For what reason? but because a hasty
temper, though a constant cause or principle in the mind, operates
only by intervals, and infects not the whole character. Again,
repentance wipes off every crime, if attended with a reformation
of life and manners. How is this to be accounted for? but by asserting
that actions render a person criminal merely as they are proofs
of criminal principles in the mind; and when, by an alteration
of these principles, they cease to be just proofs, they likewise
cease to be criminal. But, except upon the doctrine of necessity,
they never were just proofs, and consequently never were criminal.
It will be equally easy to prove, and from the same arguments,
that liberty, according to that definition above mentioned, in
which all men agree, is also essential to morality, and that no
human actions, where it is wanting, are susceptible of any moral
qualities, or can be the objects either of approbation or dislike.
For as actions are objects of our moral sentiment, so far only
as they are indications of the internal character, passions, and
affections; it is impossible that they can give rise either to
praise or blame, where they proceed not from these principles,
but are derived altogether from external violence. I pretend not
to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory, with
regard to necessity and liberty. I can foresee other objections,
derived from topics which have not here been treated of. It may
be said, for instance, that, if voluntary actions be subjected
to the same laws of necessity with the operations of matter, there
is a continued chain of necessary causes, pre-ordained and pre-determined,
reaching from the original cause of all to every single volition
of every human creature. No contingency any- where in the universe;
no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at the same
time, acted upon. The ulti- mate Author of all our volitions is
the Creator of the world, who first bestowed motion on this immense
machine, and placed all beings in that particular position, whence
every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must result.
Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral turpitude at
all, as proceeding from so good a cause; or if they have any turpitude,
they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is acknowledged
to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a man, who fired
a mine, is answerable for all the consequences whether the train
he employed be long or short; so wherever a continued chain of
necessary causes is fixed, that Being, either finite or infinite,
who produces the first, is likewise the author of all the rest,
and must both bear the blame and acquire the praise which belong
to them. Our clear and unalterable ideas of morality establish
this rule, upon unquestionable reasons, when we examine the consequences
of any human action; and these reasons must still have greater
force when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being
infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may be pleaded
for so limited a creature as man; but those imperfections have
no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he intended
all those actions of men, which we so rashly pronounce criminal.
And we must there- fore conclude, either that they are not criminal,
or that the Deity, not man, is accountable for them. But as either
of these positions is absurd and impious, it follows, that the
doctrine from which they are deduced cannot possibly be true,
as being liable to all the same objections. An absurd consequence,
if necessary, proves the original doctrine to be absurd; in the
same manner as criminal actions render crimi- nal the original
cause, if the connexion between them be necessary and inevitable.
This objection consists of two parts, which we shall examine separately;
First, that, if human actions can be traced up, by a necessary
chain, to the Deity, they can never be criminal; on account of
the infinite perfection of that Being from whom they are derived,
and who can intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable.
Or, Secondly, if they be criminal, we must retract the attribute
of perfection, which we ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge
him to be the ultimate author of guilt and moral turpitude in
all his creatures. The answer to the first objection seems obvious
and con- vincing. There are many philosophers who, after an exact
scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature, conclude, that the WHOLE,
considered as one system, is, in every period of its existence,
ordered with perfect benevolence; and that the utmost possible
happiness will, in the end, result to all created beings, without
any mixture of positive or absolute ill or misery. Every physical
ill, say they, makes an essen- tial part of this benevolent system,
and could not possibly be removed, even by the Deity himself,
considered as a wise agent, without giving entrance to greater
ill, or ex- cluding greater good, which will result from it. From
this theory, some philosophers, and the ancient Stoics among the
rest, derived a topic of consolation under all afflictions, while
they taught their pupils that those ills under which they laboured
were, in reality, goods to the universe; and that to an enlarged
view, which could comprehend the whole system of nature, every
event became an object of joy and exultation. But though this
topic be specious and sublime, it was soon found in practice weak
and inef- fectual. You would surely more irritate than appease
a man lying under the racking pains of the gout by preaching up
to him the rectitude of those general laws, which pro- duced the
malignant humours in his body, and led them through the proper
canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now excite such acute
torments. These enlarged views may, for a moment, please the imagination
of a speculative man, who is placed in ease and security; but
neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind, even though
undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion; much less can
they maintain their ground when attacked by such powerful antagonists.
The affections take a nar- rower and more natural survey of their
object; and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human
minds, regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by
such events as appear good or ill to the private system. The case
is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot reasonably
be supposed, that those remote consid- erations, which are found
of so little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful
influence with regard to the other. The mind of man is so formed
by nature that, upon the appearance of certain characters, dispositions,
and actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of appro- bation
or blame; nor are there any emotions more essential to its frame
and constitution. The characters which engage our approbation
are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and security of human
society; as the characters which excite blame are chiefly such
as tend to public detriment and disturbance: whence it may reasonably
be presumed, that the moral sentiments arise, either mediately
or im- mediately, from a reflection of these opposite interests.
What though philosophical meditations establish a different opinion
or conjecture; that everything is right with regard to the WHOLE,
and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in the main,
as beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary intention of
nature as those which more directly promote its happiness and
welfare? Are such remote and uncertain speculations able to counterbalance
the senti- ments which arise from the natural and immediate view
of the objects? A man who is robbed of a considerable sum; does
he find his vexation for the loss anywise diminished by these
sublime reflections? Why then should his moral resentment against
the crime be supposed incompatible with them? Or why should not
the acknowledgment of a real distinction between vice and virtue
be reconcileable to all speculative systems of philosophy, as
well as that of a real distinction between personal beauty and
deformity? Both these distinctions are founded in the natural
senti- ments of the human mind: And these sentiments are not to
be controuled or altered by any philosophical theory or speculation
whatsoever. The second objection admits not of so easy and satis-
factory an answer; nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how
the Deity can be the mediate cause of all the actions of men,
without being the author of sin and moral turpitude. These are
mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted reason is very unfit
to handle; and whatever system she embraces, she must find herself
involved in inextricable difficulties, and even contradictions,
at every step which she takes with regard to such subjects. To
reconcile the in- difference and contingency of human actions
with prescience; or to defend absolute decrees, and yet free the
Deity from being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to
exceed all the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible
of her temerity, when she pries into these sublime mysteries;
and leaving a scene so full of obscurities and perplexities, return,
with suitable modesty, to her true and proper province, the examination
of common life; where she will find difficulties enough to employ
her enquiries, without launching into so boundless an ocean of
doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction! [1] The prevalence of the
doctrine of liberty may be accounted for, from another cause,
viz. a false sensation of seeming experience which we have, or
may have, of liberty or indifference, in many of our actions.
The necessity of any action, whether of matter or of mind, is
not, properly speaking, a quality in the agent, but in any thinking
or intelligent being, who may con- sider the action; and it consists
chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer the existence
of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty, when opposed
to necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination, and
a certain looseness or indifference, which we feel, in passing,
or not passing, from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding
one. Now we may observe, that, though, in reflecting on human
actions, we seldom feel such a looseness, or indifference, but
are commonly able to infer them with considerable certainty from
their motives, and from the dispositions of the agent; yet it
frequently happens, that, in performing the actions themselves,
we are sensible of something like it: And as all resembling objects
are readily taken for each other, this has been employed as a
demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel,
that our actions are subject to our will, on most occasions; and
imagine we feel, that the will itself is subject to nothing, because,
when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we feel, that it
moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself (or a
Velleity, as it is called in the schools) even on that side, on
which it did not settle. This image, or faint motion, we persuade
ourselves, could, at that time, have been compleated into the
thing itself; because, should that be denied, we find, upon a
second trial, that, at present, it can. We consider not, that
the fantastical desire of shewing liberty, is here the motive
of our actions. And it seems certain, that, however we may imagine
we feel a liberty within ourselves, a spec- tator can commonly
infer our actions from our motives and character; and even where
he cannot, he concludes in general, that he might, were he perfectly
acquainted with every circumstance of our situation and temper,
and the most secret springs of our complexion and disposition.
Now this is the very essence of necessity, according to the foregoing
doctrine. [2] Thus, if a cause be defined, that which produces
any thing, it is easy to observe, that producing is synonymous
to causing. In like manner, if a cause be defined, that by which
any thing exists, this is liable to the same objection. For what
is meant by these words, by which? Had it been said, that a cause
is that after which any thing constantly exists; we should have
understood the terms. For this is, indeed, all we know of the
mat- ter. And this constantly forms the very essence of necessity,
nor have we any other idea of it. SECTION IX OF THE REASON OF
ANIMALS ALL our reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded
on a species of Analogy, which leads us to expect from any cause
the same events, which we have observed to result from similar
causes. Where the causes are entirely similar, the analogy is
perfect, and the inference, drawn from it, is regarded as cer-
tain and conclusive: nor does any man ever entertain a doubt,
where he sees a piece of iron, that it will have weight and cohesion
of parts; as in all other instances, which have ever fallen under
his observation. But where the objects have not so exact a similarity,
the analogy is less perfect, and the inference is less conclusive;
though still it has some force, in proportion to the degree of
similar- ity and resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed
upon one animal, are, by this species of reasoning, extended to
all animals; and it is certain, that when the circulation of the
blood, for instance, is clearly proved to have place in one creature,
as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong presump- tion, that the
same principle has place in all. These ana- logical observations
may be carried farther, even to this science, of which we are
now treating; and any theory, by which we explain the operations
of the understanding, or the origin and connexion of the passions
in man, will acquire additional authority, if we find, that the
same theory is requisite to explain the same phenomena in all
other animals. We shall make trial of this, with regard to the
hypothesis, by which we have, in the foregoing discourse, endeavoured
to account for all experimental reasonings; and it is hoped, that
this new point of view will serve to confirm all our former observations.
First, It seems evident, that animals as well as men learn many
things from experience, and infer, that the same events will always
follow from the same causes. By this principle they become acquainted
with the more obvious properties of external objects, and gradually,
from their birth, treasure up a knowledge of the nature of fire,
water, earth, stones, heights, depths, &c., and of the effects
which result from their operation. The ignorance and inexperience
of the young are here plainly distinguishable from the cunning
and sagacity of the old, who have learned, by long observation,
to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue what gave ease or pleasure.
A horse, that has been accustomed to the field, becomes acquainted
with the proper height which he can leap, and will never attempt
what exceeds his force and ability. An old greyhound will trust
the more fatiguing part of the chace to the younger, and will
place himself so as to meet the hare in her doubles; nor are the
conjectures, which he forms on this occasion, founded in any thing
but his observation and experience. This is still more evident
from the effects of discipline and education on animals, who,
by the proper application of rewards and punishments, may be taught
any course of action, and most contrary to their natural instincts
and propensities. Is it not experience, which renders a dog apprehensive
of pain, when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat him?
Is it not even experience, which makes him answer to his name,
and infer, from such an arbitrary sound, that you mean him rather
than any of his fellows, and intend to call him, when you pronounce
it in a certain manner, and with a certain tone and accent? In
all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers some fact
beyond what immediately strikes his senses; and that this inference
is altogether founded on past experience, while the creature expects
from the present object the same consequences, which it has always
found in its observation to result from similar objects. Secondly,
It is impossible, that this inference of the animal can be founded
on any process of argument or reasoning, by which he concludes,
that like events must follow like objects, and that the course
of nature will always be regular in its operations. For if there
be in reality any arguments of this nature, they surely lie too
abstruse for the observation of such imperfect understandings;
since it may well employ the utmost care and attention of a philosophic
genius to discover and observe them. Animals, therefore are not
guided in these inferences by reasoning: neither are chil- dren;
neither are the generality of mankind, in their ordi- nary actions
and conclusions: neither are philosophers them- selves, who, in
all the active parts of life, are, in the main, the same with
the vulgar, and are governed by the same maxims. Nature must have
provided some other principle, of more ready, and more general
use and applica- tion; nor can an operation of such immense consequence
in life, as that of inferring effects from causes, be trusted
to the uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation. Were
this doubtful with regard to men, it seems to admit of no question
with regard to the brute creation; and the conclusion being once
firmly established in the one, we have a strong presumption, from
all the rules of analogy, that it ought to be universally admitted,
without any exception or reserve. It is custom alone, which engages
animals, from every object, that strikes their senses, to infer
its usual attendant, and carries their imagination, from the appearance
of the one, to conceive the other, in that partic- ular manner,
which we denominate belief. No other ex- plication can be given
of this operation, in all the higher, as well as lower classes
of sensitive beings, which fall under our notice and observation.[1]
But though animals learn many parts of their knowledge from observation,
there are also many parts of it, which they derive from the original
hand of nature; which much exceed the share of capacity they possess
on ordinary occa- sions; and in which they improve, little or
nothing, by the longest practice and experience. These we denominate
Instincts, and are so apt to admire as something very extraor-
dinary, and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human understanding.
But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish, when we consider,
that the experimental reason- ing itself, which we possess in
common with beasts, and on which the whole conduct of life depends,
is nothing but a species of instinct or mechanical power, that
acts in us unknown to ourselves; and in its chief operations,
is not directed by any such relations or comparisons of ideas,
as are the proper objects of our intellectual faculties. Though
the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct, which
teaches a man to avoid the fire; as much as that, which teaches
a bird, with such exactness, the art of incubation, and the whole
economy and order of its nursery. [1] Since all reasoning concerning
facts or causes is derived merely from custom, it may be asked
how it happens, that men so much surpass animals in reasoning,
and one man so much surpasses another? Has not the same custom
the same influence on all? We shall here endeavour briefly to
explain the great difference in human understandings: After which
the reason of the difference between men and animals will easily
be comprehended. 1. When we have lived any time, and have been
accustomed to the uni- formity of nature, we acquire a general
habit, by which we always transfer the known to the unknown, and
conceive the latter to resemble the former. By means of this general
habitual principle, we regard even one experi- ment as the foundation
of reasoning, and expect a similar event with some degree of certainty,
where the experiment has been made accurately, and free from all
foreign circumstances. It is therefore considered as a matter
of great importance to observe the consequences of things; and
as one man may very much surpass another in attention and memory
and observation, this will make a very great difference in their
reasoning. 2. Where there is a complication of causes to produce
any effect, one mind may be much larger than another, and better
able to comprehend the whole system of objects, and to infer justly
their consequences. 3. One man is able to carry on a chain of
consequences to a greater length than another. 4. Few men can
think long without running into a confusion of ideas, and mistaking
one for another; and there are various degrees of this infirmity.
5. The circumstance, on which the effect depends, is frequently
involved in other circumstances, which are foreign and extrinsic.
The separation of it often requires great attention, accuracy,
and subtility. 6. The forming of general maxims from particular
observation is a very nice operation; and nothing is more usual,
from haste or a narrowness of mind, which sees not on all sides,
than to commit mistakes in this particular. 7. When we reason
from analogies, the man, who has the greater experi- ence or the
greater promptitude of suggesting analogies, will be the better
reasoner. 8. Biases from prejudice, education, passion, party,
&c. hang more upon one mind than another. 9. After we have
acquired a confidence in human testimony, books and conversation
enlarge much more the sphere of one man's experience and thought
than those of another. It would be easy to discover many other
circumstances that make a difference in the understandings of
men. SECTION X OF MIRACLES PART I THERE is, in Dr. Tillotson's
writings, an argument against the real presence, which is as concise,
and elegant, and strong as any argument can possibly be supposed
against a doctrine, so little worthy of a serious refutation.
It is acknowledged on all hands, says that learned prelate, that
the authority, either of the scripture or of tradition, is founded
merely in the testimony of the Apostles, who were eye-witnesses
to those miracles of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine
mission. Our evi- dence, then, for, the truth of the Christian
religion is less than the evidence for the truth of our senses;
because, even in the first authors of our religion, it was no
greater; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from them
to their disciples; nor can any one rest such confidence in their
testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. But a weaker
evidence can never destroy a stronger; and therefore, were the
doctrine of the real presence ever so clearly re- vealed in scripture,
it were directly contrary to the rules of just reasoning to give
our assent to it. It contradicts sense, though both the scripture
and tradition, on which it is supposed to be built, carry not
such evidence with them as sense; when they are considered merely
as external evidences, and are not brought home to every one's
breast, by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit. Nothing
is so convenient as a decisive argument of this kind, which must
at least silence the most arrogant big- otry and superstition,
and free us from their impertinent solicitations. I flatter myself,
that I have discovered an argument of a like nature, which, if
just, will, with the wise and learned, be an everlasting check
to all kinds of super- stitious delusion, and consequently, will
be useful as long as the world endures. For so long, I presume,
will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be found in all history,
sacred and profane. Though experience be our only guide in reasoning
con- cerning matters of fact; it must be acknowledged, that this
guide is not altogether infallible, but in some cases is apt to
lead us into errors. One, who in our climate, should expect better
weather in any week of June than in one of December, would reason
justly, and conformably to experience; but it is certain, that
he may happen, in the event, to find himself mistaken. However,
we may observe, that, in such a case, he would have no cause to
complain of experience; because it commonly informs us beforehand
of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may
learn from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with
like certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are found,
in all countries and all ages, to have been con- stantly conjoined
together: Others are found to have been more variable, and sometimes
to disappoint our expecta- tions; so that, in our reasonings concerning
matter of fact, there are all imaginable degrees of assurance,
from the highest certainty to the lowest species of moral evidence.
A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence.
In such conclusions as are founded on an infal- lible experience,
he expects the event with the last degree of assurance, and regards
his past experience as a full proof of the future existence of
that event. In other cases, he proceeds with more caution: he
weighs the opposite experiments: he considers which side is sup-
ported by the greater number of experiments: to that side he inclines,
with doubt and hesitation; and when at last he fixes his judgement,
the evidence exceeds not what we properly call probability. All
probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments and observations,
where the one side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce
a degree of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A hundred
instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford
a doubtful expectation of any event; though a hundred uniform
experiments, with only one that is con- tradictory, reasonably
beget a pretty strong degree of as- surance. In all cases, we
must balance the opposite experi- ments, where they are opposite,
and deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to know
the exact force of the superior evidence. To apply these principles
to a particular instance; we may observe, that there is no species
of reasoning more common, more useful, and even necessary to human
life, than that which is derived from the testimony of men, and
the reports of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning,
perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause and
effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be sufficient
to observe that our assurance in any argument of this kind is
derived from no other principle than our observation of the veracity
of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the
reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no objects
have any dis- coverable connexion together, and that all the inferences,
which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely on our
experience of their constant and regular conjunction; it is evident,
that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour
of human testimony, whose connexion with any event seems, in itself,
as little necessary as any other. Were not the memory tenacious
to a certain degree; had not men commonly an inclination to truth
and a prin- ciple of probity; were they not sensible to shame,
when detected in a falsehood: were not these, I say, discovered
by experience to be qualities, inherent in human nature, we should
never repose the least confidence in human testi- mony. A man
delirious, or noted for falsehood and villainy, has no manner
of authority with us. And as the evidence, derived from witnesses
and human testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies
with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a probability,
according as the conjunction between any par- ticular kind of
report and any kind of object has been found to be constant or
variable. There are a number of circum- stances to be taken into
consideration in all judgements of this kind; and the ultimate
standard, by which we determine all disputes, that may arise concerning
them, is always derived from experience and observation. Where
this experience is not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended
with an unavoidable contrariety in our judgements, and with the
same opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in every
other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate con- cerning the
reports of others. We balance the opposite circumstances, which
cause any doubt or uncertainty; and when we discover a superiority
on any side, we incline to it; but still with a diminution of
assurance, in proportion to the force of its antagonist. This
contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived from
several different causes; from the opposition of contrary testimony;
from the character or number of the witnesses; from the manner
of their delivering their testi- mony; or from the union of all
these circumstances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter
of fact, when the witnesses contradict each other; when they are
but few, or of a doubtful character; when they have an interest
in what they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with hesitation,
or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations. There are
many other particulars of the same kind, which may diminish or
destroy the force of any argument, derived from human testimony.
Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony endeavours
to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and the marvellous;
in that case, the evidence, resulting from the testimony, admits
of a diminution, greater or less, in proportion as the fact is
more or less unusual. The reason why we place any credit in witnesses
and historians, is not derived from any connexion, which we perceive
a priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are accustomed
to find a conformity between them. But when the fact attested
is such a one as has seldom fallen under our observation, here
is a contest of two opposite experi- ences; of which the one destroys
the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can only
operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same
principle of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance
in the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another
degree of assurance against the fact, which they endeavour to
establish; from which contradiction there necessarily arises a
counterpoize, and mutual destruction of belief and authority.
I should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato, was
a proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of that
philosophical patriot.[1] The incredibility of a fact, it was
allowed, might invalidate so great an authority. The Indian prince,
who refused to believe the first re- lations concerning the effects
of frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally required very strong
testimony to engage his assent to facts, that arose from a state
of nature, with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little
analogy to those events, of which he had had constant and uniform
experience. Though they were not contrary to his experience, they
were not conformable to it.[2] But in order to encrease the probability
against the testimony of witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact,
which they affirm, instead of being only marvellous, is really
miraculous; and suppose also, that the testimony considered apart
and in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that case, there
is proof against proof, of which the strongest must prevail, but
still with a diminution of its force, in pro- portion to that
of its antagonist. A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature;
and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these
laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the
fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can possibly
be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men must die;
that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in the air; that
fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by water; unless it be,
that these events are found agreeable to the laws of nature, and
there is required a violation of these laws, or in other words,
a miracle to prevent them? Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it
ever happen in the common course of nature. It is no miracle that
a man, seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: because
such a kind of death, though more unusual than any other, has
yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that
a dead man should come to life; because that has never been observed
in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a uniform experience
against every miraculous event, otherwise the event would not
merit that appellation. And as a uniform experience amounts to
a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature
of the fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can such
a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by
an opposite proof, which is superior.[3] The plain consequence
is (and it is a general maxim worthy of our attention), 'that
no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless the
testimony be of such a kind, that its falsehood would be more
miraculous, than the fact, which it endeavors to establish; and
even in that case there is a mutual destruction of arguments,
and the superior only gives us an assurance suitable to that degree
of force, which remains, after deducting the inferior.' When anyone
tells me, that he saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately
consider with myself, whether it be more probable, that this person
should either deceive or be deceived, or that the fact, which
he relates, should really have happened. I weigh the one miracle
against the other; and according to the superiority, which I discover,
I pro- nounce my decision, and always reject the greater miracle.
If the falsehood of his testimony would be more miraculous, than
the event which he relates; then, and not till then, can he pretend
to command my belief or opinion. PART II IN the foregoing reasoning
we have supposed, that the testimony, upon which a miracle is
founded, may possibly amount to an entire proof, and that the
falsehood of that testimony would be a real prodigy: but it is
easy to shew, that we have been a great deal too liberal in our
concession, and that there never was a miraculous event established
on so full an evidence. For first, there is not to be found, in
all history, any miracle attested by a sufficient number of men,
of such unquestioned good-sense, education, and learning, as to
secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such un- doubted
integrity, as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design
to deceive others; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of
mankind, as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being
detected in any falsehood; and at the same time, attesting facts
performed in such a public manner and in so celebrated a part
of the world, as to render the detection unavoidable: all which
circumstances are re- quisite to give us a full assurance in the
testimony of men. Secondly. We may observe in human nature a principle
which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish extremely
the assurance, which we might, from human testimony, have in any
kind of prodigy. The maxim, by which we commonly conduct ourselves
in our reasonings, is, that the objects, of which we have no experience,
re- sembles those, of which we have; that what we have found to
be most usual is always most probable; and that where there is
an opposition of arguments, we ought to give the preference to
such as are founded on the greatest number of past observations.
But though, in proceeding by this rule, we readily reject any
fact which is unusual and incredible in an ordinary degree; yet
in advancing farther, the mind observes not always the same rule;
but when anything is affirmed utterly absurd and miraculous, it
rather the more readily admits of such a fact, upon account of
that very circumstance, which ought to destroy all its authority.
The passion of surprise and wonder, arising from miracles, being
an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the belief
of those events, from which it is derived. And this goes so far,
that even those who cannot enjoy this pleasure immediately, nor
can believe those miraculous events, of which they are informed,
yet love to partake of the satisfac- tion at second-hand or by
rebound, and place a pride and delight in exciting the admiration
of others. With what greediness are the miraculous accounts of
travellers received, their descriptions of sea and land mon- sters,
their relations of wonderful adventures, strange men, and uncouth
manners? But if the spirit of religion join itself to the love
of wonder, there is an end of common sense; and human testimony,
in these circumstances, loses all pretensions to authority. A
religionist may be an en- thusiast, and imagine he sees what has
no reality: he may know his narrative to be false, and yet persevere
in it, with the best intentions in the world, for the sake of
promoting so holy a cause: or even where this delusion has not
place, vanity, excited by so strong a temptation, operates on
him more powerfully than on the rest of mankind in any other circumstances;
and self-interest with equal force. His auditors may not have,
and commonly have not, suf- ficient judgement to canvass his evidence:
what judgement they have, they renounce by principle, in these
sublime and mysterious subjects: or if they were ever so willing
to employ it, passion and a heated imagination disturb the regularity
of its operations. their credulity increases his impudence: and
his impudence overpowers their credulity. Eloquence, when at its
highest pitch, leaves little room for reason or reflection; but
addressing itself entirely to the fancy or the affections, captivates
the willing hearers, and subdues their understanding. Happily,
this pitch it seldom attains. But what a Tully or a Demosthenes
could scarcely effect over a Roman or Athenian audience, every
Capuchin, every itinerant or stationary teacher can perform over
the generality of mankind, and in a higher degree, by touching
such gross and vulgar passions. The many instances of forged miracles,
and prophecies, and supernatural events, which, in all ages, have
either been detected by contrary evidence, or which detect themselves
by their absurdity, prove sufficiently the strong propensity of
mankind to the extraordinary and the marvellous, and ought reasonably
to beget a suspicion against all relations of this kind. This
is our natural way of thinking, even with regard to the most common
and most credible events. For instance: There is no kind of report
which rises so easily, and spreads so quickly, especially in country
places and provincial towns, as those concerning marriages; inso-
much that two young persons of equal condition never see each
other twice, but the whole neighbourhood immediately join them
together. The pleasure of telling a piece of news so interesting,
of propagating it, and of being the first reporters of it, spreads
the intelligence. And this is so well known, that no man of sense
gives attention to these reports, till he find them confirmed
by some greater evidence. Do not the same passions, and others
still stronger, incline the generality of mankind to believe and
report, with the greatest vehemence and assurance, all religious
miracles? Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption against all super-
natural and miraculous relations, that they are observed chiefly
to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations; or if a civilized
people has ever given admission to any of them, that people will
be found to have received them from ignorant and barbarous ancestors,
who transmitted them with that inviolable sanction and authority,
which always attend received opinions. When we peruse the first
histories of all nations, we are apt to imagine our- selves transported
into some new world; where the whole frame of nature is disjointed,
and every element performs its operations in a different manner,
from what it does at present. Battles, revolutions, pestilence,
famine and death, are never the effect of those natural causes,
which we experience. Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgements, quite
obscure the few natural events, that are intermingled with them.
But as the former grow thinner every page, in proportion as we
advance nearer the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there
is nothing mysterious or supernatural in the case, but that all
proceeds from the usual propensity of mankind towards the marvellous,
and that, though this inclination may at intervals receive a check
from sense and learning, it can never be thoroughly extirpated
from human nature. It is strange, a judicious reader is apt to
say, upon the perusal of these wonderful historians, that such
prodigious events never happen in our days. But it is nothing
strange, I hope, that men should lie in all ages. You must surely
have seen instances enough of that frailty. You have your- self
heard many such marvellous relations started, which, being treated
with scorn by all the wise and judicious, have at last been abandoned
even by the vulgar. Be as- sured, that those renowned lies, which
have spread and flourished to such a monstrous height, arose from
like beginnings; but being sown in a more proper soil, shot up
at last into prodigies almost equal to those which they relate.
It was a wise policy in that false prophet, Alexander, who though
now forgotten, was once so famous, to lay the first scene of his
impostures in Paphlagonia, where, as Lucian tells us, the people
were extremely ignorant and stupid, and ready to swallow even
the grossest delusion. People at a distance, who are weak enough
to think the matter at all worth enquiry, have no opportunity
of receiving better in- formation. The stories come magnified
to them by a hundred circumstances. Fools are industrious in propagating
the imposture; while the wise and learned are contented, in general,
to deride its absurdity, without informing themselves of the particular
facts, by which it may be distinctly refuted. And thus the impostor
above mentioned was enabled to proceed, from his ignorant Paphlagonians,
to the enlisting of votaries, even among the Grecian philosophers,
and men of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome; nay,
could engage the attention of that sage emperor Marcus Aurelius;
so far as to make him trust the success of a military expedition
to his delusive prophecies. The advantages are so great, of starting
an imposture among an ignorant people, that, even though the delusion
should be too gross to impose on the generality of them (which,
though seldom, is sometimes the case) it has a much better chance
for succeeding in remote countries, than if the first scene had
been laid in a city renowned for arts and knowledge. The most
ignorant and barbarous of these barbarians carry the report abroad.
None of their country- men have a large correspondence, or sufficient
credit and authority to contradict and beat down the delusion.
Men's inclination to the marvellous has full opportunity to display
itself. And thus a story, which is universally exploded in the
place where it was first started, shall pass for certain at a
thousand miles distance. But had Alexander fixed his residence
at Athens, the philosophers of that renowned mart of learning
had immediately spread, throughout the whole Roman empire, their
sense of the matter; which, being supported by so great authority,
and displayed by all the force of reason and eloquence, had entirely
opened the eyes of mankind. It is true; Lucian, passing by chance
through Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of performing this good
office. But, though much to be wished, it does not always happen,
that every Alexander meets with a Lucian, ready to expose and
detect his impostures. I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes
the authority of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any,
even those which have not been expressly detected, that is not
opposed by an infinite number of witnesses; so that not only the
miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testimony destroys
itself. To make this the better understood, let us consider, that,
in matters of religion, whatever is different is contrary; and
that it is impossible the religions of ancient Rome, of Turkey,
of Siam, and of China should, all of them, be established on any
solid foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have
been wrought in any of these religions (and all of them abound
in miracles), as its direct scope is to establish the particular
system to which it is attributed; so has it the same force, though
more indirectly, to overthrow every other system. In destroying
a rival system, it likewise destroys the credit of those miracles,
on which that system was established; so that all the prodigies
of different re- ligions are to be regarded as contrary facts,
and the evi- dences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong,
as opposite to each other. According to this method of rea- soning,
when we believe any miracle of Mahomet or his successors, we have
for our warrant the testimony of a few barbarous Arabians: and
on the other hand, we are to regard the authority of Titus Livius,
Plutarch, Tacitus, and, in short, of all the authors and witnesses,
Grecian, Chinese, and Roman Catholic, who have related any mira-
cle in their particular religion; I say, we are to regard their
testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned that Mahometan
miracle, and had in express terms con- tradicted it, with the
same certainty as they have for the miracle they relate. This
argument may appear over sub- tile and refined; but is not in
reality different from the reasoning of a judge, who supposes,
that the credit of two witnesses, maintaining a crime against
any one, is destroyed by the testimony of two others, who affirm
him to have been two hundred leagues distant, at the same in-
stant when the crime is said to have been committed. One of the
best attested miracles in all profane history, is that which Tacitus
reports of Vespasian, who cured a blind man in Alexandria, by
means of his spittle, and a lame man by the mere touch of his
foot; in obedience to a vision of the god Serapis, who had enjoined
them to have recourse to the Emperor, for these miraculous cures.
The story may be seen in that fine historian[4]; where every circumstance
seems to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed at
large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any one
were now concerned to enforce the evidence of that exploded and
idolatrous superstition. The gravity, solidity, age, and probity
of so great an emperor, who, through the whole course of his life,
con- versed in a familiar manner with his friends and courtiers,
and never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity assumed
by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, a contemporary writer,
noted for candour and veracity, and withal, the greatest and most
penetrating genius, perhaps, of all antiquity; and so free from
any tendency to credulity, that he even lies under the contrary
imputation, of atheism and profaneness: The persons, from whose
authority he related the miracle, of established character for
judgement and veracity, as we may well presume; eye-witnesses
of the fact, and confirming their testimony, after the Flavian
family was despoiled of the empire, and could no longer give any
reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuere, nunc
quoque memorant, postquam nullum men- dacio pretium. To which
if we add the public nature of the facts, as related, it will
appear, that no evidence can well be supposed stronger for so
gross and so palpable a falsehood. There is also a memorable story
related by Cardinal de Retz, which may well deserve our consideration.
When that intriguing politician fled into Spain, to avoid the
persecution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the capital
of Arragon, where he was shewn, in the cathe- dral, a man, who
had served seven years as a doorkeeper, and was well known to
every body in town, that had ever paid his devotions at that church.
He had been seen, for so long a time, wanting a leg; but recovered
that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the stump; and the cardinal
assures us that he saw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched
by all the canons of the church; and the whole company in town
were appealed to for a con- firmation of the fact; whom the cardinal
found, by their zealous devotion, to be thorough believers of
the miracle. Here the relater was also contemporary to the supposed
prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine character, as well as
of great genius; the miracle of so singular a nature as could
scarcely admit of a counterfeit, and the witnesses very numerous,
and all of them, in a manner, spectators of the fact, to which
they gave their testimony. And what adds mightily to the force
of the evidence, and may double our surprise on this occasion,
is, that the cardinal himself, who relates the story, seems not
to give any credit to it, and consequently cannot be suspected
of any concurrence in the holy fraud. He considered justly, that
it was not requisite, in order to reject a fact of this nature,
to be able accurately to disprove the testimony, and to trace
its falsehood, through all the circumstances of knavery and credulity
which produced it. He knew, that, as this was commonly altogether
impossible at any small distance of time and place; so was it
extremely difficult, even where one was immediately present, by
reason of the bigotry, ignorance, cunning, and roguery of a great
part of man- kind. He therefore concluded, like a just reasoner,
that such an evidence carried falsehood upon the very face of
it, and that a miracle, supported by any human testi- mony, was
more properly a subject of derision than of argument. There surely
never was a greater number of miracles ascribed to one person,
than those, which were lately said to have been wrought in France
upon the tomb of Abbe Paris, the famous Jansenist, with whose
sanctity the people were so long deluded. The curing of the sick,
giving hearing to the deaf, and sight to the blind, were every
where talked of as the usual effects of that holy sepulchre. But
what is more extraordinary; many of the miracles were immediately
proved upon the spot, before judges of un- questioned integrity,
attested by witnesses of credit and distinction, in a learned
age, and on the most eminent theatre that is now in the world.
Nor is this all: a relation of them was published and dispersed
everywhere; nor were the Jesuits, though a learned body supported
by the civil magistrate, and determined enemies to those opinions,
in whose favour the miracles were said to have been wrought, ever
able distinctly to refute or detect them.[5] Where shall we find
such a number of circumstances, agreeing to the corroboration
of one fact? And what have we to oppose to such a cloud of witnesses,
but the absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of the events,
which they relate? And this surely, in the eyes of all reasonable
people, will alone be regarded as a sufficient refutation. Is
the consequence just, because some human testimony has the utmost
force and authority in some cases, when it relates the battle
of Philippi or Pharsalia for instance; that therefore all kinds
of testimony must, in all cases, have equal force and authority?
Suppose that the Caesarean and Pompeian factions had, each of
them, claimed the victory in these battles, and that the historians
of each party had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their own
side; how could mankind, at this distance, have been able to determine
between them? The contrariety is equally strong between the miracles
related by Herodotus or Plutarch, and those delivered by Mariana,
Bede, or any monkish historian. The wise lend a very academic
faith to every report which favours the passion of the reporter;
whether it magnifies his country, his family, or himself, or in
any other way strikes in with his natural inclinations and pro-
pensities. But what greater temptation than to appear a missionary,
a prophet, an ambassador from heaven? Who would not encounter
many dangers and difficulties, in order to attain so sublime a
character? Or if, by the help of vanity and a heated imagination,
a man has first made a convert of himself, and entered seriously
into the delusion; who ever scruples to make use of pious frauds,
in support of so holy and meritorious a cause? The smallest spark
may here kindle into the greatest flame; because the materials
are always prepared for it. The avidum genus auricularum[6], the
gazing populace, re- ceive greedily, without examination, whatever
sooths super- stition, and promotes wonder. How many stories of
this nature have, in all ages, been detected and exploded in their
infancy? How many more have been celebrated for a time, and have
afterwards sunk into neglect and oblivion? Where such reports,
therefore, fly about, the solution of the phenomenon is obvious;
and we judge in conformity to regular experience and observa-
tion, when we account for it by the known and natural principles
of credulity and delusion. And shall we, rather than have a recourse
to so natural a solution, allow of a miraculous violation of the
most established laws of nature? I need not mention the difficulty
of detecting a falsehood in any private or even public history,
at the place, where it is said to happen; much more when the scene
is removed to ever so small a distance. Even a court of judicature,
with all the authority, accuracy, and judgement, which they can
employ, find themselves often at a loss to distinguish between
truth and falsehood in the most recent actions. But the matter
never comes to any issue, if trusted to the common method of altercations
and debate and flying rumours; especially when men's passions
have taken part on either side. In the infancy of new religions,
the wise and learned commonly esteem the matter too inconsiderable
to deserve their attention or regard. And when afterwards they
would willingly detect the cheat in order to undeceive the deluded
multitude, the season is now past, and the records and witnesses,
which might clear up the matter, have perished beyond recovery.
No means of detection remain, but those which must be drawn from
the very testimony itself of the reporters: and these, though
always sufficient with the judicious and know- ing, are commonly
too fine to fall under the comprehension of the vulgar. Upon the
whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for any kind of miracle
has ever amounted to a probability, much less to a proof; and
that, even supposing it amounted to a proof, it would be opposed
by another proof; derived from the very nature of the fact, which
it would endeavour to establish. It is experience only, which
gives authority to human testimony; and it is the same experience,
which assures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, these
two kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to do but
subtract the one from the other, and embrace an opinion, either
on one side or the other, with that assurance which arises from
the remainder. But according to the principle here explained,
this subtraction, with regard to all popular religions, amounts
to an entire annihilation; and therefore we may establish it as
a maxim, that no human testimony can have such force as to prove
a miracle, and make it a just foundation for any such system of
religion. I beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when
I say, that a miracle can never be proved, so as to be the foundation
of a system of religion. For I own, that other- wise, there may
possibly be miracles, or violations of the usual course of nature,
of such a kind as to admit of proof from human testimony; though,
perhaps, it will be im- possible to find any such in all the records
of history. Thus, suppose, all authors, in all languages, agree,
that, from the first of January, 1600, there was a total darkness
over the whole earth for eight days: suppose that the tradition
of this extraordinary event is still strong and lively among the
people: that all travellers, who return from foreign countries,
bring us accounts of the same tradition, without the least variation
or contradiction: it is evident, that our present philosophers,
instead of doubting the fact, ought to receive it as certain,
and ought to search for the causes whence it might be derived.
The decay, corruption, and dissolution of nature, is an event
rendered probable by so many analogies, that any phenomenon, which
seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe, comes within
the reach of human testimony, if that testi- mony be very extensive
and uniform. But suppose, that all the historians who treat of
England, should agree, that, on the first of January, 1600, Queen
Elizabeth died; that both before and after her death she was seen
by her physicians and the whole court, as is usual with persons
of her rank; that her successor was acknowl- edged and proclaimed
by the parliament; and that, after being interred a month, she
again appeared, resumed the throne, and governed England for three
years: I must confess that I should be surprised at the concurrence
of so many odd circumstances, but should not have the least inclination
to believe so miraculous an event. I should not doubt of her pretended
death, and of those other public circumstances that followed it:
I should only assert it to have been pretended, and that it neither
was, nor possibly could be real. You would in vain object to me
the difficulty, and almost impossibility of deceiving the world
in an affair of such consequence; the wisdom and solid judgment
of that renowned queen; with the little or no advantage which
she could reap from so poor an artifice: all this might astonish
me; but I would still reply, that the knavery and folly of men
are such common phenomena, that I should rather believe the most
extraordinary events to arise from their concurrence, than admit
of so signal a violation of the laws of nature. But should this
miracle be ascribed to any new system of religion; men, in all
ages, have been so much imposed on by ridiculous stories of that
kind, that this very circumstance would be a full proof of a cheat,
and sufficient, with all men of sense, not only to make them reject
the fact, but even reject it without farther examination. Though
the Being to whom the miracle is ascribed, be, in this case, Almighty,
it does not, upon that account, become a whit more probable; since
it is impossible for us to know the attributes or actions of such
a Being, otherwise than from the experience which we have of his
productions, in the usual course of nature. This still reduces
us to past observation, and obliges us to compare the instances
of the violation of truth in the testi- mony of men, with those
of the violation of the laws of nature by miracles, in order to
judge which of them is most likely and probable. As the violations
of truth are more common in the testimony concerning religious
mir- acles, than in that concerning any other matter of fact;
this must diminish very much the authority of the former testimony,
and make us form a general resolution, never to lend any attention
to it, with whatever specious pretence it may be covered. Lord
Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles of reasoning.
'We ought,' says he, 'to make a collection or particular history
of all monsters and prodigious births or productions, and in a
word of every thing new, rare, and extraordinary in nature. But
this must be done with the most severe scrutiny, lest we depart
from truth. Above all, every relation must be considered as suspicious,
which depends in any degree upon religion, as the prodigies of
Livy: and no less so, everything that is to be found in the writers
of natural magic or alchimy, or such authors, who seem, all of
them, to have an unconquerable appetite for falsehood and fable.[7]
I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here delivered,
as I think it may serve to confound those dangerous friends or
disguised enemies to the Christian Religion, who have undertaken
to defend it by the principles of human reason. Our most holy
religion is founded on Faith, not on reason; and it is a sure
method of exposing it to put it to such a trial as it is, by no
means, fitted to endure. To make this more evident, let us examine
those miracles, related in scripture; and not to lose ourselves
in too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we find
in the Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the principles
of these pretended Christians, not as the word or testimony of
God himself, but as the production of a mere human writer and
historian. Here then we are first to consider a book, presented
to us by a barbarous and ignorant people, written in an age when
they were still more bar- barous, and in all probability long
after the facts which it relates, corroborated by no concurring
testimony, and resembling those fabulous accounts, which every
nation gives of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it
full of prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state
of the world and of human nature entirely different from the present:
of our fall from that state: of the age of man, extended to near
a thousand years: of the destruction of the world by a deluge:
of the arbitrary choice of one people, as the favourites of heaven;
and that people the countrymen of the author: of their deliverance
from bond- age by prodigies the most astonishing imaginable: I
desire any one to lay his hand upon his heart, and after a serious
consideration declare, whether he thinks that the falsehood of
such a book, supported by such a testimony, would be more extraordinary
and miraculous than all the miracles it relates; which is, however,
necessary to make it be received, according to the measures of
probability above established. What we have said of miracles may
be applied, without any variation, to prophecies; and indeed,
all prophecies are real miracles, and as such only, can be admitted
as proofs of any revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity
of human nature to foretell future events, it would be absurd
to employ any prophecy as an argument for a divine mission or
authority from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may conclude,
that the Christian Religion not only was at first attended with
miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any reasonable
person without one. Mere reason is insufficient to convince us
of its veracity: and whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it,
is conscious of a con- tinued miracle in his own person, which
subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him
a determina- tion to believe what is most contrary to custom and
ex- perience. [1] Plutarch, in vita Catonis. [2] No Indian, it
is evident, could have experience that water did not freeze in
cold climates. This is placing nature in a situation quite unknown
to him; and it is impossible for him to tell a priori what will
result from it. It is making a new experiment, the consequence
of which is always uncer- tain. One may sometimes conjecture from
analogy what will follow; but still this is but conjecture. And
it must be confessed, that, in the present case of freezing, the
event follows contrary to the rules of analogy, and is such as
a rational Indian would not look for. The operations of cold upon
water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but when-
ever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a moment,
from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event,
therefore, may be denominated extraordinary, and requires a pretty
strong testimony, to ren- der it credible to people in a warm
climate: But still it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform
experience of the course of nature in cases where all the circumstances
are the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra have always seen water
fluid in their own climate, and the freezing of their rivers ought
to be deemed a prodigy: But they never saw water in Muscovy during
the winter; and therefore they cannot reasonably be positive what
would there be the consequence. [3] Sometimes an event may not,
in itself, seem to be contrary to the laws of nature, and yet,
if it were real, it might, by reason of some circum- stances,
be denominated a miracle; because, in fact, it is contrary to
these laws. Thus if a person, claiming a divine authority, should
command a sick person to be well, a healthful man to fall down
dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, in short, should
order many natural events, which immediately follow upon his command;
these might justly be esteemed miracles, because they are really,
in this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if any suspicion
remain, that the event and command con- curred by accident there
is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of nature. If this
suspicion be removed, there is evidently a miracle, and a transgression
of these laws; because nothing can be more contrary to nature
than that the voice or command of a man should have such an influence.
A miracle may be accurately defined, a transgression of a law
of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition
of some invisible agent. A miracle may either be discoverable
by men or not. This alters not its nature and essence. The raising
of a house or ship into the air is a visible miracle. The raising
of a feather, when the wind wants ever so little of a force requisite
for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not so sensible
with regard to us. [4] Hist. lib. v. cap. 8, Suetonius gives nearly
the same account in vita Vesp. [5] By Mons. Montgeron, counsellor
or judge of the Parliament of Paris. [6] Lucret. [7] Nov. Org.
lib. ii. aph. 29. SECTION XI OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF
A FUTURE STATE I WAS lately engaged in conversation with a friend
who loves sceptical paradoxes; where, though he ad- vanced many
principles, of which I can by no means approve, yet as they seem
to be curious, and to bear some relation to the chain of reasoning
carried on throughout this enquiry, I shall here copy them from
my memory as accurately as I can, in order to submit them to the
judge- ment of the reader. Our conversation began with my admiring
the singular good fortune of philosophy, which, as it requires
entire liberty above all other privileges, and chiefly flourishes
from the free opposition of sentiments and argumentation, received
its first birth in an age and country of freedom and toleration,
and was never cramped, even in its most extrav- agant principles,
by any creeds, concessions, or penal statutes. For, except the
banishment of Protagoras, and the death of Socrates, which last
event proceeded partly from other motives, there are scarcely
any instances to be met with, in ancient history, of this bigoted
jealousy, with which the present age is so much infested. Epicurus
lived at Athens to an advanced age, in peace and tranquillity:
Epicureans[1] were even admitted to receive the sacerdotal character,
and to officiate at the altar, in the most sacred rites of the
established religion: and the public encourage- ment[2] of pensions
and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the Roman
emperors[3], to the professors of every sect of philosophy. How
requisite such kind of treat- ment was to philosophy, in her early
youth, will easily be conceived, if we reflect, that, even at
present, when she may be supposed more hardy and robust, she bears
with much difficulty the inclemency of the seasons, and those
harsh winds of calumny and persecution, which blow upon her. You
admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune of philosophy,
what seems to result from the natural course of things, and to
be unavoidable in every age and nation. This pertinacious bigotry,
of which you complain, as so fatal to philosophy, is really her
offspring, who, after allying with superstition, separates himself
entirely from the interest of his parent, and becomes her most
inveterate enemy and persecutor. Speculative dogmas of religion,
the present occasions of such furious dispute, could not possibly
be con- ceived or admitted in the early ages of the world; when
mankind, being wholly illiterate, formed an idea of religion more
suitable to their weak apprehension, and composed their sacred
tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of traditional
belief, more than of argument or disputation. After the first
alarm, therefore, was over, which arose from the new paradoxes
and principles of the philosophers; these teachers seem ever after,
during the ages of antiquity, to have lived in great harmony with
the established supersti- tion, and to have made a fair partition
of mankind between them; the former claiming all the learned and
wise, the latter possessing all the vulgar and illiterate. It
seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of the
question, and never suppose, that a wise magistrate can justly
be jealous of certain tenets of philosophy, such as those of Epicurus,
which, denying a divine existence, and conse- quently a providence
and a future state, seem to loosen, in a great measure the ties
of morality, and may be supposed, for that reason, pernicious
to the peace of civil society. I know, replied he, that in fact
these persecutions never, in any age, proceeded from calm reason,
or from experience of the pernicious consequences of philosophy;
but arose entirely from passion and prejudice. But what if I should
advance farther, and assert, that if Epicurus had been ac- cused
before the people, by any of the sycophants or inform- ers of
those days, he could easily have defended his cause, and proved
his principles of philosophy to be as salutary as those of his
adversaries, who endeavoured, with such zeal, to expose him to
the public hatred and jealousy? I wish, said I, you would try
your eloquence upon so extraordinary a topic, and make a speech
for Epicurus, which might satisfy, not the mob of Athens, if you
will allow that ancient and polite city to have contained any
mob, but the more philosophical part of his audience, such as
might be supposed capable of comprehending his arguments. The
matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions, replied he:
and if you please, I shall suppose myself Epi- curus for a moment,
and make you stand for the Athenian people, and shall deliver
you such an harangue as will fill all the urn with white beans,
and leave not a black one to gratify the malice of my adversaries.
Very well: pray proceed upon these suppositions. I come hither,
O ye Athenians, to justify in your assembly what I maintain in
my school, and I find myself impeached by furious antagonists,
instead of reasoning with calm and dispassionate enquirers. Your
deliberations, which of right should be directed to questions
of public good, and the interest of the commonwealth, are diverted
to the disquisi- tions of speculative philosophy; and these magnificent,
but perhaps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more familiar
but more useful occupations. But so far as in me lies, I will
prevent this abuse. We shall not here dispute con- cerning the
origin and government of worlds. We shall only enquire how far
such questions concern the public interest. And if I can persuade
you, that they are entirely indifferent to the peace of society
and security of government, I hope that you will presently send
us back to our schools, there to examine, at leisure, the question
the most sublime, but, at the same time, the most speculative
of all philosophy. The religious philosophers, not satisfied with
the tradition of your forefathers, and doctrine of your priests
(in which I willingly acquiesce), indulge a rash curiosity, in
trying how far they can establish religion upon the principles
of reason; and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying, the
doubts, which naturally arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry.
They paint, in the most magnificent colours, the order, beauty,
and wise arrangement of the universe; and then ask, if such a
glorious display of intelligence could proceed from the fortuitous
concourse of atoms, or if chance could produce what the greatest
genius can never sufficiently admire. I shall not examine the
justness of this argument. I shall allow it to be as solid as
my antagonists and accusers can desire. It is sufficient, if I
can prove, from this very reasoning, that the question is entirely
speculative, and that, when, in my philosophical disquisitions,
I deny a providence and a future state, I undermine not the founda-
tions of society, but advance principles, which they them- selves,
upon their own topics, if they argue consistently, must allow
to be solid and satisfactory. You then, who are my accusers, have
acknowledged, that the chief or sole argument for a divine existence
(which I never questioned) is derived from the order of nature;
where there appear such marks of intelligence and design, that
you think it extravagant to assign for its cause, either chance,
or the blind and unguided force of matter. You allow, that this
is an argument drawn from effects to causes. >From the order
of the work, you infer, that there must have been project and
forethought in the workman. If you can- not make out this point,
you allow, that your conclusion fails; and you pretend not to
establish the conclusion in a greater latitude than the phenomena
of nature will justify. These are your concessions. I desire you
to mark the con- sequences. When we infer any particular cause
from an effect, we must proportion the one to the other, and can
never be allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what
are exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of ten ounces
raised in any scale may serve as a proof, that the counterbalancing
weight exceeds ten ounces; but can never afford a reason that
it exceeds a hundred. If the cause, assigned for any effect, be
not sufficient to produce it, we must either reject that cause,
or add to it such qualities as will give it a just proportion
to the effect. But if we ascribe to it farther qualities, or affirm
it capable of producing other effects, we can only indulge the
licence of conjecture, and arbitrarily suppose the existence of
qualities and energies, without reason or authority. The same
rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute unconscious matter,
or a rational intelligent being. If the cause be known only by
the effect, we never ought to ascribe to it any qualities, beyond
what are precisely requisite to produce the effect: nor can we,
by any rules of just reason- ing, return back from the cause,
and infer other effects from it, beyond those by which alone it
is known to us. No one, merely from the sight of one of Zeuxis's
pictures, could know, that he was also a statuary or architect,
and was an artist no less skilful in stone and marble than in
colours. The talents and taste, displayed in the particular work
before us; these we may safely conclude the workman to be pos-
sessed of. The cause must be proportioned to the effect; and if
we exactly and precisely proportion it, we shall never find in
it any qualities, that point farther, or afford an inference concerning
any other design or performance. Such qualities must be somewhat
beyond what is merely requisite for producing the effect, which
we examine. Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of
the existence or order of the universe; it follows, that they
possess that precise degree of power, intelligence, and benevolence,
which appears in their workmanship; but nothing farther can ever
be proved, except we call in the assistance of exaggeration and
flattery to supply the defects of argument and reasoning. So far
as the traces of any attributes, at present, appear, so far may
we conclude these attributes to exist. The supposition of farther
attributes is mere hypothesis; much more the supposition, that,
in distant regions of space or periods of time, there has been,
or will be, a more magnificent display of these attributes, and
a scheme of administration more suitable to such imaginary virtues.
We can never be allowed to mount up from the universe, the effect,
to Jupiter, the cause; and then descend downwards, to infer any
new effect from that cause; as if the present effects alone were
not entirely worthy of the glorious attributes, which we ascribe
to that deity. The knowledge of the cause being derived solely
from the effect, they must be exactly adjusted to each other;
and the one can never refer to anything farther, or be the foundation
of any new inference and conclusion. You find certain phenomena
in nature. You seek a cause or author. You imagine that you have
found him. You afterwards become so enamoured of this offspring
of your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he must produce
something greater and more perfect than the present scene of things,
which is so full of ill and disorder. You forget, that this superlative
intelligence and benevo- lence are entirely imaginary, or, at
least, without any foun- dation in reason; and that you have no
ground to ascribe to him any qualities, but what you see he has
actually exerted and displayed in his productions. Let your gods,
therefore, O philosophers, be suited to the present appear- ances
of nature: and presume not to alter these appearances by arbitrary
suppositions, in order to suit them to the at- tributes, which
you so fondly ascribe to your deities. When priests and poets,
supported by your authority, O Athenians, talk of a golden or
silver age, which preceded the present state of vice and misery,
I hear them with at- tention and with reverence. But when philosophers,
who pretend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold
the same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the same ob- sequious
submission and pious deference. I ask; who carried them into the
celestial regions, who admitted them into the councils of the
gods, who opened to them the book of fate, that they thus rashly
affirm, that their deities have executed, or will execute, any
purpose beyond what has actually appeared? If they tell me, that
they have mounted on the steps or by the gradual ascent of reason,
and by drawing inferences from effects to causes, I still insist,
that they have aided the ascent of reason by the wings of imagination;
otherwise they could not thus change their manner of inference,
and argue from causes to effects; presuming, that a more perfect
production than the present world would be more suitable to such
perfect beings as the gods, and forgetting that they have no reason
to ascribe to these celestial beings any perfection or any attribute,
but what can be found in the present world. Hence all the fruitless
industry to account for the ill appearances of nature, and save
the honour of the gods; while we must acknowledge the reality
of that evil and disorder, with which the world so much abounds.
The obstinate and intractable qualities of matter, we are told,
or the observance of general laws, or some such reason, is the
sole cause, which controlled the power and benevo- lence of Jupiter,
and obliged him to create mankind and every sensible creature
so imperfect and so unhappy. These attributes then, are, it seems,
beforehand, taken for granted, in their greatest latitude. And
upon that supposition, I own that such conjectures may, perhaps,
be admitted as plausible solutions of the ill phenomena. But still
I ask; Why take these attributes for granted, or why ascribe to
the cause any qualities but what actually appear in the effect?
Why torture your brain to justify the course of nature upon suppositions,
which, for aught you know, may be entirely imaginary, and of which
there are to be found no traces in the course of nature? The religious
hypothesis, therefore, must be considered only as a particular
method of accounting for the visible phenomena of the universe:
but no just reasoner will ever presume to infer from it any single
fact, and alter or add to the phenomena, in any single particular.
If you think, that the appearances of things prove such causes,
it is al- lowable for you to draw an inference concerning the
exist- ence of these causes. In such complicated and sublime subjects,
every one should be indulged in the liberty of conjecture and
argument. But here you ought to rest. If you come backward, and
arguing from your inferred causes, conclude, that any other fact
has existed, or will exist, in the course of nature, which may
serve as a fuller display of particular attributes; I must admonish
you, that you have departed from the method of reasoning, attached
to the present subject, and have certainly added something to
the attributes of the cause, beyond what appears in the effect;
otherwise you could never, with tolerable sense or propriety,
add anything to the effect, in order to render it more worthy
of the cause. Where, then, is the odiousness of that doctrine,
which I teach in my school, or rather, which I examine in my gardens?
Or what do you find in this whole question, wherein the security
of good morals, or the peace and order of society, is in the least
concerned? I deny a providence, you say, and supreme governor
of the world, who guides the course of events, and punishes the
vicious with infamy and disappointment, and rewards the virtuous
with honour and success, in all their under- takings. But surely,
I deny not the course itself of events, which lies open to every
one's inquiry and examination. I acknowledge, that, in the present
order of things, virtue is attended with more peace of mind than
vice, and meets with a more favourable reception from the world.
I am sensible, that, according to the past experience of mankind,
friendship is the chief joy of human life, and moderation the
only source of tranquillity and happiness. I never balance between
the virtuous and the vicious course of life; but am sensible,
that, to a well-disposed mind, every ad- vantage is on the side
of the former. And what can you say more, allowing all your suppositions
and reasonings? You tell me, indeed, that this disposition of
things proceeds from intelligence and design. But whatever it
proceeds from, the disposition itself, on which depends our happiness
or misery, and consequently our conduct and deportment in life
is still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you, to
regulate my behaviour, by my experience of past events. And if
you affirm, that, while a divine providence is allowed and a supreme
distributive justice in the universe, I ought to expect some more
particular reward of the good, and punishment of the bad, beyond
the ordinary course of events; I here find the same fallacy, which
I have before endeavoured to detect. You persist in imagining,
that, if we grant that divine existence, for which you so earnestly
contend, you may safely infer consequences from it, and add something
to the experienced order of nature, by arguing from the attributes
which you ascribe to your gods. You seem not to remember, that
all your reasonings on this subJect can only be drawn from effects
to causes; and that every argument, deducted from causes to effects,
must of necessity be a gross sophism; since it is impossible for
you to know anything of the cause, but what you have antecedently,
not inferred, but discovered to the full, in the effect. But what
must a philosopher think of those vain rea- soners, who instead
of regarding the present scene of things as the sole object of
their contemplation, so far reverse the whole course of nature,
as to render this life merely a passage to something farther;
a porch, which leads to a greater, and vastly different building;
a prologue, which serves only to introduce the piece, and give
it more grace and propriety? Whence, do you think, can such philoso-
phers derive their idea of the gods? From their own con- ceit
and imagination surely. For if they derived it from the present
phenomena, it would never point to anything farther, but must
be exactly adjusted to them. That the divinity may possibly be
endowed with attributes, which we have never seen exerted; may
be governed by principles of action, which we cannot discover
to be satisfied: all this will freely be allowed. But still this
is mere possibility and hypothesis. We never can have reason to
infer any attributes, or any principles of action in him, but
so far as we know them to have been exerted and satisfied. Are
there any marks of a distributive justice in the world? If you
answer in the affirmative, I conclude, that, since justice here
exerts itself, it is satisfied. If you reply in the negative,
I conclude, that you have then no reason to ascribe justice, in
our sense of it, to the gods. If you hold a medium between affirmation
and negation, by saying, that the justice of the gods, at present,
exerts itself in part, but not in its full extent; I answer, that
you have no reason to give it any particular extent, but only
so far as you see it, at present, exert itself. Thus I bring the
dispute, O Athenians, to a short issue with my antagonists. The
course of nature lies open to my contemplation as well as to theirs.
The experi- enced train of events is the great standard, by which
we all regulate our conduct. Nothing else can be appealed to in
the field, or in the senate. Nothing else ought ever to be heard
of in the school, or in the closet. In vain would our limited
understanding break through those boundaries, which are too narrow
for our fond imagination. While we argue from the course of nature,
and infer a particular intelligent cause, which first bestowed,
and still preserves order in the universe, we embrace a principle,
which is both uncertain and useless. It is uncertain; be- cause
the subject lies entirely beyond the reach of human experience.
It is useless; because our knowledge of this cause being derived
entirely from the course of nature, we can never, according to
the rules of just reasoning, return back from the cause with any
new inference, or making additions to the common and experienced
course of nature, establish any new principles of conduct and
be- haviour. I observe (said I, finding he had finished his harangue)
that you neglect not the artifice of the demagogues of old; and
as you were pleased to make me stand for the people, you insinuate
yourself into my favour by embracing those principles, to which,
you know, I have always ex- pressed a particular attachment. But
allowing you to make experience (as indeed I think you ought)
the only standard of our judgement concerning this, and all other
questions of fact; I doubt not but, from the very same experience,
to which you appeal, it may be possible to refute this reasoning,
which you have put into the mouth of Epicurus. If you saw, for
instance, a half-finished building, surrounded with heaps of brick
and stone and mortar, and all the instruments of masonry; could
you not infer from the effect, that it was a work of design and
con- trivance? And could you not return again, from this in- ferred
cause, to infer new additions to the effect, and conclude, that
the building would soon be finished, and receive all the further
improvements, which art could be- stow upon it? If you saw upon
the sea-shore the print of one human foot, you would conclude,
that a man had passed that way, and that he had also left the
traces of the other foot, though effaced by the rolling of the
sands or inundation of the waters. Why then do you refuse to admit
the same method of reasoning with regard to the order of nature?
Consider the world and the present life only as an imperfect building,
from which you can infer a superior intelligence; and arguing
from that superior intelligence, which can leave nothing imperfect;
why may you not infer a more finished scheme or plan, which will
receive its completion in some distant point of space or time?
Are not these methods of reasoning exactly similar? And under
what pretence can you embrace the one, while you reject the other?
The infinite difference of the subjects, replied he, is a sufficient
foundation for this difference in my conclusions. In works of
human art and contrivance, it is allowable to advance from the
effect to the cause, and returning back from the cause, to form
new inferences concerning the effect, and examine the alterations,
which it has probably undergone, or may still undergo. But what
is the founda- tion of this method of reasoning? Plainly this;
that man is a being, whom we know by experience, whose motives
and designs we are acquainted with, and whose projects and inclinations
have a certain connexion and coherence, according to the laws
which nature has established for the government of such a creature.
When, therefore, we find, that any work has proceeded from the
skill and industry of man; as we are otherwise acquainted with
the nature of the animal, we can draw a hundred infer- ences concerning
what may be expected from him; and these inferences will all be
founded in experience and observation. But did we know man only
from the single work or production which we examine, it were impossible
for us to argue in this manner; because our knowledge of all the
qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in that case derived
from the production, it is impossible they could point to anything
farther, or be the foundation of any new inference. The print
of a foot in the sand can only prove, when considered alone, that
there was some figure adapted to it, by which it was produced:
but the print of a human foot proves likewise, from our other
experience, that there was probably another foot, which also left
its impression, though effaced by time or other accidents. Here
we mount from the effect to the cause; and descending again from
the cause, infer alterations in the effect; but this is not a
continuation of the same simple chain of reasoning. We comprehend
in this case a hundred other experiences and observations, concerning
the usual figure and members of that species of animal, without
which this method of argument must be considered as fallacious
and sophistical. The case is not the same with our reasonings
from the works of nature. The Deity is known to us only by his
productions, and is a single being in the universe, not comprehended
under any species or genus, from whose experienced attributes
or qualities, we can, by analogy, infer any attribute or quality
in him. As the universe shews wisdom and goodness, we infer wisdom
and good- ness. As it shews a particular degree of these perfections,
we infer a particular degree of them, precisely adapted to the
effect which we examine. But farther attributes or farther degrees
of the same attributes, we can never be authorised to infer or
suppose, by any rules of just rea- soning. Now, without some such
licence of supposition, it is impossible for us to argue from
the cause, or infer any alteration in the effect, beyond what
has immediately fallen under our observation. Greater good produced
by this Being must still prove a greater degree of goodness: a
more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments must proceed
from a greater regard to justice and equity. Every supposed addition
to the works of nature makes an addition to the attributes of
the Author of nature; and consequently, being entirely unsupported
by any reason or argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture
and hypothesis.[4] The great source of our mistake in this subject,
and of the unbounded licence of conjecture, which we indulge,
is, that we tacitly consider ourselves, as in the place of the
Supreme Being, and conclude, that he will, on every occasion,
observe the same conduct, which we ourselves, in his situation,
would have embraced as reasonable and eligible. But, besides that
the ordinary course of nature may convince us, that almost everything
is regulated by principles and maxims very different from ours;
besides this, I say, it must evidently appear contrary to all
rules of analogy to reason, from the intentions and projects of
men, to those of a Being so different, and so much su- perior.
In human nature, there is a certain experienced coherence of designs
and inclinations; so that when, from any fact, we have discovered
one intention of any man, it may often be reasonable, from experience,
to infer an- other, and draw a long chain of conclusions concerning
his past or future conduct. But this method of reasoning can never
have place with regard to a Being, so remote and in- comprehensible,
who bears much less analogy to any other being in the universe
than the sun to a waxen taper, and who discovers himself only
by some faint traces or outlines, beyond which we have no authority
to ascribe to him any attribute or perfection. What we imagine
to be a superior perfection, may really be a defect. Or were it
ever so much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the Supreme
Being, where it appears not to have been really exerted, to the
full, in his works, savours more of flattery and panegyric, than
of just reasoning and sound philosophy. All the philo- sophy,
therefore, in the world, and all the religion, which is nothing
but a species of philosophy, will never be able to carry us beyond
the usual course of experience, or give us measures of conduct
and behaviour different from those which are furnished by reflections
on common life. No new fact can ever be inferred from the religious
hypothesis; no event foreseen or foretold; no reward or punishment
ex- pected or dreaded, beyond what is already known by practice
and observation. So that my apology for Epicurus will still appear
solid and satisfactory; nor have the political inter- ests of
society any connexion with the philosophical dis- putes concerning
metaphysics and religion. There is still one circumstance, replied
I, which you seem to have overlooked. Though I should allow your
premises, I must deny your conclusion. You conclude, that religious
doctrines and reasonings can have no influence on life, because
they ought to have no influence; never con- sidering, that men
reason not in the same manner you do, but draw many consequences
from the belief of a divine Existence, and suppose that the Deity
will inflict punish- ments on vice, and bestow rewards on virtue,
beyond what appear in the ordinary course of nature. Whether this
reasoning of theirs be just or not, is no matter. Its influence
on their life and conduct must still be the same. And those, who
attempt to disabuse them of such prejudices, may, for aught I
know, be good reasoners, but I cannot allow them to be good citizens
and politicians; since they free men from one restraint upon their
passions, and make the infringement of the laws of society, in
one respect, more easy and secure. After all, I may, perhaps,
agree to your general conclusion in favour of liberty, though
upon different premises from those, on which you endeavour to
found it. I think, that the state ought to tolerate every principle
of philosophy; nor is there an instance, that any government has
suffered in its political interests by such indulgence. There
is no enthusiasm among philosophers; their doctrines are not very
alluring to the people; and no restraint can be put upon their
reasonings, but what must be of dangerous con- sequence to the
sciences, and even to the state, by paving the way for persecution
and oppression in points, where the generality of mankind are
more deeply interested and concerned. But there occurs to me (continued
I) with regard to your main topic, a difficulty, which I shall
just propose to you without insisting on it; lest it lead into
reasonings of too nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much
doubt whether it be possible for a cause to be known only by its
effect (as you have all along supposed) or to be of so singular
and particular a nature as to have no parallel and no similarity
with any other cause or object, that has ever fallen under our
observation. It is only when two species of objects are found
to be constantly conjoined, that we can infer the one from the
other; and were an effect presented, which was entirely singular,
and could not be comprehended under any known species, I do not
see, that we could form any conjecture or inference at all concerning
its cause. If experience and observation and analogy be, indeed,
the only guides which we can reasonably follow in inferences of
this nature; both the effect and cause must bear a similarity
and resemblance to other effects and causes, which we know, and
which we have found, in many instances, to be con- joined with
each other. I leave it to your own reflection to pursue the consequences
of this principle. I shall just observe, that, as the antagonists
of Epicurus always sup- pose the universe, an effect quite singular
and unparalleled, to be the proof of a Deity, a cause no less
singular and un- paralleled; your reasonings, upon that supposition,
seem, at least, to merit our attention. There is, I own, some
dif- ficulty, how we can ever return from the cause to the effect,
and, reasoning from our ideas of the former, infer any alteration
on the latter, or any, addition to it. [1] Luciani, [3 greek words].
[2] Luciani, [greek word]. [3] Luciani and Dio. [4] In general,
it may, I think, Be established as a maxim, that where any cause
is known only by its particular effects, it must be impossible
to infer any new effects from that cause; since the qualities,
which are requisite to produce these new effects along with the
former, must either be different, or superior, or of more extensive
operation, than those which simply pro- duced the effect, whence
alone the cause is supposed to be known to us. We can never, therefore,
have any reason to suppose the existence of these qualities. To
say, that the new effects proceed only from a continuation of
the same energy, which is already known from the first effects,
will not remove the difficulty. For even granting this to be the
case (which can seldom be supposed), the very continuation and
exertion of a like energy (for it is impossible it can be absolutely
the same), I say, this exertion of a like energy, in a different
period of space and time, is a very arbitrary supposition, and
what there cannot possibly be any traces of it in the effects,
from which all our knowledge of the cause is originally derived.
Let the inferred cause be exactly proportioned (as it should be)
to the known effect; and it is impossible that it can possess
any qualities, from which new or different effects can be inferred.
SECTION XII OF THE ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY PART I THERE
is not a greater number of philosophical reason- ings, displayed
upon any subject, than those, which prove the existence of a Deity,
and refute the falla- cies of Atheists; and yet the most religious
philosophers still dispute whether any man can be so blinded as
to be a speculative atheist. How shall we reconcile these contra-
dictions? The knights errant, who wandered about to clear the
world of dragons and giants, never entertained the least doubt
with regard to the existence of these monsters. The Sceptic is
another enemy of religion, who naturally provokes the indignation
of all divines and graver philoso- phers; though it is certain,
that no man ever met with any such absurd creature, or conversed
with a man, who had no opinion or principle concerning any subject,
either of action or speculation. This begets a very natural question;
What is meant by a sceptic? And how far it is possible to push
these philosophical principles of doubt and uncertainty? There
is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study and philosophy,
which is much inculcated by Des Cartes and others, as a sovereign
preservative against error and precipitate judgement. It recommends
an universal doubt, not only of all our former opinions and principles,
but also of our very faculties; of whose veracity, say they, we
must assure ourselves, by a chain of reasoning, deduced from some
original principle, which cannot possibly be fallacious or deceitful.
But neither is there any such original principle, which has a
prerogative above others, that are self-evident and convincing:
or if there were, could we advance a step beyond it, but by the
use of those very faculties, of which we are supposed to be already
diffident. The Cartesian doubt, therefore, were it ever possible
to be attained by any human creature (as it plainly is not) would
be entirely in- curable; and no reasoning could ever bring us
to a state of assurance and conviction upon any subject. It must,
however, be confessed, that this species of scep- ticism, when
more moderate, may be understood in a very reasonable sense, and
is a necessary preparative to the study of philosophy, by preserving
a proper impartiality in our judgements, and weaning our mind
from all those preju- dices, which we may have imbibed from education
or rash opinion. To begin with clear and self-evident principles,
to advance by timorous and sure steps, to review frequently our
conclusions, and examine accurately all their conse- quences;
though by these means we shall make both a slow and a short progress
in our systems; are the only methods, by which we can ever hope
to reach truth, and attain a proper stability and certainty in
our determinations. There is another species of scepticism, consequent
to science and enquiry, when men are supposed to have dis- covered,
either the absolute fallaciousness of their mental faculties,
or their unfitness to reach any fixed determination in all those
curious subjects of speculation, about which they are commonly
employed. Even our very senses are brought into dispute, by a
certain species of philosophers; and the maxims of common life
are subjected to the same doubt as the most profound principles
or conclusions of metaphysics and theology. As these paradoxical
tenets (if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in some
philosophers, and the refutation of them in several, they naturally
excite our curiosity, and make us enquire into the arguments,
on which they may be founded. I need not insist upon the more
trite topics, employed by the sceptics in all ages, against the
evidence of sense; such as those which are derived from the imperfection
and fallaciousness of our organs, on numberless occasions; the
crooked appearance of an oar in water; the various aspects of
objects, according to their different distances; the double images
which arise from the pressing one eye; with many other appearances
of a like nature. These sceptical topics, indeed, are only sufficient
to prove, that the senses alone are not implicitly to be depended
on; but that we must correct their evidence by reason, and by
considerations, derived from the nature of the medium, the distance
of the object, and the disposition of the organ, in order to render
them, within their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and falsehood.
There are other more profound arguments against the senses, which
admit not of so easy a solution. It seems evident, that men are
carried, by a natural instinct or prepossession, to repose faith
in their senses; and that, without any reasoning, or even almost
before the use of reason, we always suppose an external universe,
which depends not on our perception, but would exist, though we
and every sensible creature were absent or an- nihilated. Even
the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and preserve
this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts, designs,
and actions. It seems also evident, that, when men follow this
blind and powerful instinct of nature, they always suppose the
very images, presented by the senses, to be the external objects,
and never entertain any suspicion, that the one are nothing but
representations of the other. This very table, which we see white,
and which we feel hard, is believed to exist, independent of our
perception, and to be something external to our mind, which perceives
it. Our presence bestows not being on it: our absence does not
annihilate it. It preserves its existence uniform and entire,
independ- ent of the situation of intelligent beings, who perceive
or contemplate it. But this universal and primary opinion of all
men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches
us, that nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image
or perception, and that the senses are only the inlets, through
which these images are conveyed, without being able to produce
any immediate intercourse between the mind and the object. The
table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we remove farther from
it: but the real table, which exists independent of us, suffers
no alteration: it was, there- fore, nothing but its image, which
was present to the mind. These are the obvious dictates of reason;
and no man, who reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which
we consider, when we say, this house and that tree, are nothing
but perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies or represen-
tations of other existences, which remain uniform and inde- pendent.
So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to con- tradict
or depart from the primary instincts of nature, and to embrace
a new system with regard to the evidence of our senses. But here
philosophy finds herself extremely em- barrassed, when she would
justify this new system, and obviate the cavils and objections
of the sceptics. She can no longer plead the infallible and irresistible
instinct of nature: for that led us to a quite different system,
which is acknowledged fallible and even erroneous. And to justify
this pretended philosophical system, by a chain of clear and convincing
argument, or even any appearance of argu- ment, exceeds the power
of all human capacity. By what argument can it be proved, that
the perceptions of the mind must be caused by external objects,
entirely different from them, though resembling them (if that
be possible) and could not arise either from the energy of the
mind itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and unknown
spirit, or from some other cause still more un- known to us? It
is acknowledged, that, in fact, many of these perceptions arise
not from anything external, as in dreams, madness, and other diseases.
And nothing can be more inexplicable than the manner, in which
body should so operate upon mind as ever to convey an image of
itself to a substance, supposed of so different, and even contrary
a nature. It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of
the senses be produced by external objects, resembling them: how
shall this question be determined? By experience surely; as all
other questions of a like nature. But here experience is, and
must be entirely silent. The mind has never anything present to
it but the perceptions, and cannot possibly reach any experience
of their connexion with ob- jects. The supposition of such a connexion
is, therefore, without any foundation in reasoning. To have recourse
to the veracity of the supreme Being, in order to prove the veracity
of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit. If
his veracity were at all concerned in this matter, our senses
would be entirely infallible; because it is not possible that
he can ever deceive. Not to mention, that, if the external world
be once called in question, we shall be at a loss to find argu-
ments, by which we may prove the existence of that Being or any
of his attributes. This is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder
and more philosophical sceptics will always triumph, when they
endeavour to introduce an universal doubt into all subjects of
human knowledge and enquiry. Do you follow the in- stincts and
propensities of nature, may they say, in assenting to the veracity
of sense? But these lead you to believe that the very perception
or sensible image is the external object. Do you disclaim this
principle, in order to embrace a more rational opinion, that the
perceptions are only representations of something external? You
here depart from your natural propensities and more obvious senti-
ments; and yet are not able to satisfy your reason, which can
never find any convincing argument from experience to prove, that
the perceptions are connected with any external objects. There
is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived from the
most profound philosophy; which might merit our attention, were
it requisite to dive so deep, in order to discover arguments and
reasonings, which can so little serve to any serious purpose.
It is universally allowed by modern enquirers, that all the sensible
qualities of ob- jects, such as hard, soft, hot, cold, white,
black, &c. are merely secondary, and exist not in the objects
themselves, but are perceptions of the mind, without any external
archetype or model, which they represent. If this be al- lowed,
with regard to secondary qualities, it must also follow, with
regard to the supposed primary qualities of extension and solidity;
nor can the latter be any more entitled to that denomination than
the former. The idea of extension is entirely acquired from the
senses of sight and feeling; and if all the qualities, perceived
by the senses, be in the mind, not in the object, the same con-
clusion must reach the idea of extension, which is wholly dependent
on the sensible ideas or the ideas of secondary qualities. Nothing
can save us from this conclusion, but the asserting, that the
ideas of those primary qualities are attained by Abstraction,
an opinion, which, if we examine it accurately, we shall find
to be unintelligible, and even absurd. An extension, that is neither
tangible nor visible, cannot possibly be conceived: and a tangible
or visible extension, which is neither hard nor soft, black nor
white, is equally beyond the reach of human conception. Let any
man try to conceive a triangle in general, which is neither Isosceles
nor Scalenum, nor has any particular length or proportion of sides;
and he will soon perceive the absurdity of all the scholastic
notions with regard to abstraction and general ideas.[1] Thus
the first philosophical objection to the evidence of sense or
to the opinion of external existence consists in this, that such
an opinion, if rested on natural instinct, is contrary to reason,
and if referred to reason, is contrary to natural instinct, and
at the same time carries no rational evidence with it, to convince
an impartial enquirer. The second objection goes farther, and
represents this opinion as contrary to reason: at least, if it
be a principle of reason, that all sensible qualities are in the
mind, not in the object. Bereave matter of all its intelligible
qualities, both primary and secondary, you in a manner annihilate
it, and leave only a certain unknown, inexplicable something,
as the cause of our perceptions; a notion so imperfect, that no
sceptic will think it worth while to contend against it. PART
II IT may seem a very extravagant attempt of the sceptics to destroy
reason by argument and ratiocination; yet is this the grand scope
of all their enquiries and disputes. They endeavour to find objections,
both to our abstract reasonings, and to those which regard matter
of fact and existence. The chief objection against all abstract
reasonings is derived from the ideas of space and time; ideas,
which, in common life and to a careless view, are very clear and
intelligible, but when they pass through the scrutiny of the profound
sciences (and they are the chief object of these sciences) afford
principles, which seem full of absurdity and contradiction. No
priestly dogmas, invented on purpose to tame and subdue the rebellious
reason of mankind, ever shocked common sense more than the doctrine
of the infinitive divisibility of extension, with its consequences;
as they are pompously displayed by all geometricians and metaphysicians,
with a kind of triumph and exultation. A real quantity, infinitely
less than any finite quantity, con- taining quantities infinitely
less than itself, and so on in infinitum; this is an edifice so
bold and prodigious, that it is too weighty for any pretended
demonstration to support, because it shocks the clearest and most
natural principles of human reason.[2] But what renders the matter
more extraordinary, is, that these seemingly absurd opinions are
supported by a chain of reasoning, the clearest and most natural;
nor is it possible for us to allow the premises without admitting
the consequences. Nothing can be more convincing and satisfactory
than all the conclusions con- cerning the properties of circles
and triangles; and yet, when these are once received, how can
we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle and its tangent
is infinitely less than any rectilineal angle, that as you may
increase the diameter of the circle in infinitum, this angle of
contact becomes still less, even in infinitum, and that the angle
of contact between other curves and their tangents may be infinitely
less than those between any circle and its tangent, and so on,
in infinitum? The demonstration of these prin- ciples seems as
unexceptionable as that which proves the three angles of a triangle
to be equal to two right ones, though the latter opinion be natural
and easy, and the former big with contradiction and absurdity.
Reason here seems to be thrown into a kind of amazement and sus-
pence, which, without the suggestions of any sceptic, gives her
a diffidence of herself, and of the ground on which she treads.
She sees a full light, which illuminates certain places; but that
light borders upon the most profound darkness. And between these
she is so dazzled and con- founded, that she scarcely can pronounce
with certainty and assurance concerning any one object. The absurdity
of these bold determinations of the ab- stract sciences seems
to become, if possible, still more palpable with regard to time
than extension. An infinite number of real parts of time, passing
in succession, and exhausted one after another, appears so evident
a contra- diction, that no man, one should think, whose judgement
is not corrupted, instead of being improved, by the sciences,
would ever be able to admit of it. Yet still reason must remain
restless, and unquiet, even with regard to that scepticism, to
which she is driven by these seeming absurdities and contradictions.
How any clear, distinct idea can contain circumstances, contradictory
to itself, or to any other clear, distinct idea, is absolutely
incomprehensible; and is, perhaps, as absurd as any propo- sition,
which can be formed. So that nothing can be more sceptical, or
more full of doubt and hesitation, than this scepticism itself,
which arises from some of the paradoxical conclusions of geometry
or the science of quantity.[3] The sceptical objections to moral
evidence, or to the reasonings concerning matter of fact, are
either popular or philosophical. The popular objections are derived
from the natural weakness of human understanding; the contra-
dictory opinions, which have been entertained in different ages
and nations; the variations of our judgement in sick- ness and
health, youth and old age, prosperity and adver- sity; the perpetual
contradiction of each particular man's opinions and sentiments;
with many other topics of that kind. It is needless to insist
farther on this head. These objections are but weak. For as, in
common life, we reason every moment concerning fact and existence,
and cannot possibly subsist, without continually employing this
species of argument, any popular objections, derived from thence,
must be insufficient to destroy that evidence. The great subverter
of Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of scepticism is action,
and employment, and the occupations of common life. These principles
may flourish and triumph in the schools; where it is, indeed,
difficult, if not impossible, to refute them. But as soon as they
leave the shade, and by the presence of the real objects, which
actuate our passions and sentiments, are put in opposition to
the more powerful principles of our nature, they vanish like smoke,
and leave the most determined sceptic in the same condition as
other mortals. The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within
his proper sphere, and display those philosophical objections,
which arise from more profound researches. Here he seems to have
ample matter of triumph; while he justly insists, that all our
evidence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond the testimony
of sense or memory, is derived entirely from the relation of cause
and effect; that we have no other idea of this relation than that
of two objects, which have been frequently conjoined together;
that we have no argument to convince us, that objects, which have,
in our experience, been frequently conjoined, will likewise, in
other instances, be conjoined in the same manner; and that nothing
leads us to this inference but custom or a certain instinct of
our nature; which it is indeed difficult to resist, but which,
like other instincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While the
sceptic insists upon these topics, he shows his force, or rather,
indeed, his own and our weakness; and seems, for the time at least,
to destroy all assurance and conviction. These arguments might
be displayed at greater length, if any durable good or benefit
to society could ever be expected to result from them. For here
is the chief and most confounding objection to excessive scepticism,
that no durable good can ever result from it; while it remains
in its full force and vigour. We need only ask such a sceptic,
What his meaning is? And what he proposes by all these curious
researches? He is immediately at a loss, and knows not what to
answer. A Copernican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his different
system of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction, which will
remain constant and durable, with his audience. A Stoic or Epicurean
displays principles, which may not be durable, but which have
an effect on conduct and be- haviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot
expect, that his philos- ophy will have any constant influence
on the mind: or if it had, that its influence would be beneficial
to society. On the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge
anything, that all human life must perish, were his principles
universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action
would immediately cease; and men remain in a total lethargy, till
the necessities of nature, unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable
existence. It is true; so fatal an event is very little to be
dreaded. Nature is always too strong for principle. And though
a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into a momentary amazement
and confusion by his profound reasonings; the first and most trivial
event in life will put to flight all his doubts and scruples,
and leave him the same, in every point of action and speculation,
with the philosophers of every other sect, or with those who never
concerned themselves in any philosophical researches. When he
awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join in the laugh
against himself, and to confess, that all his objections are mere
amusement, and can have no other tendency than to show the whimsical
condition of mankind, who must act and reason and believe; though
they are not able, by their most diligent enquiry, to satisfy
themselves concerning the foundation of these operations, or to
remove the objections, which may be raised against them. PART
III THERE is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academ- ical
philosophy, which may be both durable and useful, and which may,
in part, be the result of this Pyrrhonism, or excessive scepticism,
when its undistinguished doubts are, in some measure, corrected
by common sense and reflection. The greater part of mankind are
naturally apt to be affirm- ative and dogmatical in their opinions;
and while they see objects only on one side, and have no idea
of any counter- poising argument, they throw themselves precipitately
into the principles, to which they are inclined; nor have they
any indulgence for those who entertain opposite sentiments. To
hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding, checks their
passion, and suspends their action. They are, there- fore, impatient
till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneasy: and
they think, that they could never remove themselves far enough
from it, by the violence of their affirmations and obstinacy of
their belief. But could such dogmatical reasoners become sensible
of the strange in- firmities of human understanding, even in its
most perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious in its
determina- tions; such a reflection would naturally inspire them
with more modesty and reserve, and diminish their fond opinion
of themselves, and their prejudice against antagonists. The illiterate
may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, amidst all
the advantages of study and reflection, are com- monly still diffident
in their determinations: and if any of the learned be inclined,
from their natural temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small
tincture of Pyrrhonism might abate their pride, by showing them,
that the few ad- vantages, which they may have attained over their
fellows, are but inconsiderable, if compared with the universal
per- plexity and confusion, which is inherent in human nature.
In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and modesty,
which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought for ever to
accompany a just reasoner. Another species of mitigated scepticism
which may be of advantage to mankind, and which may be the natural
result of the Pyrrhonian doubts and scruples, is the limita- tion
of our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to the narrow
capacity of human understanding. The imagina- tion of man is naturally
sublime, delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary,
and running, without control, into the most distant parts of space
and time in order to avoid the objects, which custom has rendered
too familiar to it. A correct Judgement observes a contrary method,
and avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to
common life, and to such subjects as fall under daily prac- tice
and experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the embellishment
of poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and politicians.
To bring us to so salutary a determination, nothing can be more
serviceable, than to be once thoroughly convinced of the force
of the Pyrrhonian doubt, and of the impossibility, that anything,
but the strong power of natural instinct, could free us from it.
Those who have a propensity to philosophy, will still continue
their researches; because they reflect, that, besides the immediate
pleasure attending such an occupation, philosophical decisions
are nothing but the reflections of common life, methodized and
corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond common
life, so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties
which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations.
While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why we believe, after
a thousand experiments, that a stone will fall, or fire burn;
can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning any determination, which
we may form, with regard to the origin of worlds, and the situation
of nature, from, and to eternity? This narrow limitation, indeed,
of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so reasonable, that it
suffices to make the slightest examination into the natural powers
of the human mind and to compare them with their objects, in order
to recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper
subjects of science and enquiry. It seems to me, that the only
objects of the abstract science or of demonstration are quantity
and number, and that all attempts to extend this more perfect
species of knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and
illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number are entirely
similar, their relations become intricate and involved; and nothing
can be more curious, as well as useful, than to trace, by a variety
of mediums, their equality or inequality, through their different
appearances. But as all other ideas are clearly distinct and different
from each other, we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny,
than to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection,
pronounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any difficulty
in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the undeterminate
meaning of words, which is corrected by juster definitions. That
the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other
two sides, cannot be known, let the terms be ever so exactly defined,
without a train of reasoning and enquiry. But to convince us of
this propo- sition, that where there is no property, there can
be no in- justice, it is only necessary to define the terms, and
explain injustice to be a violation of property. This proposition
is, indeed, nothing but a more imperfect definition. It is the
same case with all those pretended syllogistical reasonings, which
may be found in every other branch of learning, except the sciences
of quantity and number; and these may safely, I think, be pronounced
the only proper objects of knowledge and demonstration. All other
enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and existence; and
these are evidently incapable of demon- stration. Whatever is
may not be. No negation of a fact can involve a contradiction.
The non-existence of any being, without exception, is as clear
and distinct an idea as its existence. The proposition, which
affirms it not to be, however false, is no less conceivable and
intelligible, than that which affirms it to be. The case is different
with the sciences, properly so called. Every proposition, which
is not true, is there confused and unintelligible. That the cube
root of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a false proposition,
and can never be distinctly conceived. But that Caesar, or the
angel Gabriel, or any being never ex- isted, may be a false proposition,
but still is perfectly con- ceivable, and implies no contradiction.
The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by arguments
from its cause or its effect; and these argu- ments are founded
entirely on experience. If we reason a priori, anything may appear
able to produce anything. The falling of a pebble may, for aught
we know, extinguish the sun; or the wish of a man control the
planets in their orbits. It is only experience, which teaches
us the nature and bounds of cause and effect, and enables us to
infer the existence of one object from that of another.[4] Such
is the foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the greater
part of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action
and behaviour. Moral reasonings are either concerning particular
or gen- eral facts. All deliberations in life regard the former;
as also all disquisitions in history, chronology, geography, and
astronomy. The sciences, which treat of general facts, are politics,
natural philosophy, physic, chemistry, &c. where the quali-
ties, causes and effects of a whole species of objects are enquired
into. Divinity or Theology, as it proves the existence of a Deity,
and the immortality of souls, is composed partly of reasonings
concerning particular, partly concerning gen- eral facts. It has
a foundation in reason, so far as it is supported by experience.
But its best and most solid foundation is faith and divine revelation.
Morals and criticism are not so properly objects of the understanding
as of taste and sentiment. Beauty, whether moral or natural, is
felt, more properly than perceived. Or if we reason concerning
it, and endeavour to fix its standard, we regard a new fact, to
wit, the general tastes of mankind, or some such fact, which may
be the object of reasoning and enquiry. When we run over libraries,
persuaded of these principles, what havoc must we make? If we
take in our hand any volume; of divinity or school metaphysics,
for instance; let us ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning
concern- ing quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experi-
mental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence? No.
Commit it then to the flames: for it can contain nothing but sophistry
and illusion. [1] This argument is drawn from Dr. Berkeley; and
indeed most of the writings of that very ingenious author form
the best lessons of scepticism, which are to be found either among
the ancient or modern philosophers, Bayle not excepted. He professes,
however, in his title-page (and undoubt- edly with great truth)
to have composed his book against the sceptics as well as against
the atheists and free-thinkers. But that all his arguments, though
otherwise intended, are, in reality, merely sceptical, appears
from this, that they admit of no answer and produce no conviction.
Their only effect is to cause that momentary amazement and irresolution
and confu- sion, which is the result of scepticism. [2] Whatever
disputes there may be about the mathematical points, we must allow
that there are physical points; that is, parts of extension, which
can- not be divided or lessened, either by the eye or imagination.
These images, then, which are present to the fancy or senses,
are absolutely indivisible, and consequently must be allowed by
mathematicians to be infinitely less than any real part of extension;
and yet nothing appears more certain to reason, than that an infinite
number of them composes an infinite extension. How much more an
infinite number of those infinitely small parts of exten- sion,
which are still supposed infinitely divisible. [3] It seems to
be not impossible to avoid these absurdities and contradic- tions,
if it be admitted, that there is no such thing as abstract or
general ideas, properly speaking; but that all general ideas are,
in reality, particula r ones, attached to a general term, which
recalls, upon occasion, other par- ticular ones, that resemble,
in certain circumstances, the idea, present to the mind. Thus
when the term Horse is pronounced, we immediately figure to ourselves
the idea of a black or a white animal, of a particular size or
figure: But as that term is also usually applied to animals of
other colours, figures and sizes, these ideas, though not actually
present to the imagina- tion, are easily recalled; and our reasoning
and conclusion proceed in the same way, as if they were actually
present. If this be admitted (as seems reasonable) it follows
that all the ideas of quantity, upon which mathema- ticians reason,
are nothing but particular, and such as are suggested by the senses
and imagination, and consequently, cannot be infinitely divisible.
It is sufficient to have dropped this hint at present, without
prosecuting it any farther. It certainly concerns all lovers of
science not to expose them- selves to the ridicule and contempt
of the ignorant by their conclusions; and this seems the readiest
solution of these difficulties. [4] That impious maxim of the
ancient philosophy, Ex nihilo, nihil fit, by which the creation
of matter was excluded, ceases to be a maxim, accord- ing to this
philosophy. Not only the will of the supreme Being may create
matter; but, for aught, we know a priori, the will of any other
being might create it, or any other cause, that the most whimsical
imagination can assign. [End] . From V.Pratt@lancaster.ac.uk Fri
Dec 22 21:47 GMT 1995 Received: from mail2.lancs.ac.uk by cent1.lancs.ac.uk;
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To: isa002@lancaster.ac.uk Subject: 1enq-wt.txt Status: RO The
Internet Wiretap online edition of AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN
UNDERSTANDING by DAVID HUME Harvard Classics Volume 37 Copyright
1910 P.F. Collier & Son Prepared by About
the online edition. This was scanned from the 1910 edition and
mechanically checked against a commercial copy of the text from
CDROM. Differences were corrected against the paper edition. The
text itself is thus a highly accurate rendition. The footnotes
were entered manually. This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN, released
August 1993. SECTION I OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.
MORAL philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated
after two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit,
and may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation
of man- kind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action;
and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing
one object, and avoiding another, according to the value which
these objects seem to possess, and accord- ing to the light in
which they present themselves. As vir- tue, of all objects, is
allowed to be the most valuable, this species of philosophers
paint her in the most amiable colours; borrowing all helps from
poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy and
obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the imagination,
and engage the affections. They select the most striking observations
and instances from common life; place opposite characters in a
proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the
views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths
by the soundest precepts and most illustrious examples. They make
us feel the difference between vice and virtue; they excite and
regulate our sentiments; and so they can but bend our hearts to
the love of probity and true honour, they think, that they have
fully attained the end of all their labours. The other species
of philosophers consider man in the light of a reasonable rather
than an active being, and endeavour to form his understanding
more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a
subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it,
in order to find those principles, which regulate our under- standing,
excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular
object, action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all
literature, that philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond
controversy, the foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism;
and should for ever talk of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue,
beauty and de- formity, without being able to determine the source
of these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task, they
are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from particular
instances to general principles, they still push on their enquiries
to principles more general, and rest not satisfied till they arrive
at those original principles, by which, in every science, all
human curiosity must be bounded. Though their speculations seem
abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim
at the approbation of the learned and the wise; and think them-
selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole
lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute
to the instruction of posterity. It is certain that the easy and
obvious philosophy will always, with the generality of mankind,
have the preference above the accurate and abstruse; and by many
will be recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful
than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds the heart
and affections; and, by touching those principles which actuate
men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model
of perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse
philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter
into business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves
the shade, and comes into open day; nor can its principles easily
retain any in- fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings
of our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of
our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the
profound philosopher to a mere plebeian. This also must be confessed,
that the most durable, as well as justest fame, has been acquired
by the easy philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto
to have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice
or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able to support
their renown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a profound
philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reasonings; and
one mistake is the necessary parent of another, while he pushes
on his consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion,
by its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular opinion.
But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common sense
of mankind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by
accident he falls into error, goes no farther; but renewing his
appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind,
returns into the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous
illusions. The fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that
of Aristotle is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and
still maintains his reputation: but the glory of Malebranche is
confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And Addison, perhaps,
will be read with pleasure, when Locke shall be entirely forgotten.
The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little
acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute nothing
either to the advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives
remote from communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles
and notions equally remote from their comprehension. On the other
hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing
deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation
where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of
all relish for those noble entertainments. The most perfect character
is supposed to lie between those extremes; retaining an equal
ability and taste for books, company, and business; preserving
in conversation that discernment and delicacy which arise from
polite letters; and in business, that probity and accuracy which
are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse
and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more
useful than compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw
not too much from life, require no deep appli- cation or retreat
to be comprehended, and send back the student among mankind full
of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every exigence
of human life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable,
science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement en- tertaining.
Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science
his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds
of human understanding, that little satisfac- tion can be hoped
for in this particular, either from the extent of security or
his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable
being: but neither can he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing,
or preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also an active
being; and from that disposition, as well as from the various
necessities of human life, must submit to business and occupation:
but the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always support
its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has
pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to the human
race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these biases
to draw too much, so as to incapacitate them for other occupations
and entertainments. Indulge your passion for science, says she,
but let your science be human, and such as may have a direct reference
to action and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches
I prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy
which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they
involve you, and by the cold reception which your pretended discoveries
shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philosopher; but, amidst
all your philosophy, be still a man. Were the generality of mankind
contented to prefer the easy philosophy to the abstract and profound,
without throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might
not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general opinion,
and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, his own taste
and sentiment. But as the matter is often carried farther, even
to the absolute rejecting of all pro- found reasonings, or what
is commonly called metaphysics, we shall now proceed to consider
what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf. We may begin with
observing, that one considerable advantage, which results from
the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its subserviency to
the easy and humane; which, without the former, can never attain
a sufficient degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts,
or reasonings. All polite letters are nothing but pictures of
human life in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us
with different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridi-
cule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set
before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this
undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick apprehension,
possesses an accurate knowledge of the in- ternal fabric, the
operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions,
and the various species of senti- ment which discriminate vice
and virtue. How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may
appear, it becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would
describe with success the obvious and outward appearances of life
and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most hideous
and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful to the painter
in delineating even a Venus or an Helen. While the latter employs
all the richest colours of his art, and gives his figures the
most graceful and engaging airs; he must still carry his attention
to the inward structure of the human body, the position of the
muscles, the fabric of the bones, and the use and figure of every
part or organ. Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty,
and just reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt
the one by depreciating the other. Besides, we may observe, in
every art or profession, even those which most concern life or
action, that a spirit of accuracy, however acquired, carries all
of them nearer their perfection, and renders them more subservient
to the interests of society. And though a philosopher may live
remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully cultivated
by several, must gradually diffuse itself through- out the whole
society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and calling.
The politician will acquire greater foresight and subtility, in
the subdividing and balancing of power; the lawyer more method
and finer principles in his reasonings; and the general more regularity
in his discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations.
The stability of modern governments above the ancient, and the
accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably will
still improve, by similar gradations. Were there no advantage
to be reaped from these studies, beyond the gratification of an
innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be despised; as
being one accession to those few safe and harmless pleasures,
which are bestowed on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive
path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning;
and whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or
open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a benefactor
to mankind. And though these researches may appear painful and
fatiguing, it is with some minds as with some bodies, which being
endowed with vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise,
and reap a pleasure from what, to the generality of mankind, may
seem burden- some and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful
to the mind as well as to the eye; but to bring light from obscurity,
by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and rejoicing. But
this obscurity in the profound and abstract philos- ophy, is objected
to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source
of uncertainty and error. Here in- deed lies the justest and most
plausible objection against a considerable part of metaphysics,
that they are not properly a science; but arise either from the
fruitless efforts of human vanity, which would penetrate into
subjects utterly inaccessible to the understanding, or from the
craft of pop- ular superstitions, which, being unable to defend
themselves on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to
cover and protect their weakness. Chased from the open country,
these robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in
upon every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it with
religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, if he
remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many, through cowardice
and folly, open the gates to the enemies, and willingly receive
them with reverence and submission, as their legal sovereigns.
But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should desist
from such researches, and leave superstition still in possession
of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an opposite conclusion,
and perceive the necessity of carrying the war into the most secret
recesses of the enemy? In vain do we hope, that men, from frequent
disappointment, will at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover
the proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many persons
find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling such topics;
besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair can never reasonably
have place in the sciences; since, how- ever unsuccessful former
attempts may have proved, there is still room to hope, that the
industry, good fortune, or improved sagacity of succeeding generations
may reach discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adventurous
genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself
stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his predecessors;
while he hopes that the glory of achieving so hard an adventure
is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning,
at once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously
into the nature of human understanding, and show, from an exact
analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted
for such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to this
fatigue in order to live at ease ever after: and must cultivate
true metaphysics with some care, in order to destroy the false
and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some persons, affords a safeguard
against this deceitful philos- ophy, is, with others, overbalanced
by curiosity; and de- spair, which, at some moments, prevails,
may give place after- wards to sanguine hopes and expectations.
Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted
for all persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert
that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which being
mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable
to careless reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom.
Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en- quiry,
the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are
many positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny
into the powers and faculties of human nature. It is remarkable
concerning the operations of the mind, that, though most intimately
present to us, yet, whenever they become the object of reflexion,
they seem involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find
those lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish
them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same aspect
or situation; and must be apprehended in an in- stant, by a superior
penetration, derived from nature, and improved by habit and reflexion.
It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable part of science barely
to know the different operations of the mind, to separate them
from each other, to class them under their proper heads, and to
correct all that seeming disorder, in which they lie involved,
when made the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering
and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed with regard
to external bodies, the objects of our senses, rises in its value,
when directed towards the operations of the mind, in proportion
to the difficulty and labour, which we meet with in performing
it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography, or
delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is
at least a satis- faction to go so far; and the more obvious this
science may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more con-
temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all pretenders
to learning and philosophy. Nor can there remain any suspicion,
that this science is uncertain and chimerical; unless we should
entertain such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation,
and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind is endowed
with several powers and faculties, that these powers are distinct
from each other, that what is really distinct to the immediate
perception may be distinguished by reflexion; and consequently,
that there is a truth and falsehood in all propositions on this
subject, and a truth and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass
of human understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of
this kind, such as those between the will and understanding, the
imagination and passions, which fall within the com- prehension
of every human creature; and the finer and more philosophical
distinctions are no less real and certain, though more difficult
to be comprehended. Some instances, especially late ones, of success
in these enquiries, may give us a juster notion of the certainty
and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we esteem it
worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system of
the planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote
bodies; while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much success,
delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so intimately
concerned? But may we not hope, that philosophy, cultivated with
care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may carry
its researches still farther, and discover, at least in some degree,
the secret springs and principles, by which the human mind is
actuated in its operations? Astronomers had long contented themselves
with proving, from the phaenomena, the true motions, order, and
magnitude of the heavenly bodies: till a philosopher, at last,
arose, who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also deter-
mined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the planets
are governed and directed. The like has been performed with regard
to other parts of nature. And there is no reason to despair of
equal success in our enquiries concerning the mental powers and
economy, if prosecuted with equal capacity and caution. It is
probable, that one operation and principle of the mind depends
on another; which, again, may be resolved into one more general
and universal: and how far these researches may possibly be carried,
it will be difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful
trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that attempts of
this kind are every day made even by those who philosophize the
most negligently: and nothing can be more requisite than to enter
upon the enterprize with thorough care and attention; that, if
it lie within the compass of human understanding, it may at last
be happily achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with
some confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is
not desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how
much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this species
of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto
been accustomed, when they considered the vast multitude and diversity
of those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search
for some common principle, on which this variety of sentiments
might depend. And though they have sometimes carried the matter
too far, by their passion for some one general principle; it must,
however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting to
find some general principles, into which all the vices and virtues
were justly to be resolved. The like has been the endeavour of
critics, logicians, and even politicians: nor have their attempts
been wholly unsuccessful; though perhaps longer time, greater
accuracy, and more ardent application may bring these sciences
still nearer their per- fection. To throw up at once all pretensions
of this kind may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and
dogmatical, than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy,
that has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and prin-
ciples on mankind. What though these reasonings concerning human
nature seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension? This affords
no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it seems impossible,
that what has hitherto escaped so many wise and profound philosophers
can be very obvious and easy. And whatever pains these researches
may cost us, we may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not
only in point of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we
can make any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of
such unspeakable importance. But as, after all, the abstractedness
of these speculations is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage
to them, and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care
and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have,
in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light upon subjects,
from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred the wise, and obscurity
the ignorant. Happy, if we can unite the boundaries of the different
species of philosophy, by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness,
and truth with novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in
this easy manner, we can undermine the foundations of an abstruse
philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served only as a shelter
to superstition, and a cover to absurdity and error! SECTION II
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS EVERY one will readily allow, that there
is a consider- able difference between the perceptions of the
mind, when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure
of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards re- calls to his memory
this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These faculties
may mimic or copy the percep- tions of the senses; but they never
can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the original sentiment.
The utmost we say of them, even when they operate with greatest
vigour, is, that they represent their object in so lively a manner,
that we could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind
be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at
such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether
undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid,
can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the
description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought
is still inferior to the dullest sensation. We may observe a like
distinction to run through all the other perceptions of the mind.
A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a very different manner
from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that
any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from
a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake that
conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion.
When we reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought
is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly; but the colours
which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of those in
which our original per- ceptions were clothed. It requires no
nice discernment or metaphysical head to mark the distinction
between them. Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions
of the mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished
by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible
and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The other
species want a name in our language, and in most others; I suppose,
because it was not requisite for any, but philosophical purposes,
to rank them under a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore,
use a little freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that
word in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term
impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when
we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will.
And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less
lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect
on any of those sensations or movements above mentioned. Nothing,
at first view, may seem more unbounded than the thought of man,
which not only escapes all human power and authority, but is not
even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form
monsters, and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the
imagination no more trouble than to conceive the most natural
and familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one planet,
along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the thought can
in an instant transport us into the most dis- tant regions of
the universe; or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded
chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. What
never was seen, or heard of, may yet be conceived; nor is any
thing beyond the power of thought, except what implies an absolute
contradiction. But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is
really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this creative
power of the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of compounding,
transposing, augmenting, or diminishing the materials afforded
us by the senses and experience. When we think of a golden mountain,
we only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which
we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive;
because, from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue; and this
we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which is an animal
familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are derived
either from our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and com-
position of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, to express
myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble
perceptions are copies of our impressions or more lively ones.
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, be sufficient.
First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however compounded
or sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such
simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment.
Even those ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of
this origin, are found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived
from it. The idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent,
wise, and good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations
of our own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities
of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry to what
length we please; where we shall always find, that every idea
which we examine is copied from a similar impression. Those who
would assert that this position is not universally true nor without
exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting
it; by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived
from this source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would
maintain our doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception,
which corresponds to it. Secondly. If it happen, from a defect
of the organ, that a man is not susceptible of any species of
sensation, we always find that he is as little susceptible of
the cor- respondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colours;
a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense in which
he is deficient; by opening this new inlet for his sensations,
you also open an inlet for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty
in conceiving these objects. The case is the same, if the object,
proper for exciting any sensation, has never been applied to the
organ. A Lap- lander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine.
And though there are few or no instances of a like deficiency
in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly incapable
of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species; yet we
find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man
of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty;
nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship
and gener- osity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may
possess many senses of which we can have no conception; because
the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the only
manner by which an idea can have access to the mind, to wit, by
the actual feeling and sensation. There is, however, one contradictory
phenomenon, which may prove that it is not absolutely impossible
for ideas to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions.
I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct
ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound, which
are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each other;
though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this be true of different
colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the
same colour; and each shade produces a distinct idea, independent
of the rest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by
the continual grada- tion of shades, to run a colour insensibly
into what is most remote from it; and if you will not allow any
of the means to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny
the extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have
enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become perfectly
acquainted with colours of all kinds except one particular shade
of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to
meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except
that single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from
the deepest to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive
a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that
there is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous
colour than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be possible for
him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and
raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though
it had never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there
are few but will be of opinion that he can: and this may serve
as a proof that the simple ideas are not always, in every instance,
derived from the correspondent impressions; though this instance
is so singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does
not merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself,
simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of it,
might render every dispute equally intelligible, and banish all
that jargon, which has so long taken possession of metaphysical
reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas, especially
abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure: the mind has but
a slender hold of them: they are apt to be confounded with other
resembling ideas; and when we have often employed any term, though
with- out a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a deter-
minate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that
is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and vivid:
the limits between them are more exactly deter- mined: nor is
it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them.
When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a philosophical
term is employed without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent),
we need but enquire, from what impression is that supposed idea
derived? And if it be impossible to assign any, this will serve
to confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light
we may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise,
concerning their nature and reality.[1] [1] It is probable that
no more was meant by these, who denied innate ideas, than that
all ideas were copies of our impressions; though it must be confessed,
that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with such
caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about
their doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent
to natural, then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must
be allowed to be innate or natural, in whatever sense we take
the latter word, whether in opposi- tion to what is uncommon,
artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant, contemporary
to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth
while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before,
at, or after our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly
taken in a very loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing
for any of our per- ceptions, our sensations and passions, as
well as thoughts. Now in this sense, I should desire to know,
what can be meant by asserting, that self- love, or resentment
of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate ?
But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense
above explained, and understanding by innate, what is original
or copied from no precedent perception, then may we assert that
all our impressions are innate, and our ideas not innate. To be
ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was betrayed
into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde-
fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without
ever touch- ing the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution
seem to run through that philosopher's reasonings on this as well
as most other subjects. SECTION III OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS
IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion be- tween
the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that in their
appearance to the memory or imagination, they introduce each other
with a certain degree of method and regularity. In our more serious
thinking or discourse this is so observable that any particular
thought, which breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas,
is immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our wildest
and most wandering reveries, nay in our very dreams, we shall
find, if we reflect, that the imagination ran not altogether at
adventures, but that there was still a connexion upheld among
the different ideas, which suc- ceeded each other. Were the loosest
and freest conversa- tion to be transcribed, there would immediately
be observed something which connected it in all its transitions.
Or where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of discourse
might still inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his
mind a succession of thought, which had gradually led him from
the subject of conversation. Among different languages, even where
we cannot suspect the least connexion or communication, it is
found, that the words, expressive of ideas, the most compounded,
do yet nearly correspond to each other: a certain proof that the
simple ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound together
by some universal principle, which had an equal influence on all
mankind. Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that
different ideas are connected together; I do not find that any
philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the principles
of association; a subject, however, that seems worthy of curiosity.
To me, there appear to be only three principles of connexion among
ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause
or Effect. That these principles serve to connect ideas will not,
I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts
to the original:[1] the mention of one apartment in a building
naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse concerning the others:[2]
and if we think of a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting
on the pain which follows it.[3] But that this enumeration is
complete, and that there are no other principles of association
except these, may be difficult to prove to the satisfaction of
the reader, or even to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do,
in such cases, is to run over several instances, and examine carefully
the principle which binds the different thoughts to each other,
never stopping till we render the principle as general as possible.[4]
The more instances we examine, and the more care we employ, the
more assurance shall we acquire, that the enumeration, which we
form from the whole, is com- plete and entire. [1] Resemblance.
[2] Contiguity. [3] Cause and effect. [4] For instance, Contrast
or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas: but it may perhaps,
be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resem- blance. Where
two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that is,
the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation
of an object, implies the idea of its former existence. SECTION
IV SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF THE UNDERSTANDING
PART I ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally
be divided into two kinds, to wit, Rela- tions of Ideas, and Matters
of Fact. Of the first kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra,
and Arithmetic; and in short, every affirmation which is either
intuitively or demonstratively certain. That the square of the
hypothenuse is equal to the square of the two sides, is a proposition
which expresses a relation between these figures. That three times
five is equal to the half of thirty, expresses a relation between
these numbers. Propositions of this kind are discoverable by the
mere operation of thought, without dependence on what is anywhere
existent in the universe. Though there never were a circle or
triangle in nature, the truths demonstrated by Euclid would for
ever retain their certainty and evidence. Matters of fact, which
are the second objects of human reason, are not ascertained in
the same manner; nor is our evidence of their truth, however great,
of a like nature with the foregoing. The contrary of every matter
of fact is still possible; because it can never imply a contradiction,
and is conceived by the mind with the same facility and dis- tinctness,
as if ever so conformable to reality. That the sun will not rise
to-morrow is no less intelligible a propo- sition, and implies
no more contradiction than the affirma- tion, that it will rise.
We should in vain, therefore, attempt to demonstrate its falsehood.
Were it demonstratively false, it would imply a contradiction,
and could never be dis- tinctly conceived by the mind. It may,
therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire what is
the nature of that evidence which assures us of any real existence
and matter of fact, beyond the present testimony of our senses,
or the records of our memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable,
has been little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns;
and therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so
important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while we march
through such difficult paths without any guide or direction. They
may even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and destroying that
implicit faith and security, which is the bane of all reasoning
and free enquiry. The discovery of defects in the common philosophy,
if any such there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement,
but rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something more
full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to the public.
All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be founded on
the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of that relation alone
we can go beyond the evidence of our memory and senses. If you
were to ask a man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is
absent; for instance, that his friend is in the country, or in
France; he would give you a reason; and this reason would be some
other fact; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of
his former resolutions and promises. A man finding a watch or
any other machine in a desert island, would conclude that there
had once been men in that island. All our rea- sonings concerning
fact are of the same nature. And here it is constantly supposed
that there is a connexion between the present fact and that which
is inferred from it. Were there nothing to bind them together,
the inference would be entirely precarious. The hearing of an
articulate voice and rational discourse in the dark assures us
of the pres- ence of some person: Why? because these are the effects
of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with it. If
we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature, we shall
find that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect,
and that this relation is either near or remote, direct or collateral.
Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect
may justly be inferred from the other. If we would satisfy ourselves,
therefore, concerning the nature of that evidence, which assures
us of matters of fact, we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge
of cause and effect. I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition,
which admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation
is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but
arises entirely from experience, when we find that any particular
objects are constantly conjoined with each other. Let an object
be presented to a man of ever so strong natural reason and abilities;
if that object be entirely new to him, he will not be able, by
the most accurate examination of its sensible qualities, to discover
any of its causes or effects. Adam, though his rational faculties
be supposed, at the very first, entirely perfect, could not have
inferred from the fluidity and transparency of water that it would
suffo- cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it
would consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities
which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro- duced
it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can our reason,
unassisted by experience, ever draw any in- ference concerning
real existence and matter of fact. This proposition, that causes
and effects are discoverable, not by reason but by experience,
will readily be admitted with regard to such objects, as we remember
to have once been altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious
of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling
what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of marble
to a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy; he will never
discover that they will adhere together in such a manner as to
require great force to separate them in a direct line, while they
make so small a resistance to a lateral pressure. Such events,
as bear little analogy to the common course of nature, are also
readily confessed to be known only by experience; nor does any
man imagine that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction
of a load- stone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori.
In like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an intricate
machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no difficulty
in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience. Who will
assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why milk or bread
is proper nourishment for a man, not for a lion or a tiger? But
the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have the same
evidence with regard to events, which have become familiar to
us from our first appearance in the world, which bear a close
analogy to the whole course of nature, and which are supposed
to depend on the simple qualities of objects, without any secret
structure of parts. We are apt to imagine that we could discover
these effects by the mere operation of our reason, without experience.
We fancy, that were we brought on a sudden into this world, we
could at first have inferred that one Billiard-ball would communicate
motion to another upon impulse; and that we needed not to have
waited for the event, in order to pro- nounce with certainty concerning
it. Such is the influence of custom, that, where it is strongest,
it not only covers our natural ignorance, but even conceals itself,
and seems not to take place, merely because it is found in the
highest degree. But to convince us that all the laws of nature,
and all the operations of bodies without exception, are known
only by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suf-
fice. Were any object presented to us, and were we required to
pronounce concerning the effect, which will result from it, without
consulting past observation; after what manner, I beseech you,
must the mind proceed in this operation? It must invent or imagine
some event, which it ascribes to the object as its effect; and
it is plain that this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The
mind can never possibly find the effect in the supposed cause,
by the most accurate scrutiny and examination. For the effect
is totally different from the cause, and consequently can never
be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a quite
distinct event from motion in the first; nor is there anything
in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the other. A stone
or piece of metal raised into the air, and left without any support,
immediately falls: but to consider the matter a priori, is there
anything we discover in this situation which can beget the idea
of a downward, rather than an upward, or any other motion, in
the stone or metal? And as the first imagination or invention
of a particular effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary,
where we con- sult not experience; so must we also esteem the
supposed tie or connexion between the cause and effect, which
binds them together, and renders it impossible that any other
effect could result from the operation of that cause. When I see,
for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line towards
another; even suppose motion in the second ball should by accident
be suggested to me, as the result of their contact or impulse;
may I not conceive, that a hundred dif- ferent events might as
well follow from that cause? May not both these balls remain at
absolute rest? May not the first ball return in a straight line,
or leap off from the second in any line or direction? All these
suppositions are con- sistent and conceivable. Why then should
we give the preference to one, which is no more consistent or
conceivable than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never
be able to show us any foundation for this preference. In a word,
then, every effect is a distinct event from its cause. It could
not, therefore, be discovered in the cause, and the first invention
or conception of it, a priori, must be entirely arbitrary. And
even after it is suggested, the con- junction of it with the cause
must appear equally arbitrary; since there are always many other
effects, which, to reason, must seem fully as consistent and natural.
In vain, there- fore, should we pretend to determine any single
event, or infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of
observa- tion and experience. Hence we may discover the reason
why no philosopher, who is rational and modest, has ever pretended
to assign the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show
distinctly the action of that power, which produces any single
effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost effort
of human reason is to reduce the principles, productive of natural
phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular
effects into a few gen- eral causes, by means of reasonings from
analogy, experi- ence, and observation. But as to the causes of
these general causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery;
nor shall we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular
ex- plication of them. These ultimate springs and principles are
totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elas- ticity,
gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion by impulse;
these are probably the ultimate causes and prin- ciples which
we shall ever discover in nature; and we may esteem ourselves
sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reasoning, we
can trace up the particular phenomena to, or near to, these general
principles. The most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only
staves off our ignorance a little longer: as perhaps the most
perfect philosophy of the moral or metaphysical kind serves only
to discover larger portions of it. Thus the observation of human
blindness and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets
us at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid
it. Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural
philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into the
knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of reasoning
for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part of mixed mathematics
proceeds upon the supposition that certain laws are established
by nature in her operations; and abstract reasonings are employed,
either to assist ex- perience in the discovery of these laws,
or to determine their influence in particular instances, where
it depends upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus,
it is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the mo-
ment or force of any body in motion is in the compound ratio or
proportion of its solid contents and its velocity; and consequently,
that a small force may remove the greatest obstacle or raise the
greatest weight, if, by any contrivance or machinery, we can increase
the velocity of that force, so as to make it an overmatch for
its antagonist. Geometry assists us in the application of this
law, by giving us the just dimensions of all the parts and figures
which can enter into any species of machine; but still the discovery
of the law itself is owing merely to experience, and all the abstract
reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards the
knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider merely
any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, inde- pendent
of all observation, it never could suggest to us the notion of
any distinct object, such as its effect; much less, show us the
inseparable and inviolable connexion between them. A man must
be very sagacious who could discover by reasoning that crystal
is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without being previously
acquainted with the operation of these qualities. PART II BUT
we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfac- tion with regard
to the question first proposed. Each solution still gives rise
to a new question as difficult as the foregoing, and leads us
on to farther enquiries. When it is asked, What is the nature
of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact? the proper answer
seems to be, that they are founded on the relation of cause and
effect. When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all
our reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may
be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on our
sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all conclusions
from experience? this implies a new question, which may be of
more difficult solution and explication. Philosophers, that give
themselves airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard
task when they encounter per- sons of inquisitive dispositions,
who push them from every corner to which they retreat, and who
are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The
best expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our
preten- sions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before
it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of merit
of our very ignorance. I shall content myself, in this section,
with an easy task, and shall pretend only to give a negative answer
to the question here proposed. I say then, that, even after we
have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our conclusions
from that experience are not founded on reason- ing, or any process
of the understanding. This answer we must endeavour both to explain
and to defend. It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept
us at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded
us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of ob- jects;
while she conceals from us those powers and prin- ciples on which
the influence of those objects entirely de- pends. Our senses
inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread; but
neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities
which fit it for the nourish- ment and support of a human body.
Sight or feeling con- veys an idea of the actual motion of bodies;
but as to that wonderful force or power, which would carry on
a moving body for ever in a continued change of place, and which
bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of this we
cannot form the most distant conception. But not- withstanding
this ignorance of natural powers[1] and princi- ples, we always
presume, when we see like sensible quali- ties, that they have
like secret powers, and expect that effects, similar to those
which we have experienced, will follow from them. If a body of
like colour and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly
eat, be pre- sented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the
experi- ment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and
support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought, of which
I would willingly know the foundation. It is allowed on all hands
that there is no known connexion between the sensible qualities
and the secret powers; and consequently, that the mind is not
led to form such a con- clusion concerning their constant and
regular conjunction, by anything which it knows of their nature.
As to past Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain
information of those precise objects only, and that precise period
of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why this experience
should be extended to future times, and to other objects, which
for aught we know, may be only in appearance similar; this is
the main question on which I would insist. The bread, which I
formerly eat, nourished me; that is, a body of such sensible qualities
was, at that time, endued with such secret powers: but does it
follow, that other bread must also nourish me at another time,
and that like sensible qualities must always be attended with
like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise neces- sary.
At least, it must be acknowledged that there is here a consequence
drawn by the mind; that there is a certain step taken; a process
of thought, and an inference, which wants to be explained. These
two propositions are far from being the same. I have found that
such an object has always been attended with such an effect, and
I foresee, that other objects, which are, in appearance, similar,
will be attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please,
that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the other:
I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you insist
that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning, I desire you
to produce that reasoning. The connexion between these propositions
is not intuitive. There is re- quired a medium, which may enable
the mind to draw such an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning
and argu- ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my
comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to produce it, who
assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our conclusions
concerning matter of fact. This negative argument must certainly,
in process of time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating
and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way and
no one be ever able to discover any connecting propo- sition or
intermediate step, which supports the understand- ing in this
conclusion. But as the question is yet new, every reader may not
trust so far to his own penetration, as to conclude, because an
argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore it does not really
exist. For this reason it may be requisite to venture upon a more
difficult task; and enumerating all the branches of human knowledge,
en- deavour to show that none of them can afford such an argument.
All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely, demonstrative
reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral reasoning,
or that concerning matter of fact and existence. That there are
no demonstrative argu- ments in the case seems evident; since
it implies no con- tradiction that the course of nature may change,
and that an object, seemingly like those which we have experi-
enced, may be attended with different or contrary effects. May
I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body, falling from
the clouds, and which, in all other respects, resembles snow,
has yet the taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more
intelligible proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will
flourish in December and January, and decay in May and June? Now
whatever is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies
no contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demon-
strative argument or abstract reasoning a priori. If we be, therefore,
engaged by arguments to put trust in past experience, and make
it the standard of our future judgment, these arguments must be
probable only, or such as regard matter of fact and real existence
according to the division above mentioned. But that there is no
argument of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that
species of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We
have said that all arguments concerning existence are founded
on the relation of cause and effect; that our knowledge of that
relation is derived entirely from experi- ence; and that all our
experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition that the
future will be conformable to the past. To endeavour, therefore,
the proof of this last supposition by probable arguments, or arguments
regarding existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and
taking that for granted, which is the very point in question.
In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on the similarity
which we discover among natural objects, and by which we are induced
to expect effects similar to those which we have found to follow
from such objects. And though none but a fool or madman will ever
pretend to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that
great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a philoso-
pher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the principle
of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to experience,
and makes us draw advantage from that similarity which nature
has placed among different objects. >From causes which appear
similar we expect similar effects. This is the sum of all our
experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident that, if this conclusion
were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon
one in- stance, as after ever so long a course of experience.
But the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no
one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the same
taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long course
of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance
and security with regard to a particular event. Now where is that
process of reasoning which, from one instance, draws a conclusion,
so different from that which it infers from a hundred instances
that are nowise different from that single one? This question
I propose as much for the sake of information, as with an intention
of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such
reasoning. But I keep my mind still open to instruction, if any
one will vouchsafe to bestow it on me. Should it be said that,
from a number of uniform experi- ments, we infer a connexion between
the sensible qualities and the secret powers; this, I must confess,
seems the same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question
still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is founded?
Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, which join propositions
so very wide of each other? It is confessed that the colour, consistence,
and other sensible qualities of bread appear not, of themselves,
to have any connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and
sup- port. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers from
the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without the
aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers,
and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here, then, is our natural
state of ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of
all objects. How is this remedied by experience? It only shows
us a number of uniform effects, resulting from certain objects,
and teaches us that those particular objects, at that particular
time, were en- dowed with such powers and forces. When a new object,
endowed with similar sensible qualities, is produced, we expect
similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect. >From
a body of like colour and consistence with bread we expect like
nourishment and support. But this surely is a step or progress
of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, I have
found, in all past instances, such sensible qualities conjoined
with such secret powers: And when he says, Similar sensible qualities
will always be con- joined with similar secret powers, he is not
guilty of a tau- tology, nor are these propositions in any respect
the same. You say that the one proposition is an inference from
the other. But you must confess that the inference is not intuitive;
neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it, then? To say
it is experimental, is begging the question. For all inferences
from experience suppose, as their founda- tion, that the future
will resemble the past, and that similar powers will be conjoined
with similar sensible qualities. If there be any suspicion that
the course of nature may change, and that the past may be no rule
for the future, all experience becomes useless, and can give rise
to no in- ference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore,
that any arguments from experience can prove this resemblance
of the past to the future; since all these arguments are founded
on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the course of things
be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that alone, without some
new argument or inference, proves not that, for the future, it
will continue so. In vain do you pretend to have learned the nature
of bodies from your past experience. Their secret nature, and
consequently all their effects and influence, may change, without
any change in their sensible qualities. This happens some- times,
and with regard to some objects: Why may it not happen always,
and with regard to all objects? What logic, what process or argument
secures you against this supposi- tion? My practice, you say,
refutes my doubts. But you mistake the purport of my question.
As an agent, I am quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher,
who has some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I
want to learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no
enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give me
satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do better than
propose the difficulty to the public, even though, perhaps, I
have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We shall at least, by
this means, be sensible of our ignorance, if we do not augment
our knowledge. I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable
arrogance who concludes, because an argument has es- caped his
own investigation, that therefore it does not really exist. I
must also confess that, though all the learned, for several ages,
should have employed themselves in fruit- less search upon any
subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash to conclude positively
that the subject must, therefore, pass all human comprehension.
Even though we examine all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude
them un- fit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion,
that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination not accurate.
But with regard to the present subject, there are some considerations
which seem to remove all this accusation of arrogance or suspicion
of mistake. It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants--
nay infants, nay even brute beasts--improve by experience, and
learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the effects
which result from them. When a child has felt the sensation of
pain from touching the flame of a candle, he will be careful not
to put his hand near any candle; but will expect a similar effect
from a cause which is similar in its sensible qualities and appearance.
If you assert, there- fore, that the understanding of the child
is led into this conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination,
I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor have you
any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. You cannot say that
the argument is abstruse, and may possibly escape your enquiry;
since you confess that it is obvious to the capacity of a mere
infant. If you hesitate, therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection,
you produce any intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner,
give up the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which
engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and to expect
similar effects from causes which are, to appear- ance, similar.
This is the proposition which I intended to enforce in the present
section. If I be right, I pretend not to have made any mighty
discovery. And if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to be
indeed a very backward scholar; since I cannot now discover an
argument which, it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before
I was out of my cradle. [1] The word, Power, is here used in a
loose and popular sense. The more accurate explication of it would
give additional evidence to this argument. See Sect. 7. SECTION
V SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS PART I THE passion for philosophy,
like that for religion, seems liable to this inconvenience, that,
though it aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpation
of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent management, to foster
a predominant inclination, and push the mind, with more determined
resolution, towards that side which already draws too much, by
the bias and propensity of the natural temper. It is certain that,
while we aspire to the magnanimous firmness of the philosophic
sage, and en- deavour to confine our pleasures altogether within
our own minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like that
of Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of
selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well as
social enjoyment. While we study with attention the vanity of
human life, and turn all our thoughts towards the empty and transitory
nature of riches and honours, we are, perhaps, all the while flattering
our natural indolence, which, hating the bustle of the world,
and drudgery of business, seeks a pretence of reason to give itself
a full and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one species
of philosophy which seems little liable to this in- convenience,
and that because it strikes in with no dis- orderly passion of
the human mind, nor can mingle it- self with any natural affection
or propensity; and that is the Academic or Sceptical philosophy.
The academics al- ways talk of doubt and suspense of judgment,
of danger in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow
bounds the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all
speculations which lie not within the limits of common life and
practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary than such a
philosophy to the supine indolence of the mind, its rash arrogance,
its lofty pretensions, and its super- stitious credulity. Every
passion is mortified by it, except the love of truth; and that
passion never is, nor can be, carried to too high a degree. It
is surprising, therefore, that this philosophy, which, in almost
every instance, must be harmless and innocent, should be the subject
of so much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps, the
very circumstance which renders it so innocent is what chiefly
exposes it to the public hatred and resentment. By flattering
no irregular passion, it gains few partizans: By opposing so many
vices and follies, it raises to itself abundance of enemies, who
stigmatize it as libertine, pro- fane, and irreligious. Nor need
we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours to limit our
enquiries to common life, should ever undermine the reasonings
of common life, and carry its doubts so far as to destroy all
action, as well as speculation. Nature will always maintain her
rights, and prevail in the end over any abstract reasoning whatsoever.
Though we should conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section,
that, in all reasonings from experience, there is a step taken
by the mind which is not supported by any argument or process
of the understanding; there is no danger that these rea- sonings,
on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever be affected by
such a discovery. If the mind be not en- gaged by argument to
make this step, it must be induced by some other principle of
equal weight and authority; and that principle will preserve its
influence as long as human nature remains the same. What that
principle is may well be worth the pains of enquiry. Suppose a
person, though endowed with the strongest faculties of reason
and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world; he
would, indeed, immediately observe a continual succession of objects,
and one event following another; but he would not be able to discover
anything farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be
able to reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular
powers, by which all natural operations are performed, never appear
to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude, merely because
one event, in one instance, precedes another, that therefore the
one is the cause, the other the effect. Their conjunction may
be arbitrary and casual. There may be no reason to infer the existence
of one from the appearance of the other. And in a word, such a
person, without more experience, could never employ his conjecture
or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured of anything
beyond what was immediately present to his memory and senses.
Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience, and has
lived so long in the world as to have observed familiar objects
or events to be constantly conjoined to- gether; what is the consequence
of this experience? He immediately infers the existence of one
object from the appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all
his ex- perience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret
power by which the one object produces the other; nor is it by
any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw this inference.
But still he finds himself determined to draw it: and though he
should be convinced that his understanding has no part in the
operation, he would nevertheless continue in the same course of
thinking. There is some other principle which determines him to
form such a conclusion. This principle is Custom or Habit. For
wherever the repetition of any particular act or operation produces
a propensity to renew the same act or operation, without being
impelled by any reasoning or process of the under- standing, we
always say, that this propensity is the effect of Custom. By employing
that word, we pretend not to have given the ultimate reason of
such a propensity. We only point out a principle of human nature,
which is universally acknowledged, and which is well known by
its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or
pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest contented
with it as the ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all
our conclusions from experience. It is suf- ficient satisfaction,
that we can go so far, without repining at the narrowness of our
faculties because they will carry us no farther. And it is certain
we here advance a very intelligible proposition at least, if not
a true one, when we assert that, after the constant conjunction
of two ob- jects--heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity--
we are determined by custom alone to expect the one from the appearance
of the other. This hypothesis seems even the only one which explains
the difficulty, why we draw, from a thousand instances, an inference
which we are not able to draw from one instance, that is, in no
respect, different from them. Reason is incapable of any such
variation. The conclusions which it draws from consider- ing one
circle are the same which it would form upon surveying all the
circles in the universe. But no man, having seen only one body
move after being impelled by another, could infer that every other
body will move after a like impulse. All inferences from experience,
therefore, are effects of custom, not of reasoning.[1] Custom,
then, is the great guide of human life. It is that principle alone
which renders our experience useful to us, and makes us expect,
for the future, a similar train of events with those which have
appeared in the past. Without the influence of custom, we should
be entirely ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately
present to the memory and senses. We should never know how to
adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural powers in the production
of any effect. There would be an end at once of all action, as
well as of the chief part of speculation. But here it may be proper
to remark, that though our conclusions from experience carry us
beyond our memory and senses, and assure us of matters of fact
which hap- pened in the most distant places and most remote ages,
yet some fact must always be present to the senses or memory,
from which we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions.
A man, who should find in a desert country the remains of pompous
buildings, would conclude that the country had, in ancient times,
been cultivated by civil- ized inhabitants; but did nothing of
this nature occur to him, he could never form such an inference.
We learn the events of former ages from history; but then we must
peruse the volumes in which this instruction is contained, and
thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to another,
till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of these distant
events. In a word, if we proceed not upon some fact, present to
the memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely hypothetical;
and however the particular links might be connected with each
other, the whole chain of inferences would have nothing to support
it, nor could we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of
any real existence. If I ask why you believe any particular matter
of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason; and this
reason will be some other fact, connected with it. But as you
cannot proceed after this manner, in infinitum, you must at last
terminate in some fact, which is present to your memory or senses;
or must allow that your belief is entirely without foundation.
What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A simple one;
though, it must be confessed, pretty remote from the common theories
of philosophy. All belief of matter of fact or real existence
is derived merely from some object, present to the memory or senses,
and a customary conjunction between that and some other object.
Or in other words; having found, in many instances, that any two
kinds of objects--flame and heat, snow and cold--have always been
conjoined together; if flame or snow be pre- sented anew to the
senses, the mind is carried by custom to expect heat or cold,
and to believe that such a quality does exist, and will discover
itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the necessary result
of placing the mind in such circumstances. It is an operation
of the soul, when we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel
the passion of love, when we receive benefits; or hatred, when
we meet with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural
instincts, which no reasoning or process of the thought and understanding
is able either to produce or to prevent. At this point, it would
be very allowable for us to stop our philosophical researches.
In most questions we can never make a single step farther; and
in all questions we must terminate here at last, after our most
restless and curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be
pardonable, perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther
researches, and make us examine more accurately the na- ture of
this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is derived.
By this means we may meet with some ex- plications and analogies
that will give satisfaction; at least to such as love the abstract
sciences, and can be enter- tained with speculations, which, however
accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty.
As to readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following en- quiries
may well be understood, though it be neglected. PART II NOTHING
is more free than the imagination of man; and though it cannot
exceed that original stock of ideas fur- nished by the internal
and external senses, it has unlimited power of mixing, compounding,
separating, and dividing these ideas, in all the varieties of
fiction and vision. It can feign a train of events, with all the
appearance of reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place,
conceive them as existent, and paint them out to itself with every
circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it believes
with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore, consists the
difference between such a fiction and belief? It lies not merely
in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception as
commands our assent, and which is wanting to every known fiction.
For as the mind has authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily
annex this particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be
able to believe whatever it pleases; contrary to what we find
by daily experience. We can, in our conception, join the head
of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our power to
believe that such an animal has ever really existed. It follows,
therefore, that the difference between fiction and belief lies
in some sentiment or feeling, which is annexed to the latter,
not to the former, and which depends not on the will, nor can
be commanded at pleasure. It must be excited by nature, like all
other sentiments; and must arise from the particular situation,
in which the mind is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever
any object is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately,
by the force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that
object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception
is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose
reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief.
For as there is no matter of fact which we believe so firmly that
we cannot conceive the contrary, there would be no difference
between the conception as- sented to and that which is rejected,
were it not for some sentiment which distinguishes the one from
the other. If I see a billiard-ball moving toward another, on
a smooth table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon contact.
This conception implies no contradiction; but still it feels very
differently from that conception by which I represent to myself
the impulse and the communication of motion from one ball to another.
Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we should,
perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impossible task;
in the same manner as if we should endeavour to define the feeling
of cold or passion of anger, to a creature who never had any experience
of these sentiments. Belief is the true and proper name of this
feeling; and no one is ever at a loss to know the meaning of that
term; because every man is every moment conscious of the sentiment
represented by it. It may not, however, be improper to attempt
a description of this sentiment; in hopes we may, by that means,
arrive at some analogies, which may afford a more perfect explication
of it. I say, then, that belief is nothing but a more vivid, lively,
forcible, firm, steady con- ception of an object, than what the
imagination alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms,
which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express
that act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken
for such, more present to us than fictions, causes them to weigh
more in the thought, and gives them a superior influence on the
passions and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, it
is needless to dispute about the terms. The imagination has the
command over all its ideas, and can join and mix and vary them,
in all the ways possible. It may conceive fictitious objects with
all the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in a
manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as they might
have existed. But as it is impossible that this faculty of imagination
can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is evident that belief consists
not in the peculiar nature or order of ideas, but in the manner
of their conception, and in their feeling to the mind. I confess,
that it is impossible perfectly to explain this feeling or manner
of conception. We may make use of words which express something
near it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before,
is belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently under-
stands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no farther
than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind, which
distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the fictions of
the imagination. It gives them more weight and influence; makes
them appear of greater importance; en- forces them in the mind;
and renders them the governing principle of our actions. I hear
at present, for instance, a person's voice, with whom I am acquainted;
and the sound comes as from the next room. This impression of
my senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, to- gether
with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as
existing at present, with the same qualities and relations, of
which I formerly knew them possessed. These ideas take faster
hold of my mind than ideas of an en- chanted castle. They are
very different to the feeling, and have a much greater influence
of every kind, either to give pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.
Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, and
allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a conception
more intense and steady than what attends the mere fictions of
the imagination, and that this manner of conception arises from
a customary conjunction of the object with something present to
the memory or senses: I believe that it will not be difficult,
upon these supposi- tions, to find other operations of the mind
analogous to it, and to trace up these phenomena to principles
still more general. We have already observed that nature has established
connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner one idea
occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its cor- relative, and
carries our attention towards it, by a gentle and insensible movement.
These principles of connexion or association we have reduced to
three, namely, Resem- blance, Contiguity and Causation; which
are the only bonds that unite our thoughts together, and beget
that regular train of reflection or discourse, which, in a greater
or less degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here arises
a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty will
depend. Does it happen, in all these relations, that, when one
of the objects is presented to the senses or memory, the mind
is not only carried to the conception of the correlative, but
reaches a steadier and stronger conception of it than what otherwise
it would have been able to attain? This seems to be the case with
that belief which arises from the relation of cause and effect.
And if the case be the same with the other relations or principles
of associations, this may be established as a general law, which
takes place in all the operations of the mind. We may, therefore,
observe, as the first experiment to our present purpose, that,
upon the appearance of the picture of an absent friend, our idea
of him is evidently enlivened by the resemblance, and that every
passion, which that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow,
acquires new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there
concur both a relation and a present impression. Where the picture
bears him no resemblance, at least was not intended for him, it
never so much as conveys our thought to him: and where it is absent,
as well as the person, though the mind may pass from the thought
of the one to that of the other, it feels its idea to be rather
weakened than enlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure
in viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us;
but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him directly
than by reflection in an image, which is equally distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered
as instances of the same nature. The dev- otees of that superstition
usually plead in excuse for the mummeries, with which they are
upbraided, that they feel the good effect of those external motions,
and pos- tures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and
quick- ening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if directed
entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We shadow out the
objects of our faith, say they, in sensible types and images,
and render them more present to us by the immediate presence of
these types, than it is pos- sible for us to do merely by an intellectual
view and contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater
in- fluence on the fancy than any other; and this influence they
readily convey to those ideas to which they are related, and which
they resemble. I shall only infer from these practices, and this
reasoning, that the effect of resem- blance in enlivening the
ideas is very common; and as in every case a resemblance and a
present impression must concur, we are abundantly supplied with
experiments to prove the reality of the foregoing principle. We
may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind,
in considering the effects of contiguity as well as of resemblance.
It is certain that distance dimin- ishes the force of every idea,
and that, upon our approach to any object; though it does not
discover itself to our senses; it operates upon the mind with
an influence, which imitates an immediate impression. The thinking
on any object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous;
but it is only the actual presence of an object, that trans- ports
it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles from home,
whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I am two
hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the reflecting
on any thing in the neigh- bourhood of my friends or family naturally
produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the
objects of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy
transition between them; that transition alone is not able to
give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of some
immediate impression.[2] No one can doubt but causation has the
same influence as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and holy
men, for the same reason, that they seek after types or images,
in order to enliven their devotion, and give them a more intimate
and strong conception of those exemplary lives, which they desire
to imitate. Now it is evident, that one of the best reliques,
which a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a saint;
and if his cloaths and furniture are ever to be considered in
this light, it is be- cause they were once at his disposal, and
were moved and affected by him; in which respect they are to be
considered as imperfect effects, and as connected with him by
a shorter chain of consequences than any of those, by which we
learn the reality of his existence. Suppose, that the son of a
friend, who had been long dead or absent, were presented to us;
it is evident, that this object would instantly revive its correlative
idea, and recall to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities,
in more lively colours than they would otherwise have ap- peared
to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems to prove the principle
above mentioned. We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the
belief of the correlative object is always presupposed; without
which the relation could have no effect. The influence of the
picture supposes, that we believe our friend to have once existed.
Contiguity to home can never excite our ideas of home, unless
we believe that it really exists. Now I assert, that this belief,
where it reaches beyond the memory or senses, is of a similar
nature, and arises from similar causes, with the transition of
thought and vivacity of conception here explained. When I throw
a piece of dry wood into a fire, my mind is immediately carried
to con- ceive, that it augments, not extinguishes the flame. This
transition of thought from the cause to the effect proceeds not
from reason. It derives its origin altogether from custom and
experience. And as it first begins from an object, present to
the senses, it renders the idea or con- ception of flame more
strong and lively than any loose, floating reverie of the imagination.
That idea arises im- mediately. The thought moves instantly towards
it, and conveys to it all that force of conception, which is derived
from the impression present to the senses. When a sword is levelled
at my breast, does not the idea of wound and pain strike me more
strongly, than when a glass of wine is presented to me, even though
by accident this idea should occur after the appearance of the
latter object? But what is there in this whole matter to cause
such a strong conception, except only a present object and a customary
transition of the idea of another object, which we have been accustomed
to conjoin with the former? This is the whole operation of the
mind, in all our conclusions con- cerning matter of fact and existence;
and it is a satisfaction to find some analogies, by which it may
be explained. The transition from a present object does in all
cases give strength and solidity to the related idea. Here, then,
is a kind of pre-established harmony between the course of nature
and the succession of our ideas; and though the powers and forces,
by which the former is gov- erned, be wholly unknown to us; yet
our thoughts and conceptions have still, we find, gone on in the
same train with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle,
by which this correspondence has been effected; so neces- sary
to the subsistence of our species, and the regulation of our conduct,
in every circumstance and occurrence of hu- man life. Had not
the presence of an object, instantly excited the idea of those
objects, commonly conjoined with it, all our knowledge must have
been limited to the narrow sphere of our memory and senses; and
we should never have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ
our natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding
of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and contem- plation
of final causes, have here ample subject to employ their wonder
and admiration. I shall add, for a further confirmation of the
foregoing theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which
we infer like effects from like causes, and vice versa, is so
essential to the subsistence of all human creatures, it is not
probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious de- ductions
of our reason, which is slow in its operations; appears not, in
any degree, during the first years of infancy; and at best is,
in every age and period of human life, ex- tremely liable to error
and mistake. It is more conformable to the ordinary wisdom of
nature to secure so necessary an act of the mind, by some instinct
or mechanical tendency, which may be infallible in its operations,
may discover itself at the first appearance of life and thought,
and may be independent of all the laboured deductions of the under-
standing. As nature has taught us the use of our limbs, without
giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which they
are actuated; so has she implanted in us an instinct, which carries
forward the thought in a corre- spondent course to that which
she has established among external objects; though we are ignorant
of those powers and forces, on which this regular course and succession
of objects totally depends. [1] Nothing is more useful than for
writers, even, on moral, political, or physical subjects, to distinguish
between reason and experience, and to sup- pose, that these species
of argumentation are entirely different from each other. The former
are taken for the mere result of our intellectual facul- ties,
which, by considering a priori the nature of things, and examining
the effects, that must follow from their operation, establish
particular prin- ciples of science and philosophy. The latter
are supposed to be derived entirely from sense and observation,
by which we learn what has actually resulted from the operation
of particular objects, and are thence able to infer, what will,
for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the limitations
and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution,
may be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great
frailty and corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can
safely be trusted with unlimited authority; or from experience
and history, which inform us of the enormous abuses, that ambition,
in every age and country, has been found to make so imprudent
a confidence. The same distinction between reason and experience
is maintained in all our deliberations concerning the conduct
of life; while the experienced states- man, general, physician,
or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unprac- tised novice,
with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised.
Though it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures
with regard to the consequences of such a particular conduct in
such particular circumstances; it is still supposed imperfect,
without the assistance of experi - ence, which is alone able to
give stability and certainty to the maxims, derived from study
and reflection. But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus
universally received, both in the active and speculative scenes
of life, I shall not scruple to pro- nounce, that it is, at bottom,
erroneous, at least, superficial. If we examine those arguments,
which, in any of the sciences above mentioned, are supposed to
be mere effects of reasoning and reflection, they will be found
to terminate, at last, in some general principle or, con- clusion,
for which we can assign no reason but observation and experience.
The only difference between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly
esteemed the result of pure experience, is, that the former cannot
be estab- lished without some process of thought, and some reflection
on what we have observed, in order to distinguish its circumstances,
and trace its con- sequences: Whereas in the latter, the experienced
event is exactly and fully familiar to that which we infer as
the result of any particular situation. The history of a TIBERIUS
or a NERO makes us dread a like tyranny, were our monarchs freed
from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observa- tion
of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the
aid of a little thought, to give us the same apprehension; while
it serves as an instance of the general corruption of human nature,
and shows us the danger which we must incur by reposing an entire
confidence in mankind. In both cases, it is experience which is
ultimately the foundation of our inference and conclusion. There
is no man so young and inexperienced, as not to have formed, from
observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs
and the conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that, when
a man comes to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable
to error, till time and farther experience both enlarge these
maxims, and teach him their proper use and application. In every
situation or incident, there are many par- ticular and seemingly
minute circumstances, which the man of greatest talent is, at
first, apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his con-
clusions, and consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely
depend. Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the general
observations and maxims occur not always on the proper occasions,
nor can be immediately applied with due calmness and distinction.
The truth is, an unexperienced reasoner could be no reasoner at
all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and when we assign that
character to any one, we mean it only in a compara- tive sense,
and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more
imperfect degree. [2] 'Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an
errore quodam, ut, cum ea loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos
viros acceperimus multim esse versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando
eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut scriptum aliquod legamus?
Velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi Plato in mentem, quem accepimus
primum hic disputare solitum; cuius etiam illi hortuli propinqui
non memoriam solum mihi afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu
meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic eius auditor
Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus. Equidem etiam
curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, quae mihi minor
esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem,
Laelium, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis
est in locis; ut non sine causa ex his memopriae deducta sit disciplina.'--
Cicero de Finibus. Lib. v. SECTION VI OF PROBABILITY[1] THOUGH
there be no such thing as Chance in the world; our ignorance of
the real cause of any event has the same influence on the understanding,
and be- gets a like species of belief or opinion. There is certainly
a probability, which arises from a superiority of chances on any
side; and according as this superiority increases, and surpasses
the opposite chances, the probability receives a proportionable
increase, and be- gets still a higher degree of belief or assent
to that side, in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were
marked with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with
another figure or number of spots on the two remaining sides,
it would be more probable, that the former would turn up than
the latter; though, if it had a thousand sides marked in the same
manner, and only one side different, the probability would be
much higher, and our belief or expectation of the event more steady
and secure. This pro- cess of the thought or reasoning may seem
trivial and obvious; but to those who consider it more narrowly,
it may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation. It seems
evident, that, when the mind looks forward to discover the event,
which may result from the throw of such a dye, it considers the
turning up of each particular side as alike probable; and this
is the very nature of chance, to render all the particular events,
comprehended in it, en- tirely equal. But finding a greater number
of sides concur in the one event than in the other, the mind is
carried more frequently to that event, and meets it oftener, in
revolving the various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate
result depends. This concurrence of several views in one particular
event begets immediately, by an inexplicable con- trivance of
nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that event the advantage
over its antagonist, which is supported by a smaller number of
views, and recurs less frequently to the mind. If we allow, that
belief is nothing but a firmer and stronger conception of an object
than what attends the mere fictions of the imagination, this operation
may, perhaps, in some measure, be accounted for. The concurrence
of these several views or glimpses imprints the idea more strongly
on the imagination; gives it superior force and vigour; renders
its influence on the passions and affections more sensible; and
in a word, begets that reliance or security, which constitutes
the nature of belief and opinion. The case is the same with the
probability of causes, as with that of chance. There are some
causes, which are entirely uniform and constant in producing a
particular effect; and no instance has ever yet been found of
any failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire has always
burned, and water suffocated every human creature: the production
of motion by impulse and gravity is an universal law, which has
hitherto admitted of no exception. But there are other causes,
which have been found more irregular and uncertain; nor has rhubarb
always proved a purge, or opium a soporific to every one, who
has taken these medi- cines. It is true, when any cause fails
of producing its usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to
any irregularity in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes,
in the particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation.
Our reasonings, however, and conclusions concerning the event
are the same as if this principle had no place. Being determined
by custom to transfer the past to the future, in all our inferences;
where the past has been entirely regular and uniform, we expect
the event with the greatest assur- ance, and leave no room for
any contrary supposition. But where different effects have been
found to follow from causes, which are to appearance exactly similar,
all these various effects must occur to the mind in transferring
the past to the future, and enter into our consideration, when
we determine the probability of the event. Though we give the
preference to that which has been found most usual, and be- lieve
that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the other effects,
but must assign to each of them a particular weight and authority,
in proportion as we have found it to be more or less frequent.
It is more probable, in almost every country of Europe, that there
will be frost sometime in January, than that the weather will
continue open through out that whole month; though this probability
varies accord- ing to the different climates, and approaches to
a certainty in the more northern kingdoms. Here then it seems
evident, that, when we transfer the past to the future, in order
to determine the effect, which will result from any cause, we
transfer all the different events, in the same proportion as they
have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have existed a
hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and another once.
As a great number of views do here concur in one event, they fortify
and confirm it to the imagination, beget that sentiment which
we call belief, and give its object the preference above the contrary
event, which is not sup- ported by an equal number of experiments,
and recurs not so frequently to the thought in transferring the
past to the future. Let any one try to account for this operation
of the mind upon any of the received systems of philosophy, and
he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I shall think
it sufficient, if the present hints excite the curiosity of philosophers,
and make them sensible how defective all com- mon theories are
in treating of such curious and such sublime subjects. [1] Mr.
Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In
this view, we must say, that it is only probable that all men
must die, or that the sun will rise to-morrow. But to conform
our language more to common use, we ought to divide arguments
into demonstrations, proofs, and proba- bilities. By proofs meaning
such arguments from experience as leave no room for doubt or opposition.
SECTION VII OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION PART I THE great
advantage of the mathematical sciences above the moral consists
in this, that the ideas of the former, being sensible, are always
clear and determin- ate, the smallest distinction between them
is immediately per- ceptible, and the same terms are still expressive
of the same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is
never mis- taken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis.
The isos- celes and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more
ex- act than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be
defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes,
on all occasions, the definition for the term defined: or even
when no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented
to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly apprehended.
But the finer sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding,
the various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves
distinct, easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is
it in our power to recall the original object, as often as we
have oc- casion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is
gradually introduced into our reasonings: similar objects are
readily taken to be the same: and the conclusion becomes at last
very wide of the premises. One may safely, however, affirm, that,
if we consider these sciences in a proper light, their advantages
and disadvan- tages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both
of them to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility,
re- tains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must
carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reason- ing,
and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach
the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral ideas are apt,
without extreme care, to fall into obscurity and confusion, the
inferences are always much shorter in these disquisitions, and
the intermediate steps, which lead to the conclusion, much fewer
than in the sciences which treat of quantity and number. In reality,
there is scarcely a proposi- tion in Euclid so simple, as not
to consist of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reasoning
which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles
of the human mind through a few steps, we may be very well satis-
fied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws a bar
to all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment
of our ignorance. The chief ob- stacle, therefore, to our improvement
in the moral or meta- physical sciences is the obscurity of the
ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal difficulty in
the mathematics is the length of inferences and compass of thought,
requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our
prog- ress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want
of proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often dis- covered
by chance, and cannot always be found, when requisite, even by
the most diligent and prudent enquiry. As moral philosophy seems
hitherto to have received less im- provement than either geometry
or physics, we may con- clude, that, if there be any difference
in this respect among these sciences, the difficulties, which
obstruct the progress of the former, require superior care and
capacity to be sur- mounted. There are no ideas, which occur in
metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power,
force, energy or necessary connexion, of which it is every moment
necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall,
therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the
precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of
that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species
of philosophy. It seems a proposition, which will not admit of
much dis- pute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our
im- pressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us
to think of anything, which we have not antecedently felt, either
by our external or internal senses. I have endeavoured[1] to explain
and prove this proposition, and have expressed my hopes, that,
by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearness
and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they have
hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas, may, perhaps, be
well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration
of those parts or simple ideas, that compose them. But when we
have pushed up defini- tions to the most simple ideas, and find
still more ambiguity and obscurity; what resource are we then
possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these
ideas, and render them altogether precise and determinate to our
intel- lectual view? Produce the impressions or original senti-
ments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are
all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are
not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light
on their correspondent ideas, which lie in ob- scurity. And by
this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new microscope or species
of optics, by which, in the moral sciences, the most minute, and
most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under
our apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most
sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry. To be fully
acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connexion,
let us examine its impression; and in order to find the impression
with greater certainty, let us search for it in all the sources,
from which it may possibly be derived. When we look about us towards
external objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are
never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary
con- nexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause,
and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We
only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other.
The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the
second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses.
The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession
of objects: consequently, there is not, in any single, particular
instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the
idea of power or necessary connexion. From the first appearance
of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will result
from it. But were the power or energy of any cause discoverable
by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience;
and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by
mere dint of thought and reasoning. In reality, there is no part
of matter, that does ever, by its sensible qualities, discover
any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could
produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we
could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these
qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out
any other event which may result from them. The scenes of the
uni- verse are continually shifting, and one object follows another
in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force, which
actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed from us, and
never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities of body.
We know that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame;
but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much
as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that
the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies,
in single instances of their operation; because no bodies ever
discover any power, which can be the original of this idea.[2]
Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses,
give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by their operation
in particular instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived
from reflection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied
from any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every
moment conscious of internal power; while we feel, that, by the
simple command of our will, we can move the organs of our body,
or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces
motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination.
This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we
acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we
ourselves and all other intelligent beings are pos- sessed of
power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises
from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and on the
command which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the
body and faculties of the soul. We shall proceed to examine this
pretension; and first with regard to the influence of volition
over the organs of the body. This influence, we may observe, is
a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only
by experi- ence, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy
or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and
renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion
of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are
every moment conscious. But the means, by which this is effected;
the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an operation;
of this we are so far from being immediately conscious, that it
must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry. For first: Is
there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union
of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual substance acquires
such an influence over a material one, that the most refined thought
is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by
a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in
their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more extraordinary,
nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we
perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power;
we must know its connexion with the effect; we must know the secret
union of soul and body, and the nature of both these substances;
by which the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon
the other. Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of
the body with a like authority; though we cannot assign any reason
besides experience, for so remarkable a difference between one
and the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and
fingers, not over the heart or liver? This question would never
embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the former case,
not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of experience,
why the authority of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed
within such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted
with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also
know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries,
and no farther. A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or
arm, or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours,
at first to move them, and employ them, in their usual offices.
Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as
a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member
which remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness
never deceives. Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the
other, are we ever conscious of any power. We learn the influence
of our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches
us, how one event constantly follows another; without in- structing
us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and renders
them inseparable. Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate
object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member itself
which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits,
and, perhaps, something still more minute and more unknown, through
which the motion is successively propagated, ere it reach the
member itself whose motion is the immediate object of volition.
Can there be a more certain proof, that the power, by which this
whole operation is performed, so far from being directly and fully
known by an inward sentiment or consciousness is, to the last
degree, mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain
event. Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally
different from the one intended, is produced: This event produces
another, equally unknown: till at last, through a long succession,
the desired event is produced. But if the original power were
felt, it must be known: were it known, its effect also must be
known; since all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa,
if the effect be not known, the power cannot be known nor felt.
How indeed can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when
we have no such power; but only that to move certain animal spirits,
which, though they produce at last the motion of our limbs, yet
operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension?
We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any
temerity, though with assurance; that our idea of power is not
copied from any sentiment or consciousness of power within ourselves,
when we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their
proper use and office. That their motion follows the command of
the will is a matter of common experience, like other natural
events: But the power or energy by which this is effected, like
that in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable.[3]
Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy
in our own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise
up a new idea, fix the mind to the con- templation of it, turn
it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when
we think that we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy? I
believe the same arguments will prove, that even this command
of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy. First, It
must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that very
circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the
effect: for these are supposed to be synonymous. We must, therefore,
know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them.
But do we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human
soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to
produce the other? This is a real creation; a production of something
out of nothing: which implies a power so great, that it may seem,
at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite.
At least it must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor
known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event,
namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a command of the
will: but the manner, in which this operation is performed, the
power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.
Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as well
as its command over the body; and these limits are not known by
reason, or any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect,
but only by experience and observation, as in all other natural
events and in the operation of external objects. Our authority
over our sentiments and passions is much weaker than that over
our ideas; and even the latter authority is circumscribed within
very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate
reason of these boundaries, or show why the power is deficient
in one case, not in another. Thirdly, This self-command is very
different at different times. A man in health possesses more of
it than one languishing with sickness. We are more master of our
thoughts in the morning than in the evening: fasting, than after
a full meal. Can we give any reason for these varia- tions, except
experience? Where then is the power, of which we pretend to be
conscious? Is there not here, either in a spiritual or material
substance, or both, some secret mech- anism or structure of parts,
upon which the effect de- pends, and which, being entirely unknown
to us, renders the power or energy of the will equally unknown
and incomprehensible? Volition is surely an act of the mind, with
which we are sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider
it on all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative
power, by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a
kind of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may
be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the
various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of this
energy in the will, it requires as certain experience as that
of which we are possessed, to convince us that such ex- traordinary
effects do ever result from a simple act of volition. The generality
of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting for the more
common and familiar operations of nature--such as the descent
of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of animals,
or the nourishment of bodies by food: but suppose that, in all
these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause,
by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible
in its operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of
mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immedi- ately
expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly conceive
it possible that any other event could result from it. It is only
on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena, such as earthquakes,
pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves
at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner
in which the effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in
such difficulties, to have re- course to some invisible intelligent
principle[4] as the imme- diate cause of that event which surprises
them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the
common powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny
a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most
familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible
as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience the
frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able to comprehend
anything like Connexion between them. Here, then, many philosophers
think themselves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all occasions,
to the same principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in
cases that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge
mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and original
cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of every
event which appears in nature. They pretend that those objects
which are commonly denominated causes, are in reality nothing
but occasions; and that the true and direct principle of every
effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of
the Supreme Being, who wills that such particular objects should
for ever be conjoined with each other. Instead of saying that
one billiard-ball moves another by a force which it has derived
from the author of nature, it is the Deity himself, they say,
who, by a particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined
to this operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence
of those general laws which he has laid down to himself in the
government of the universe. But philosophers advanc- ing still
in their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally ignorant
of the power on which depends the mutual opera- tion of bodies,
we are no less ignorant of that power on which depends the operation
of mind on body, or of body on mind, nor are we able, either from
our senses or con- sciousness, to assign the ultimate principle
in one case more than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore,
reduces them to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity
is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body; and
that they are not the organs of sense, which, being agitated by
external objects, produce sensations in the mind; but that it
is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which excites
such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the organ.
In like manner, it is not any energy in the will that produces
local motion in our members: it is God himself, who is pleased
to second our will, in itself impotent, and to command that motion
which we erro- neously attribute to our own power and efficacy.
Nor do philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend
the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal opera-
tions. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is noth- ing but
a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn
our thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy,
it is not the will which creates that idea: it is the universal
Creator, who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present
to us. Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full
of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists but
by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his concession:
they rob nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order
to render their dependence on the Deity still more sensible and
immediate. They consider not that, by this theory, they diminish,
instead of magni- fying, the grandeur of those attributes, which
they affect so much to celebrate. It argues surely more power
in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior
creatures than to produce every thing by his own im- mediate volition.
It argues more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world
with such perfect foresight that, of itself, and by its proper
operation, it may serve all the purposes of providence, than if
the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its parts,
and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.
But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this
theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice: First,
it seems to me that this theory of the universal energy and operation
of the Supreme Being is too bold ever to carry conviction with
it to a man, sufficiently ap- prized of the weakness of human
reason, and the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its
operations. Though the chain of arguments which conduct to it
were ever so logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if
not an absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond
the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary,
and so remote from common life and ex- perience. We are got into
fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory;
and there we have no reason to trust our common methods of argument,
or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any
authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses.
And however we may flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every
step which we take, by a kind of ver- isimilitude and experience,
we may be assured that this fancied experience has no authority
when we thus apply it to subjects that lie entirely out of the
sphere of ex- perience. But on this we shall have occasion to
touch afterwards.[5] Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in
the arguments on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant,
it is true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other:
their force or energy is entirely incomprehensible: but are we
not equally ignorant of the manner or force by which a mind, even
the supreme mind, operates either on itself or on body? Whence,
I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We have no sentiment
or consciousness of this power in ourselves. We have no idea of
the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own
faculties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting
any thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all
energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter.
We surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the
other. Is it more difficult to conceive that motion may arise
from impulse than that it may arise from volition? All we know
is our profound ignorance in both cases.[6] PART II BUT to hasten
to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn out to
too great a length: we have sought in vain for an idea of power
or necessary connexion in all the sources from which we could
suppose it to be derived. It appears that, in single instances
of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny,
discover any thing but one event following another, without being
able to com- prehend any force or power by which the cause operates,
or any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same
difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on body--where
we observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the volition
of the former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie
which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by
which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will
over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible:
so that, upon the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature,
any one in- stance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All
events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows an-
other; but we never can observe any tie between them. They seem
conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of
any thing which never appeared to our outward sense or inward
sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to be that we have no
idea of connexion or power at all, and that these words are absolutely,
without any meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings
or common life. But there still remains one method of avoiding
this con- clusion, and one source which we have not yet examined.
When any natural object or event is presented, it is im- possible
for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture,
without experience, what event will result from it, or to carry
our foresight beyond that object which is immediately present
to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or experiment
where we have ob- served a particular event to follow upon another,
we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will
happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable
temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one single
experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular
species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined
with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one
upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning,
which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or existence.
We then call the one object, Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose
that there is some connexion between them; some power in the one,
by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the
great- est certainty and strongest necessity. It appears, then,
that this idea of a necessary connexion among events arises from
a number of similar instances which occur of the constant conjunction
of these events; nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one
of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions.
But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from
every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar;
except only, that after a repetition of similar in- stances, the
mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to
expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist.
This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary
transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant,
is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of
power or neces- sary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case.
Contem- plate the subject on all sides; you will never find any
other origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between
one instance, from which we can never receive the idea of con-
nexion, and a number of similar instances, by which it is suggested.
The first time a man saw the communication of motion by impulse,
as by the shock of two billiard balls, he could not pronounce
that the one event was connected: but only that it was conjoined
with the other. After he has ob- served several instances of this
nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What alteration
has happened to give rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing
but that he now feels these events to be connected in his imagination,
and can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance
of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected
with another, we mean only that they have ac- quired a connexion
in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they
become proofs of each other's ex- istence: A conclusion which
is somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient
evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by any general diffidence
of the un- derstanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every
con- clusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions can
be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make dis- coveries
concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and
capacity. And what stronger instance can be produced of the sur-
prising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than the present.
For surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports
to us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this
are founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence.
By means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects
which are removed from the present testimony of our memory and
senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach
us, how to control and regulate future events by their causes.
Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed
about this relation: yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form
concerning it, that it is impossible to give any just definition
of cause, except what is drawn from something extraneous and foreign
to it. Similar ob- jects are always conjoined with similar. Of
this we have experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore,
we may define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and
where all the objects similar to the first are followed by objects
similar to the second. Or in other words where, if the first object
had not been, the second never had existed. The appearance of
a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to
the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We may,
therefore, suitably to this experience, form another definition
of cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and whose
appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though
both these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to
the cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any
more perfect definition, which may point out that circum- stance
in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have
no idea of this connexion, nor even any distant notion what it
is we desire to know, when we en- deavour at a conception of it.
We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the
cause of this particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation?
We either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound,
and that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar
sounds; or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and
that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the senses,
and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the
relation of cause and effect in either of these two lights; but
beyond these, we have no idea of it.[7] To recapitulate, therefore,
the reasonings of this section: Every idea is copied from some
preceding impression or sentiment; and where we cannot find any
impression, we may be certain that there is no idea. In all single
instances of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing
that produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any
idea of power or necessary connexion. But when many uniform instances
appear, and the same object is always followed by the same event;
we then begin to entertain the notion of cause and connexion.
We then feel a new sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary
connexion in the thought or imagination between one object and
its usual attendant; and this sentiment is the original of that
idea which we seek for. For as this idea arises from a number
of similar instances, and not from any single instance, it must
arise from that circumstance, in which the number of instances
differ from every individual in- stance. But this customary connexion
or transition of the imagination is the only circumstance in which
they dif- fer. In every other particular they are alike. The first
instance which we saw of motion communicated by the shock of two
billiard balls (to return to this obvious illustra- tion) is exactly
similar to any instance that may, at present, occur to us; except
only, that we could not, at first, infer one event from the other;
which we are enabled to do at present, after so long a course
of uniform experience. I know not whether the reader will readily
apprehend this reasoning. I am afraid that, should I multiply
words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights,
it would only become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract
reason- ings there is one point of view which, if we can happily
hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the subject than
by all the eloquence and copious expression in the world. This
point of view we should endeavour to reach, and reserve the flowers
of rhetoric for subjects which are more adapted to them. [1] Section
II. [2] Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding
from experience, that there are several new productions in matter,
and concluding that there must somewhere be a power capable of
producing them, we arrive at last by this reasoning at the idea
of power. But no reasoning can ever give us a new, original, simple
idea; as this philosopher himself confesses. This, therefore,
can never be the origin of that idea. [3] It may be pretended,
that the resistance which we meet with in bodies, obliging us
frequently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this
gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong
endeavour, of which we are conscious, that is the original impression
from which this idea is copied. But, first, we attribute power
to a vast number of objects, where we never can suppose this resistance
or exertion of force to take place; to the Supreme Being, who
never meets with any resistance; to the mind in its command over
its ideas and limbs, in common thinking and motion, where the
effect follows immediately upon the will, without any exertion
or summoning up of force; to inanimate matter, which is not capable
of this sentiment. Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavour to
overcome resistance has no known connexion with any event: What
follows it, we know by experience; but could not know it a priori.
It must, how- ever, be confessed, that the animal nisus, which
we experience, though it can afford no accurate precise idea of
power, enters very much into that vulgar, inaccurate idea, which
is formed by it. [4] [three greek words] [5] Section XII. [6]
I need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much
talked of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter.
We find by experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues
for ever in its present state, till put from it by some new cause;
and that a body impelled takes as much motion from the impelling
body as it acquires itself. These are facts. When we call this
a vis inertiae, we only mark these facts, without pretending to
have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as, when
we talk of gravity, we mean certain effects, without comprehending
that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir ISAAC NEWTON
to rob second causes of all force or energy; though some of his
followers have endeavoured to establish that theory upon his authority.
On the contrary, that great philosopher had recourse to an etherial
active fluid to explain his universal attraction; though he was
so cautious and modest as to allow, that it was a mere hypothesis,
no to be insisted on, without more experi- ments. I must confess,
that there is something in the fate of opinions a little extraordinary.
DES CARTES insinuated that doctrine of the universal and sole
efficacy of the Deity, without insisting on it. MALEBRANCHE and
other CARTESIANS made it the foundation of all their philosophy.
It had, however, no authority in England. LOCKE, CLARKE, and CUDWORTH,
never so much as notice of it, but suppose all along, that matter
has a real, though subordinate and derived power. By what means
has it become so prevalent among our modern metaphysicians? [7]
According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power
is relative as much as that of cause; and both have a reference
to an effect, or some other event constantly conjoined with the
former. When we consider the unknown circumstance of an object,
by which the degree or quantity of its effect is fixed and determined,
we call that its power: and accordingly, it is allowed by all
philosophers, that the effect is the measure of the power. But
if they had any idea of power, as it is in itself, why could not
they Measure it in itself? The dispute whether the force of a
body in motion be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity;
this dispute, I say, need no t be decided by comparing its effects
in equal or unequal times; but by a direct mensuration and comparison.
As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c.,
which every where occur in common conversation, as well as in
philosophy; that is no proof, that we are acquainted, in any instance,
with the connecting principle between cause and effect, or can
account ultimately for the pro- duction of one thing to another.
These words, as commonly used, have very loose meanings annexed
to them; and their ideas are very uncertain and confused. No animal
can put external bodies in motion without the sentiment of a nisus
or endeavour; and every animal has a sentiment or feeling from
the stroke or blow of an external object, that is in motion. These
sensations, which are merely animal, and from which we can a priori
draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate objects,
and to sup- pose, that they have some such feelings, whenever
they transfer or receive motion. With regard to energies, which
are exerted, without our annexing to them any idea of communicated
motion, we consider only the constant experienced conjunction
of the events; and as we feel a customary con- nexion between
the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing
is more usual than to apply to external bodies every internal
sensation, which they occasion. SECTION VIII OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY
PART I IT might reasonably be expected in questions which have
been canvassed and disputed with great eagerness, since the first
origin of science, and philosophy, that the meaning of all the
terms, at least, should have been agreed upon among the disputants;
and our enquiries, in the course of two thousand years, been able
to pass from words to the true and real subject of the controversy.
For how easy may it seem to give exact definitions of the terms
employed in reasoning, and make these definitions, not the mere
sound of words, the object of future scrutiny and examination?
But if we consider the matter more narrowly, we shall be apt to
draw a quite opposite conclusion. From this circumstance alone,
that a controversy has been long kept on foot, and remains still
undecided, we may presume that there is some ambiguity in the
expression, and that the disputants affix different ideas to the
terms employed in the controversy. For as the faculties of the
mind are supposed to be naturally alike in every individual; otherwise
nothing could be more fruitless than to reason or dispute together;
it were impossible, if men affix the same ideas to their terms,
that they could so long form different opinions of the same subject;
especially when they communicate their views, and each party turn
themselves on all sides, in search of arguments which may give
them the victory over their antagonists. It is true, if men attempt
the discussion of questions which lie entirely beyond the reach
of human capacity, such as those concerning the origin of worlds,
or the economy of the intellectual system or region of spirits,
they may long beat the air in their fruitless contests, and never
arrive at any determinate conclusion. But if the question regard
any subject of common life and experience, nothing, one would
think, could preserve the dispute so long undecided but some ambiguous
expressions, which keep the antagonists still at a distance, and
hinder them from grappling with each other. This has been the
case in the long disputed question concerning liberty and necessity;
and to so remarkable a degree that, if I be not much mistaken,
we shall find, that all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have
always been of the same opinion with regard to this subject, and
that a few intelligible definitions would immediately have put
an end to the whole controversy. I own that this dispute has been
so much canvassed on all hands, and has led philosophers into
such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry, that it is no wonder, if
a sensible reader indulge his ease so far as to turn a deaf ear
to the proposal of such a question, from which he can expect neither
instruction or entertain- ment. But the state of the argument
here proposed may, perhaps, serve to renew his attention; as it
has more novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy,
and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure
reasoning. I hope, therefore, to make it appear that all men have
ever agreed in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty,
according to any reasonable sense, which can be put on these terms;
and that the whole controversy, has hitherto turned merely upon
words. We shall begin with examining the doctrine of necessity.
It is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations,
is actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural effect
is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause that no
other effect, in such particular circumstances, could possibly
have resulted from it. The degree and direction of every motion
is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness that
a living creature may as soon arise from the shock of two bodies
as motion in any other de- gree or direction than what is actually
produced by it. Would we, therefore, form a just and precise idea
of neces- sity, we must consider whence that idea arises when
we apply it to the operation of bodies. It seems evident that,
if all the scenes of nature were continually shifted in such a
manner that no two events bore any resemblance to each other,
but every object was entirely new, without any similitude to whatever
had been seen before, we should never, in that case, have attained
the least idea of necessity, or of a connexion among these objects.
We might say, upon such a supposition, that one object or event
has followed another; not that one was produced by the other.
The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown to mankind.
Inference and rea- soning concerning the operations of nature
would, from that moment, be at an end; and the memory and senses
remain the only canals, by which the knowledge of any real existence
could possibly have access to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of
necessity and causation arises entirely from the uniformity observable
in the operations of nature, where similar objects are constantly
conjoined together, and the mind is determined by custom to infer
the one from the appearance of the other. These two circum- stances
form the whole of that necessity, which we ascribe to matter.
Beyond the constant conjunction of similar objects, and the consequent
inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any necessity
or connexion. If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever
allowed, without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circum-
stances take place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the
operations of mind; it must follow, that all mankind have ever
agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they have hitherto
disputed, merely for not understanding each other. As to the first
circumstance, the constant and regular con- junction of similar
events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following considerations:
It is universally acknowl- edged that there is a great uniformity
among the actions of men, in all nations and ages, and that human
nature remains still the same, in its principles and operations.
The same motives always produce the same actions: the same events
follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice, self-love, vanity,
friendship, generosity, public spirit: these passions, mixed in
various degrees, and distributed through society, have been, from
the beginning of the world, and still are, the source of all the
actions and enterprises, which have ever been observed among mankind.
Would you know the sentiments, inclinations, and course of life
of the Greeks and Romans? Study well the temper and actions of
the French and English: You cannot be much mistaken in trans-
ferring to the former most of the observations which you have
made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so much the same,
in all times and places, that history informs us of nothing new
or strange in this particular. Its chief use is only to discover
the constant and universal principles of human nature, by showing
men in all varieties of circum- stances and situations, and furnishing
us with materials from which we may form our observations and
become ac- quainted with the regular springs of human action and
be- haviour. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions,
are so many collections of experiments, by which the politician
or moral philosopher fixes the prin- ciples of his science, in
the same manner as the physician or natural philosopher becomes
acquainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and other external
objects, by the ex- periments which he forms concerning them.
Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by Aristotle,
and Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under
our observation than the men described by Polybius and Tacitus
are to those who now govern the world. Should a traveller, returning
from a far country, bring us an account of men, wholly different
from any with whom we were ever acquainted; men, who were entirely
divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who knew no pleasure
but friendship, generosity, and public spirit; we should immedi-
ately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and prove
him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed his narration
with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies.
And if we would explode any forgery in history, we cannot make
use of a more convincing argu- ment, than to prove, that the actions
ascribed to any person are directly contrary to the course of
nature, and that no human motives, in such circumstances, could
ever induce him to such a conduct. The veracity of Quintus Curtius
is as much to be suspected, when he describes the super- natural
courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried on singly to attack
multitudes, as when he describes his super- natural force and
activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and
universally do we acknowledge a uni- formity in human motives
and actions as well as in the operations of body. Hence likewise
the benefit of that experience, acquired by long life and a variety
of business and company, in order to instruct us in the principles
of human nature, and regu- late our future conduct, as well as
speculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge
of men's in- clinations and motives, from their actions, expressions,
and even gestures; and again descend to the interpretation of
their actions from our knowledge of their motives and in- clinations.
The general observations treasured up by a course of experience,
give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to unravel all
its intricacies. Pretexts and appear- ances no longer deceive
us. Public declarations pass for the specious colouring of a cause.
And though virtue and honour be allowed their proper weight and
authority, that perfect disinterestedness, so often pretended
to, is never ex- pected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their
leaders; and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station.
But were there no uniformity in human actions, and were every
experiment which we could form of this kind irregular and anomalous,
it were impossible to collect any general observa- tions concerning
mankind; and no experience, however ac- curately digested by reflection,
would ever serve to any purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more
skilful in his calling than the young beginner but because there
is a certain uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and
earth towards the production of vegetables; and experience teaches
the old practitioner the rules by which this operation is governed
and directed. We must not, however, expect that this uniformity
of human actions should be carried to such a length as that all
men, in the same circumstances, will always act precisely in the
same manner, without making any allowance for the diversity of
characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a uniformity in every
particular, is found in no part of nature. On the contrary, from
observing the variety of conduct in different men, we are enabled
to form a greater variety of maxims, which still suppose a degree
of uniformity and regularity. Are the manners of men different
in different ages and countries? We learn thence the great force
of custom and education, which mould the human mind from its infancy
and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the behaviour
and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of the other? Is it
thence we become acquainted with the different characters which
nature has impressed upon the sexes, and which she preserves with
constancy and regu- larity? Are the actions of the same person
much diversified in the different periods of his life, from infancy
to old age? This affords room for many general observations concerning
the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the
different maxims which prevail in the different ages of human
creatures. Even the characters, which are peculiar to each individual,
have a uniformity in their influence; otherwise our acquaintance
with the persons and our obser- vation of their conduct could
never teach us their disposi- tions, or serve to direct our behaviour
with regard to them. I grant it possible to find some actions,
which seem to have no regular connexion with any known motives,
and are exceptions to all the measures of conduct which have ever
been established for the government of men. But if we would willingly
know what judgment should be formed of such irregular and extraordinary
actions, we may con- sider the sentiments commonly entertained
with regard to those irregular events which appear in the course
of nature, and the operations of external objects. All causes
are not conjoined to their usual effects with like uniformity.
An artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be disappointed
of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct
of sensible and intelligent agents. The vulgar, who take things
according to their first ap- pearance, attribute the uncertainty
of events to such an uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter
often fail of their usual influence; though they meet with no
impedi- ment in their operation. But philosophers, observing that,
almost in every part of nature, there is contained a vast variety
of springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their minuteness
or remoteness, find, that it is at least possible the contrariety
of events may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but
from the secret operation of contrary causes. This possibility
is converted into cer- tainty by farther observation, when they
remark that, upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects
always betrays a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their
mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the
stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it does not commonly
go right: But an artist easily perceives that the same force in
the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels;
but fails of its usual effects, perhaps by reason of a grain of
dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement. From the observation
of several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim that
the connexion between all causes and effects is equally necessary,
and that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from
the secret opposition of contrary causes. Thus, for instance,
in the human body, when the usual symptoms of health or sickness
disappoint our expectation; when medicines operate not with their
wonted powers; when irregular events follow from any particular
cause; the philosopher and physician are not surprised at the
matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity
and uniformity of those principles by which the animal economy
is conducted. They know that a human body is a mighty complicated
machine: That many secret powers lurk in it, which are altogether
beyond our comprehension: That to us it must often appear very
uncertain in its operations: And that therefore the irregular
events, which outwardly discover themselves, can be no proof that
the laws of nature are not observed with the greatest regularity
in its internal operations and government. The philosopher, if
he be consistent, must apply the same reasoning to the actions
and volitions of intelligent agents. The most irregular and unexpected
resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by those who
know every par- ticular circumstance of their character and situation.
A person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer: But
he has the toothache, or has not dined. A stupid fellow discovers
an uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But he has met with a sudden
piece of good fortune. Or even when an action, as sometimes happens,
cannot be particularly ac- counted for, either by the person himself
or by others; we know, in general, that the characters of men
are, to a certain degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in
a manner, the constant character of human nature; though it be
appli- cable, in a more particular manner, to some persons who
have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a con- tinued
course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and
motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstanding these
seeming irregularities; in the same manner as the winds, rain,
cloud, and other variations of the weather are supposed to be
governed by steady prin- ciples; though not easily discoverable
by human sagacity and enquiry. Thus it appears, not only that
the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions is as regular
and uniform as that between the cause and effect in any part of
nature; but also that this regular conjunction has been universally
acknowledged among mankind, and has never been the subject of
dispute, either in philosophy or common life. Now, as it is from
past experience that we draw all infer- ences concerning the future,
and as we conclude that objects will always be conjoined together
which we find to have always been conjoined; it may seem superfluous
to prove that this experienced uniformity in human actions is
a source whence we draw inferences concerning them. But in order
to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights we shall
also insist, though briefly, on this latter topic. The mutual
dependence of men is so great in all societies that scarce any
human action is entirely complete in itself, or is performed without
some reference to the actions of others, which are requisite to
make it answer fully the in- tention of the agent. The poorest
artificer, who labours alone, expects at least the protection
of the magistrate, to ensure him the enjoyment of the fruits of
his labour. He also expects that, when he carries his goods to
market, and offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers,
and shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others
to supply him with those commodities which are requisite for his
subsistence. In proportion as men extend their deal- ings, and
render their intercourse with others more com- plicated, they
always comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater variety
of voluntary actions, which they expect, from the proper motives,
to co-operate with their own. In all these conclusions they take
their measures from past ex- perience, in the same manner as in
their reasonings con- cerning external objects; and firmly believe
that men, as well as all the elements, are to continue, in their
operations, the same that they have ever found them. A manufacturer
reckons upon the labour of his servants for the execution of any
work as much as upon the tools which he employs, and would be
equally surprised were his expectations dis- appointed. In short,
this experimental inference and rea- soning concerning the actions
of others enters so much into human life that no man, while awake,
is ever a moment without employing it. Have we not reason, therefore,
to affirm that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine
of necessity according to the foregoing definition and ex- plication
of it? Nor have philosophers even entertained a different opinion
from the people in this particular. For, not to men- tion that
almost every action of their life supposes that opinion, there
are even few of the speculative parts of learn- ing to which it
is not essential. What would become of history, had we not a dependence
on the veracity of the historian according to the experience which
we have had of mankind? How could politics be a science, if laws
and forms of government had not a uniform influence upon society?
Where would be the foundation of morals, if par- ticular characters
had no certain or determinate power to produce particular sentiments,
and if these sentiments had no constant operation on actions?
And with what pretence could we employ our criticism upon any
poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the conduct and
sentiments of his actors either natural or unnatural to such characters,
and in such circumstances? It seems almost impossible, therefore,
to engage either in science or action of any kind without acknowledging
the doctrine of necessity, and this inference from motive to voluntary
actions, from characters to conduct. And indeed, when we consider
how aptly natural and moral evidence link together, and form only
one chain of argument, we shall make no scruple to allow that
they are of the same nature, and derived from the same principles.
A prisoner who has neither money nor interest, discovers the impossibility
of his escape, as well when he considers the obstinacy of the
gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is surrounded; and,
in all attempts for his freedom, chooses rather to work upon the
stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible nature of
the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold,
foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity
of his guards, as from the operation of the axe or wheel. His
mind runs along a certain train of ideas: the refusal of the soldiers
to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner; the separation
of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive motions, and death.
Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary actions;
but the mind feels no differ- ence between them in passing from
one link to another: Nor is it less certain of the future event
than if it were con- nected with the objects present to the memory
or senses, by a train of causes, cemented together by what we
are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced
union has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects
be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may
change the name of things; but their nature and their operation
on the understanding never change. Were a man, whom I know to
be honest and opulent, and with whom I live in intimate friendship,
to come into my house, where I am surrounded with my servants,
I rest assured that he is not to stab me before he leaves it in
order to rob me of my silver standish; and I no more suspect this
event than the falling of the house itself, which is new, and
solidly built and founded.--But he may have been seized with a
sudden and unknown frenzy.--So may a sudden earthquake arise,
and shake and tumble my house about my ears. I shall therefore
change the suppositions. I shall say that I know with certainty
that he is not to put his hand into the fire and hold it there
till it be consumed: and this event, I think I can foretell with
the same assurance, as that, if he throw himself out at the window,
and meet with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended
in the air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give the least
possibility to the former event, which is so con- trary to all
the known principles of human nature. A man who at noon leaves
his purse full of gold on the pavement at Charing-Cross, may as
well expect that it will fly away like a feather, as that he will
find it untouched an hour after. Above one half of human reasonings
contain inferences of a similar nature, attended with more or
less degrees of cer- tainty proportioned to our experience of
the usual conduct of mankind in such particular situations. I
have frequently considered, what could possibly be the reason
why all mankind, though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged
the doctrine of necessity in their whole practice and reasoning,
have yet discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in words,
and have rather shown a propensity, in all ages, to profess the
contrary opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for after
the following manner. If we examine the operations of body, and
the production of effects from their causes, we shall find that
all our faculties can never carry us farther in our knowledge
of this relation than barely to observe that particular objects
are constantly conjoined together, and that the mind is carried,
by a customary transition, from the appearance of one to the belief
of the other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance
be the result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still
entertain a strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther
into the powers of nature, and perceive something like a necessary
connexion between the cause and the effect. When again they turn
their reflections towards the opera- tions of their own minds,
and feel no such connexion of the motive and the action; they
are thence apt to suppose, that there is a difference between
the effects which result from material force, and those which
arise from thought and intelligence. But being once convinced
that we know nothing farther of causation of any kind than merely
the constant conjunction of objects, and the consequent inference
of the mind from one to another, and finding that these two circumstances
are universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions; we
may be more easily led to own the same necessity common to all
causes. And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of
many philosophers, in ascribing necessity to the determinations
of the will, we shall find, upon reflection, that they dissent
from it in words only, not in their real sentiment. Necessity,
according to the sense in which it is here taken, has never yet
been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philosopher.
It may only, perhaps, be pretended that the mind can per- ceive,
in the operations of matter, some farther connexion between the
cause and effect; and connexion that has not place in voluntary
actions of intelligent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can
only appear upon examination; and it is incumbent on these philosophers
to make good their assertion, by defining or describing that necessity,
and pointing it out to us in the operations of material causes.
It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this
question concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon
it by examining the faculties of the soul, the influence of the
understanding, and the operations of the will. Let them first
discuss a more simple question, namely, the operations of body
and of brute unintelligent matter; and try whether they can there
form any idea of causation and necessity, except that of a constant
conjunc- tion of objects, and subsequent inference of the mind
from one to another. If these circumstances form, in reality,
the whole of that necessity, which we conceive in matter, and
if these circumstances be also universally acknowledged to take
place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end;
at least, must be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as
long as we will rashly suppose, that we have some farther idea
of necessity and causation in the opera- tions of external objects;
at the same time, that we can find nothing farther in the voluntary
actions of the mind; there is no possibility of bringing the question
to any determinate issue, while we proceed upon so erroneous a
supposition. The only method of undeceiving us is to mount up
higher; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to
material causes; and to convince ourselves that all we know of
them is the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned.
We may, perhaps, find that it is with dif- ficulty we are induced
to fix such narrow limits to human understanding: but we can afterwards
find no difficulty when we come to apply this doctrine to the
actions of the will. For as it is evident that these have a regular
con- junction with motives and circumstances and characters, and
as we always draw inferences from one to the other, we must be
obliged to acknowledge in words that necessity, which we have
already avowed, in every deliberation of our lives, and in every
step of our conduct and behaviour.[1] But to proceed in this reconciling
project with regard to the question of liberty and necessity;
the most contentious question of metaphysics, the most contentious
science; it will not require many words to prove, that all mankind
have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that
of necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also,
has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by liberty,
when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot surely mean that
actions have so little connexion with motives, inclinations, and
circumstances, that one does not follow with a certain degree
of uniformity from the other, and that one affords no inference
by which we can conclude the existence of the other. For these
are plain and acknowl- edged matters of fact. By liberty, then,
we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to
the determin- ations of the will; this is, if we choose to remain
at rest, we may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now this hypothetical
liberty is universally allowed to belong to every one who is not
a prisoner and in chains. Here, then, is no subject of dispute.
Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we should be careful
to observe two requisite circumstances; First, that it be consistent
with plain matter of fact; secondly, that it be consistent with
itself. If we observe these circum- stances, and render our definition
intelligible, I am per- suaded that all mankind will be found
of one opinion with regard to it. It is universally allowed that
nothing exists without a cause of its existence, and that chance,
when strictly ex- amined, is a mere negative word, and means not
any real power which has anywhere a being in nature. But it is
pretended that some causes are necessary, some not neces- sary.
Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let any one define
a cause, without comprehending, as a part of the definition, a
necessary connexion with its effect; and let him show distinctly
the origin of the idea, expressed by the definition; and I shall
readily give up the whole con- troversy. But if the foregoing
explication of the matter be received, this must be absolutely
impracticable. Had not objects a regular conjunction with each
other, we should never have entertained any notion of cause and
effect; and this regular conjunction produces that inference of
the understanding, which is the only connexion, that we can have
any comprehension of. Whoever attempts a defi- nition of cause,
exclusive of these circumstances, will be obliged either to employ
unintelligible terms or such as are synonymous to the term which
he endeavours to define.[2] And if the definition above mentioned
be admitted; liberty, when opposed to necessity, not to constraint,
is the same thing with chance; which is universally allowed to
have no existence. PART II THERE is no method of reasoning more
common, and yet none more blameable, than, in philosophical disputes,
to endeavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pre- tence
of its dangerous consequences to religion and mor- ality. When
any opinion leads to absurdities, it is cer- tainly false; but
it is not certain that an opinion is false, because it is of dangerous
consequence. Such topics, there- fore, ought entirely to be forborne;
as serving nothing to the discovery of truth, but only to make
the person of an antagonist odious. This I observe in general,
without pre- tending to draw any advantage from it. I frankly
submit to an examination of this kind, and shall venture to affirm
that the doctrines, both of necessity and of liberty, as above
explained, are not only consistent with morality, but are absolutely
essential to its support. Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably
to the two definitions of cause, of which it makes an essential
part. It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects,
or in the inference of the understanding from one object to another.
Now necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed, are at bottom
the same) has universally, though tacitly, in the schools, in
the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed to belong to the
will of man; and no one has ever pretended to deny that we can
draw inferences concerning human actions, and that those inferences
are founded on the experienced union of like actions, with like
motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only par- ticular
in which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will
refuse to give the name of necessity to this property of human
actions: but as long as the meaning is understood, I hope the
word can do no harm: or that he will maintain it possible to discover
something farther in the operations of matter. But this, it must
be acknowledged, can be of no consequence to morality or religion,
whatever it may be to natural philosophy or metaphysics. We may
here be mistaken in asserting that there is no idea of any other
necessity or connexion in the actions of body: But surely we ascribe
nothing to the actions of the mind, but what everyone does, and
must readily allow of. We change no circumstance in the received
orthodox system with regard to the will, but only in that with
regard to material objects and causes. Nothing, therefore, can
be more innocent, at least, than this doctrine. All laws being
founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed as a fundamental
principle, that these motives have a regular and uniform influence
on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil actions.
We may give to this influence what name we please; but, as it
is usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed a cause,
and be looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which we
would here establish. The only proper object of hatred or vengeance
is a person or creature, endowed with thought and conscious- ness;
and when any criminal or injurious actions excite that passion,
it is only by their relation to the person, or connexion with
him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and perishing;
and where they proceed not from some cause in the character and
disposition of the person who performed them, they can neither
redound to his honour, if good; nor infamy, if evil. The actions
themselves may be blameable; they may be contrary to all the rules
of morality and religion: but the person is not answerable for
them; and as they proceeded from nothing in him that is durable
and constant, and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it
is impossible he can, upon their account, become the object of
punishment or vengeance. According to the principle, therefore,
which denies necessity, and consequently causes, a man is as pure
and untainted, after having committed the most horrid crime, as
at the first moment of his birth, nor is his character anywise
concerned in his actions, since they are not derived from it,
and the wickedness of the one can never be used as a proof of
the depravity of the other. Men are not blamed for such actions
as they perform ignorantly and casually, whatever may be the consequences.
Why? but because the principles of these actions are only momentary,
and terminate in them alone. Men are less blamed for such actions
as they perform hastily and unpre- meditatedly than for such as
proceed from deliberation. For what reason? but because a hasty
temper, though a constant cause or principle in the mind, operates
only by intervals, and infects not the whole character. Again,
repentance wipes off every crime, if attended with a reformation
of life and manners. How is this to be accounted for? but by asserting
that actions render a person criminal merely as they are proofs
of criminal principles in the mind; and when, by an alteration
of these principles, they cease to be just proofs, they likewise
cease to be criminal. But, except upon the doctrine of necessity,
they never were just proofs, and consequently never were criminal.
It will be equally easy to prove, and from the same arguments,
that liberty, according to that definition above mentioned, in
which all men agree, is also essential to morality, and that no
human actions, where it is wanting, are susceptible of any moral
qualities, or can be the objects either of approbation or dislike.
For as actions are objects of our moral sentiment, so far only
as they are indications of the internal character, passions, and
affections; it is impossible that they can give rise either to
praise or blame, where they proceed not from these principles,
but are derived altogether from external violence. I pretend not
to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory, with
regard to necessity and liberty. I can foresee other objections,
derived from topics which have not here been treated of. It may
be said, for instance, that, if voluntary actions be subjected
to the same laws of necessity with the operations of matter, there
is a continued chain of necessary causes, pre-ordained and pre-determined,
reaching from the original cause of all to every single volition
of every human creature. No contingency any- where in the universe;
no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at the same
time, acted upon. The ulti- mate Author of all our volitions is
the Creator of the world, who first bestowed motion on this immense
machine, and placed all beings in that particular position, whence
every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must result.
Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral turpitude at
all, as proceeding from so good a cause; or if they have any turpitude,
they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is acknowledged
to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a man, who fired
a mine, is answerable for all the consequences whether the train
he employed be long or short; so wherever a continued chain of
necessary causes is fixed, that Being, either finite or infinite,
who produces the first, is likewise the author of all the rest,
and must both bear the blame and acquire the praise which belong
to them. Our clear and unalterable ideas of morality establish
this rule, upon unquestionable reasons, when we examine the consequences
of any human action; and these reasons must still have greater
force when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being
infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may be pleaded
for so limited a creature as man; but those imperfections have
no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he intended
all those actions of men, which we so rashly pronounce criminal.
And we must there- fore conclude, either that they are not criminal,
or that the Deity, not man, is accountable for them. But as either
of these positions is absurd and impious, it follows, that the
doctrine from which they are deduced cannot possibly be true,
as being liable to all the same objections. An absurd consequence,
if necessary, proves the original doctrine to be absurd; in the
same manner as criminal actions render crimi- nal the original
cause, if the connexion between them be necessary and inevitable.
This objection consists of two parts, which we shall examine separately;
First, that, if human actions can be traced up, by a necessary
chain, to the Deity, they can never be criminal; on account of
the infinite perfection of that Being from whom they are derived,
and who can intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable.
Or, Secondly, if they be criminal, we must retract the attribute
of perfection, which we ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge
him to be the ultimate author of guilt and moral turpitude in
all his creatures. The answer to the first objection seems obvious
and con- vincing. There are many philosophers who, after an exact
scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature, conclude, that the WHOLE,
considered as one system, is, in every period of its existence,
ordered with perfect benevolence; and that the utmost possible
happiness will, in the end, result to all created beings, without
any mixture of positive or absolute ill or misery. Every physical
ill, say they, makes an essen- tial part of this benevolent system,
and could not possibly be removed, even by the Deity himself,
considered as a wise agent, without giving entrance to greater
ill, or ex- cluding greater good, which will result from it. From
this theory, some philosophers, and the ancient Stoics among the
rest, derived a topic of consolation under all afflictions, while
they taught their pupils that those ills under which they laboured
were, in reality, goods to the universe; and that to an enlarged
view, which could comprehend the whole system of nature, every
event became an object of joy and exultation. But though this
topic be specious and sublime, it was soon found in practice weak
and inef- fectual. You would surely more irritate than appease
a man lying under the racking pains of the gout by preaching up
to him the rectitude of those general laws, which pro- duced the
malignant humours in his body, and led them through the proper
canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now excite such acute
torments. These enlarged views may, for a moment, please the imagination
of a speculative man, who is placed in ease and security; but
neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind, even though
undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion; much less can
they maintain their ground when attacked by such powerful antagonists.
The affections take a nar- rower and more natural survey of their
object; and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human
minds, regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by
such events as appear good or ill to the private system. The case
is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot reasonably
be supposed, that those remote consid- erations, which are found
of so little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful
influence with regard to the other. The mind of man is so formed
by nature that, upon the appearance of certain characters, dispositions,
and actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of appro- bation
or blame; nor are there any emotions more essential to its frame
and constitution. The characters which engage our approbation
are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and security of human
society; as the characters which excite blame are chiefly such
as tend to public detriment and disturbance: whence it may reasonably
be presumed, that the moral sentiments arise, either mediately
or im- mediately, from a reflection of these opposite interests.
What though philosophical meditations establish a different opinion
or conjecture; that everything is right with regard to the WHOLE,
and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in the main,
as beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary intention of
nature as those which more directly promote its happiness and
welfare? Are such remote and uncertain speculations able to counterbalance
the senti- ments which arise from the natural and immediate view
of the objects? A man who is robbed of a considerable sum; does
he find his vexation for the loss anywise diminished by these
sublime reflections? Why then should his moral resentment against
the crime be supposed incompatible with them? Or why should not
the acknowledgment of a real distinction between vice and virtue
be reconcileable to all speculative systems of philosophy, as
well as that of a real distinction between personal beauty and
deformity? Both these distinctions are founded in the natural
senti- ments of the human mind: And these sentiments are not to
be controuled or altered by any philosophical theory or speculation
whatsoever. The second objection admits not of so easy and satis-
factory an answer; nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how
the Deity can be the mediate cause of all the actions of men,
without being the author of sin and moral turpitude. These are
mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted reason is very unfit
to handle; and whatever system she embraces, she must find herself
involved in inextricable difficulties, and even contradictions,
at every step which she takes with regard to such subjects. To
reconcile the in- difference and contingency of human actions
with prescience; or to defend absolute decrees, and yet free the
Deity from being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to
exceed all the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible
of her temerity, when she pries into these sublime mysteries;
and leaving a scene so full of obscurities and perplexities, return,
with suitable modesty, to her true and proper province, the examination
of common life; where she will find difficulties enough to employ
her enquiries, without launching into so boundless an ocean of
doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction! [1] The prevalence of the
doctrine of liberty may be accounted for, from another cause,
viz. a false sensation of seeming experience which we have, or
may have, of liberty or indifference, in many of our actions.
The necessity of any action, whether of matter or of mind, is
not, properly speaking, a quality in the agent, but in any thinking
or intelligent being, who may con- sider the action; and it consists
chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer the existence
of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty, when opposed
to necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination, and
a certain looseness or indifference, which we feel, in passing,
or not passing, from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding
one. Now we may observe, that, though, in reflecting on human
actions, we seldom feel such a looseness, or indifference, but
are commonly able to infer them with considerable certainty from
their motives, and from the dispositions of the agent; yet it
frequently happens, that, in performing the actions themselves,
we are sensible of something like it: And as all resembling objects
are readily taken for each other, this has been employed as a
demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel,
that our actions are subject to our will, on most occasions; and
imagine we feel, that the will itself is subject to nothing, because,
when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we feel, that it
moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself (or a
Velleity, as it is called in the schools) even on that side, on
which it did not settle. This image, or faint motion, we persuade
ourselves, could, at that time, have been compleated into the
thing itself; because, should that be denied, we find, upon a
second trial, that, at present, it can. We consider not, that
the fantastical desire of shewing liberty, is here the motive
of our actions. And it seems certain, that, however we may imagine
we feel a liberty within ourselves, a spec- tator can commonly
infer our actions from our motives and character; and even where
he cannot, he concludes in general, that he might, were he perfectly
acquainted with every circumstance of our situation and temper,
and the most secret springs of our complexion and disposition.
Now this is the very essence of necessity, according to the foregoing
doctrine. [2] Thus, if a cause be defined, that which produces
any thing, it is easy to observe, that producing is synonymous
to causing. In like manner, if a cause be defined, that by which
any thing exists, this is liable to the same objection. For what
is meant by these words, by which? Had it been said, that a cause
is that after which any thing constantly exists; we should have
understood the terms. For this is, indeed, all we know of the
mat- ter. And this constantly forms the very essence of necessity,
nor have we any other idea of it. SECTION IX OF THE REASON OF
ANIMALS ALL our reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded
on a species of Analogy, which leads us to expect from any cause
the same events, which we have observed to result from similar
causes. Where the causes are entirely similar, the analogy is
perfect, and the inference, drawn from it, is regarded as cer-
tain and conclusive: nor does any man ever entertain a doubt,
where he sees a piece of iron, that it will have weight and cohesion
of parts; as in all other instances, which have ever fallen under
his observation. But where the objects have not so exact a similarity,
the analogy is less perfect, and the inference is less conclusive;
though still it has some force, in proportion to the degree of
similar- ity and resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed
upon one animal, are, by this species of reasoning, extended to
all animals; and it is certain, that when the circulation of the
blood, for instance, is clearly proved to have place in one creature,
as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong presump- tion, that the
same principle has place in all. These ana- logical observations
may be carried farther, even to this science, of which we are
now treating; and any theory, by which we explain the operations
of the understanding, or the origin and connexion of the passions
in man, will acquire additional authority, if we find, that the
same theory is requisite to explain the same phenomena in all
other animals. We shall make trial of this, with regard to the
hypothesis, by which we have, in the foregoing discourse, endeavoured
to account for all experimental reasonings; and it is hoped, that
this new point of view will serve to confirm all our former observations.
First, It seems evident, that animals as well as men learn many
things from experience, and infer, that the same events will always
follow from the same causes. By this principle they become acquainted
with the more obvious properties of external objects, and gradually,
from their birth, treasure up a knowledge of the nature of fire,
water, earth, stones, heights, depths, &c., and of the effects
which result from their operation. The ignorance and inexperience
of the young are here plainly distinguishable from the cunning
and sagacity of the old, who have learned, by long observation,
to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue what gave ease or pleasure.
A horse, that has been accustomed to the field, becomes acquainted
with the proper height which he can leap, and will never attempt
what exceeds his force and ability. An old greyhound will trust
the more fatiguing part of the chace to the younger, and will
place himself so as to meet the hare in her doubles; nor are the
conjectures, which he forms on this occasion, founded in any thing
but his observation and experience. This is still more evident
from the effects of discipline and education on animals, who,
by the proper application of rewards and punishments, may be taught
any course of action, and most contrary to their natural instincts
and propensities. Is it not experience, which renders a dog apprehensive
of pain, when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat him?
Is it not even experience, which makes him answer to his name,
and infer, from such an arbitrary sound, that you mean him rather
than any of his fellows, and intend to call him, when you pronounce
it in a certain manner, and with a certain tone and accent? In
all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers some fact
beyond what immediately strikes his senses; and that this inference
is altogether founded on past experience, while the creature expects
from the present object the same consequences, which it has always
found in its observation to result from similar objects. Secondly,
It is impossible, that this inference of the animal can be founded
on any process of argument or reasoning, by which he concludes,
that like events must follow like objects, and that the course
of nature will always be regular in its operations. For if there
be in reality any arguments of this nature, they surely lie too
abstruse for the observation of such imperfect understandings;
since it may well employ the utmost care and attention of a philosophic
genius to discover and observe them. Animals, therefore are not
guided in these inferences by reasoning: neither are chil- dren;
neither are the generality of mankind, in their ordi- nary actions
and conclusions: neither are philosophers them- selves, who, in
all the active parts of life, are, in the main, the same with
the vulgar, and are governed by the same maxims. Nature must have
provided some other principle, of more ready, and more general
use and applica- tion; nor can an operation of such immense consequence
in life, as that of inferring effects from causes, be trusted
to the uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation. Were
this doubtful with regard to men, it seems to admit of no question
with regard to the brute creation; and the conclusion being once
firmly established in the one, we have a strong presumption, from
all the rules of analogy, that it ought to be universally admitted,
without any exception or reserve. It is custom alone, which engages
animals, from every object, that strikes their senses, to infer
its usual attendant, and carries their imagination, from the appearance
of the one, to conceive the other, in that partic- ular manner,
which we denominate belief. No other ex- plication can be given
of this operation, in all the higher, as well as lower classes
of sensitive beings, which fall under our notice and observation.[1]
But though animals learn many parts of their knowledge from observation,
there are also many parts of it, which they derive from the original
hand of nature; which much exceed the share of capacity they possess
on ordinary occa- sions; and in which they improve, little or
nothing, by the longest practice and experience. These we denominate
Instincts, and are so apt to admire as something very extraor-
dinary, and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human understanding.
But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish, when we consider,
that the experimental reason- ing itself, which we possess in
common with beasts, and on which the whole conduct of life depends,
is nothing but a species of instinct or mechanical power, that
acts in us unknown to ourselves; and in its chief operations,
is not directed by any such relations or comparisons of ideas,
as are the proper objects of our intellectual faculties. Though
the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct, which
teaches a man to avoid the fire; as much as that, which teaches
a bird, with such exactness, the art of incubation, and the whole
economy and order of its nursery. [1] Since all reasoning concerning
facts or causes is derived merely from custom, it may be asked
how it happens, that men so much surpass animals in reasoning,
and one man so much surpasses another? Has not the same custom
the same influence on all? We shall here endeavour briefly to
explain the great difference in human understandings: After which
the reason of the difference between men and animals will easily
be comprehended. 1. When we have lived any time, and have been
accustomed to the uni- formity of nature, we acquire a general
habit, by which we always transfer the known to the unknown, and
conceive the latter to resemble the former. By means of this general
habitual principle, we regard even one experi- ment as the foundation
of reasoning, and expect a similar event with some degree of certainty,
where the experiment has been made accurately, and free from all
foreign circumstances. It is therefore considered as a matter
of great importance to observe the consequences of things; and
as one man may very much surpass another in attention and memory
and observation, this will make a very great difference in their
reasoning. 2. Where there is a complication of causes to produce
any effect, one mind may be much larger than another, and better
able to comprehend the whole system of objects, and to infer justly
their consequences. 3. One man is able to carry on a chain of
consequences to a greater length than another. 4. Few men can
think long without running into a confusion of ideas, and mistaking
one for another; and there are various degrees of this infirmity.
5. The circumstance, on which the effect depends, is frequently
involved in other circumstances, which are foreign and extrinsic.
The separation of it often requires great attention, accuracy,
and subtility. 6. The forming of general maxims from particular
observation is a very nice operation; and nothing is more usual,
from haste or a narrowness of mind, which sees not on all sides,
than to commit mistakes in this particular. 7. When we reason
from analogies, the man, who has the greater experi- ence or the
greater promptitude of suggesting analogies, will be the better
reasoner. 8. Biases from prejudice, education, passion, party,
&c. hang more upon one mind than another. 9. After we have
acquired a confidence in human testimony, books and conversation
enlarge much more the sphere of one man's experience and thought
than those of another. It would be easy to discover many other
circumstances that make a difference in the understandings of
men. SECTION X OF MIRACLES PART I THERE is, in Dr. Tillotson's
writings, an argument against the real presence, which is as concise,
and elegant, and strong as any argument can possibly be supposed
against a doctrine, so little worthy of a serious refutation.
It is acknowledged on all hands, says that learned prelate, that
the authority, either of the scripture or of tradition, is founded
merely in the testimony of the Apostles, who were eye-witnesses
to those miracles of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine
mission. Our evi- dence, then, for, the truth of the Christian
religion is less than the evidence for the truth of our senses;
because, even in the first authors of our religion, it was no
greater; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from them
to their disciples; nor can any one rest such confidence in their
testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. But a weaker
evidence can never destroy a stronger; and therefore, were the
doctrine of the real presence ever so clearly re- vealed in scripture,
it were directly contrary to the rules of just reasoning to give
our assent to it. It contradicts sense, though both the scripture
and tradition, on which it is supposed to be built, carry not
such evidence with them as sense; when they are considered merely
as external evidences, and are not brought home to every one's
breast, by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit. Nothing
is so convenient as a decisive argument of this kind, which must
at least silence the most arrogant big- otry and superstition,
and free us from their impertinent solicitations. I flatter myself,
that I have discovered an argument of a like nature, which, if
just, will, with the wise and learned, be an everlasting check
to all kinds of super- stitious delusion, and consequently, will
be useful as long as the world endures. For so long, I presume,
will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be found in all history,
sacred and profane. Though experience be our only guide in reasoning
con- cerning matters of fact; it must be acknowledged, that this
guide is not altogether infallible, but in some cases is apt to
lead us into errors. One, who in our climate, should expect better
weather in any week of June than in one of December, would reason
justly, and conformably to experience; but it is certain, that
he may happen, in the event, to find himself mistaken. However,
we may observe, that, in such a case, he would have no cause to
complain of experience; because it commonly informs us beforehand
of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may
learn from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with
like certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are found,
in all countries and all ages, to have been con- stantly conjoined
together: Others are found to have been more variable, and sometimes
to disappoint our expecta- tions; so that, in our reasonings concerning
matter of fact, there are all imaginable degrees of assurance,
from the highest certainty to the lowest species of moral evidence.
A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence.
In such conclusions as are founded on an infal- lible experience,
he expects the event with the last degree of assurance, and regards
his past experience as a full proof of the future existence of
that event. In other cases, he proceeds with more caution: he
weighs the opposite experiments: he considers which side is sup-
ported by the greater number of experiments: to that side he inclines,
with doubt and hesitation; and when at last he fixes his judgement,
the evidence exceeds not what we properly call probability. All
probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments and observations,
where the one side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce
a degree of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A hundred
instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford
a doubtful expectation of any event; though a hundred uniform
experiments, with only one that is con- tradictory, reasonably
beget a pretty strong degree of as- surance. In all cases, we
must balance the opposite experi- ments, where they are opposite,
and deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to know
the exact force of the superior evidence. To apply these principles
to a particular instance; we may observe, that there is no species
of reasoning more common, more useful, and even necessary to human
life, than that which is derived from the testimony of men, and
the reports of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning,
perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause and
effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be sufficient
to observe that our assurance in any argument of this kind is
derived from no other principle than our observation of the veracity
of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the
reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no objects
have any dis- coverable connexion together, and that all the inferences,
which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely on our
experience of their constant and regular conjunction; it is evident,
that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour
of human testimony, whose connexion with any event seems, in itself,
as little necessary as any other. Were not the memory tenacious
to a certain degree; had not men commonly an inclination to truth
and a prin- ciple of probity; were they not sensible to shame,
when detected in a falsehood: were not these, I say, discovered
by experience to be qualities, inherent in human nature, we should
never repose the least confidence in human testi- mony. A man
delirious, or noted for falsehood and villainy, has no manner
of authority with us. And as the evidence, derived from witnesses
and human testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies
with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a probability,
according as the conjunction between any par- ticular kind of
report and any kind of object has been found to be constant or
variable. There are a number of circum- stances to be taken into
consideration in all judgements of this kind; and the ultimate
standard, by which we determine all disputes, that may arise concerning
them, is always derived from experience and observation. Where
this experience is not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended
with an unavoidable contrariety in our judgements, and with the
same opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in every
other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate con- cerning the
reports of others. We balance the opposite circumstances, which
cause any doubt or uncertainty; and when we discover a superiority
on any side, we incline to it; but still with a diminution of
assurance, in proportion to the force of its antagonist. This
contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived from
several different causes; from the opposition of contrary testimony;
from the character or number of the witnesses; from the manner
of their delivering their testi- mony; or from the union of all
these circumstances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter
of fact, when the witnesses contradict each other; when they are
but few, or of a doubtful character; when they have an interest
in what they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with hesitation,
or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations. There are
many other particulars of the same kind, which may diminish or
destroy the force of any argument, derived from human testimony.
Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony endeavours
to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and the marvellous;
in that case, the evidence, resulting from the testimony, admits
of a diminution, greater or less, in proportion as the fact is
more or less unusual. The reason why we place any credit in witnesses
and historians, is not derived from any connexion, which we perceive
a priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are accustomed
to find a conformity between them. But when the fact attested
is such a one as has seldom fallen under our observation, here
is a contest of two opposite experi- ences; of which the one destroys
the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can only
operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same
principle of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance
in the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another
degree of assurance against the fact, which they endeavour to
establish; from which contradiction there necessarily arises a
counterpoize, and mutual destruction of belief and authority.
I should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato, was
a proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of that
philosophical patriot.[1] The incredibility of a fact, it was
allowed, might invalidate so great an authority. The Indian prince,
who refused to believe the first re- lations concerning the effects
of frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally required very strong
testimony to engage his assent to facts, that arose from a state
of nature, with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little
analogy to those events, of which he had had constant and uniform
experience. Though they were not contrary to his experience, they
were not conformable to it.[2] But in order to encrease the probability
against the testimony of witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact,
which they affirm, instead of being only marvellous, is really
miraculous; and suppose also, that the testimony considered apart
and in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that case, there
is proof against proof, of which the strongest must prevail, but
still with a diminution of its force, in pro- portion to that
of its antagonist. A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature;
and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these
laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the
fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can possibly
be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men must die;
that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in the air; that
fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by water; unless it be,
that these events are found agreeable to the laws of nature, and
there is required a violation of these laws, or in other words,
a miracle to prevent them? Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it
ever happen in the common course of nature. It is no miracle that
a man, seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: because
such a kind of death, though more unusual than any other, has
yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that
a dead man should come to life; because that has never been observed
in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a uniform experience
against every miraculous event, otherwise the event would not
merit that appellation. And as a uniform experience amounts to
a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature
of the fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can such
a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by
an opposite proof, which is superior.[3] The plain consequence
is (and it is a general maxim worthy of our attention), 'that
no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless the
testimony be of such a kind, that its falsehood would be more
miraculous, than the fact, which it endeavors to establish; and
even in that case there is a mutual destruction of arguments,
and the superior only gives us an assurance suitable to that degree
of force, which remains, after deducting the inferior.' When anyone
tells me, that he saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately
consider with myself, whether it be more probable, that this person
should either deceive or be deceived, or that the fact, which
he relates, should really have happened. I weigh the one miracle
against the other; and according to the superiority, which I discover,
I pro- nounce my decision, and always reject the greater miracle.
If the falsehood of his testimony would be more miraculous, than
the event which he relates; then, and not till then, can he pretend
to command my belief or opinion. PART II IN the foregoing reasoning
we have supposed, that the testimony, upon which a miracle is
founded, may possibly amount to an entire proof, and that the
falsehood of that testimony would be a real prodigy: but it is
easy to shew, that we have been a great deal too liberal in our
concession, and that there never was a miraculous event established
on so full an evidence. For first, there is not to be found, in
all history, any miracle attested by a sufficient number of men,
of such unquestioned good-sense, education, and learning, as to
secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such un- doubted
integrity, as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design
to deceive others; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of
mankind, as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being
detected in any falsehood; and at the same time, attesting facts
performed in such a public manner and in so celebrated a part
of the world, as to render the detection unavoidable: all which
circumstances are re- quisite to give us a full assurance in the
testimony of men. Secondly. We may observe in human nature a principle
which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish extremely
the assurance, which we might, from human testimony, have in any
kind of prodigy. The maxim, by which we commonly conduct ourselves
in our reasonings, is, that the objects, of which we have no experience,
re- sembles those, of which we have; that what we have found to
be most usual is always most probable; and that where there is
an opposition of arguments, we ought to give the preference to
such as are founded on the greatest number of past observations.
But though, in proceeding by this rule, we readily reject any
fact which is unusual and incredible in an ordinary degree; yet
in advancing farther, the mind observes not always the same rule;
but when anything is affirmed utterly absurd and miraculous, it
rather the more readily admits of such a fact, upon account of
that very circumstance, which ought to destroy all its authority.
The passion of surprise and wonder, arising from miracles, being
an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the belief
of those events, from which it is derived. And this goes so far,
that even those who cannot enjoy this pleasure immediately, nor
can believe those miraculous events, of which they are informed,
yet love to partake of the satisfac- tion at second-hand or by
rebound, and place a pride and delight in exciting the admiration
of others. With what greediness are the miraculous accounts of
travellers received, their descriptions of sea and land mon- sters,
their relations of wonderful adventures, strange men, and uncouth
manners? But if the spirit of religion join itself to the love
of wonder, there is an end of common sense; and human testimony,
in these circumstances, loses all pretensions to authority. A
religionist may be an en- thusiast, and imagine he sees what has
no reality: he may know his narrative to be false, and yet persevere
in it, with the best intentions in the world, for the sake of
promoting so holy a cause: or even where this delusion has not
place, vanity, excited by so strong a temptation, operates on
him more powerfully than on the rest of mankind in any other circumstances;
and self-interest with equal force. His auditors may not have,
and commonly have not, suf- ficient judgement to canvass his evidence:
what judgement they have, they renounce by principle, in these
sublime and mysterious subjects: or if they were ever so willing
to employ it, passion and a heated imagination disturb the regularity
of its operations. their credulity increases his impudence: and
his impudence overpowers their credulity. Eloquence, when at its
highest pitch, leaves little room for reason or reflection; but
addressing itself entirely to the fancy or the affections, captivates
the willing hearers, and subdues their understanding. Happily,
this pitch it seldom attains. But what a Tully or a Demosthenes
could scarcely effect over a Roman or Athenian audience, every
Capuchin, every itinerant or stationary teacher can perform over
the generality of mankind, and in a higher degree, by touching
such gross and vulgar passions. The many instances of forged miracles,
and prophecies, and supernatural events, which, in all ages, have
either been detected by contrary evidence, or which detect themselves
by their absurdity, prove sufficiently the strong propensity of
mankind to the extraordinary and the marvellous, and ought reasonably
to beget a suspicion against all relations of this kind. This
is our natural way of thinking, even with regard to the most common
and most credible events. For instance: There is no kind of report
which rises so easily, and spreads so quickly, especially in country
places and provincial towns, as those concerning marriages; inso-
much that two young persons of equal condition never see each
other twice, but the whole neighbourhood immediately join them
together. The pleasure of telling a piece of news so interesting,
of propagating it, and of being the first reporters of it, spreads
the intelligence. And this is so well known, that no man of sense
gives attention to these reports, till he find them confirmed
by some greater evidence. Do not the same passions, and others
still stronger, incline the generality of mankind to believe and
report, with the greatest vehemence and assurance, all religious
miracles? Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption against all super-
natural and miraculous relations, that they are observed chiefly
to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations; or if a civilized
people has ever given admission to any of them, that people will
be found to have received them from ignorant and barbarous ancestors,
who transmitted them with that inviolable sanction and authority,
which always attend received opinions. When we peruse the first
histories of all nations, we are apt to imagine our- selves transported
into some new world; where the whole frame of nature is disjointed,
and every element performs its operations in a different manner,
from what it does at present. Battles, revolutions, pestilence,
famine and death, are never the effect of those natural causes,
which we experience. Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgements, quite
obscure the few natural events, that are intermingled with them.
But as the former grow thinner every page, in proportion as we
advance nearer the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there
is nothing mysterious or supernatural in the case, but that all
proceeds from the usual propensity of mankind towards the marvellous,
and that, though this inclination may at intervals receive a check
from sense and learning, it can never be thoroughly extirpated
from human nature. It is strange, a judicious reader is apt to
say, upon the perusal of these wonderful historians, that such
prodigious events never happen in our days. But it is nothing
strange, I hope, that men should lie in all ages. You must surely
have seen instances enough of that frailty. You have your- self
heard many such marvellous relations started, which, being treated
with scorn by all the wise and judicious, have at last been abandoned
even by the vulgar. Be as- sured, that those renowned lies, which
have spread and flourished to such a monstrous height, arose from
like beginnings; but being sown in a more proper soil, shot up
at last into prodigies almost equal to those which they relate.
It was a wise policy in that false prophet, Alexander, who though
now forgotten, was once so famous, to lay the first scene of his
impostures in Paphlagonia, where, as Lucian tells us, the people
were extremely ignorant and stupid, and ready to swallow even
the grossest delusion. People at a distance, who are weak enough
to think the matter at all worth enquiry, have no opportunity
of receiving better in- formation. The stories come magnified
to them by a hundred circumstances. Fools are industrious in propagating
the imposture; while the wise and learned are contented, in general,
to deride its absurdity, without informing themselves of the particular
facts, by which it may be distinctly refuted. And thus the impostor
above mentioned was enabled to proceed, from his ignorant Paphlagonians,
to the enlisting of votaries, even among the Grecian philosophers,
and men of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome; nay,
could engage the attention of that sage emperor Marcus Aurelius;
so far as to make him trust the success of a military expedition
to his delusive prophecies. The advantages are so great, of starting
an imposture among an ignorant people, that, even though the delusion
should be too gross to impose on the generality of them (which,
though seldom, is sometimes the case) it has a much better chance
for succeeding in remote countries, than if the first scene had
been laid in a city renowned for arts and knowledge. The most
ignorant and barbarous of these barbarians carry the report abroad.
None of their country- men have a large correspondence, or sufficient
credit and authority to contradict and beat down the delusion.
Men's inclination to the marvellous has full opportunity to display
itself. And thus a story, which is universally exploded in the
place where it was first started, shall pass for certain at a
thousand miles distance. But had Alexander fixed his residence
at Athens, the philosophers of that renowned mart of learning
had immediately spread, throughout the whole Roman empire, their
sense of the matter; which, being supported by so great authority,
and displayed by all the force of reason and eloquence, had entirely
opened the eyes of mankind. It is true; Lucian, passing by chance
through Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of performing this good
office. But, though much to be wished, it does not always happen,
that every Alexander meets with a Lucian, ready to expose and
detect his impostures. I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes
the authority of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any,
even those which have not been expressly detected, that is not
opposed by an infinite number of witnesses; so that not only the
miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testimony destroys
itself. To make this the better understood, let us consider, that,
in matters of religion, whatever is different is contrary; and
that it is impossible the religions of ancient Rome, of Turkey,
of Siam, and of China should, all of them, be established on any
solid foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have
been wrought in any of these religions (and all of them abound
in miracles), as its direct scope is to establish the particular
system to which it is attributed; so has it the same force, though
more indirectly, to overthrow every other system. In destroying
a rival system, it likewise destroys the credit of those miracles,
on which that system was established; so that all the prodigies
of different re- ligions are to be regarded as contrary facts,
and the evi- dences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong,
as opposite to each other. According to this method of rea- soning,
when we believe any miracle of Mahomet or his successors, we have
for our warrant the testimony of a few barbarous Arabians: and
on the other hand, we are to regard the authority of Titus Livius,
Plutarch, Tacitus, and, in short, of all the authors and witnesses,
Grecian, Chinese, and Roman Catholic, who have related any mira-
cle in their particular religion; I say, we are to regard their
testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned that Mahometan
miracle, and had in express terms con- tradicted it, with the
same certainty as they have for the miracle they relate. This
argument may appear over sub- tile and refined; but is not in
reality different from the reasoning of a judge, who supposes,
that the credit of two witnesses, maintaining a crime against
any one, is destroyed by the testimony of two others, who affirm
him to have been two hundred leagues distant, at the same in-
stant when the crime is said to have been committed. One of the
best attested miracles in all profane history, is that which Tacitus
reports of Vespasian, who cured a blind man in Alexandria, by
means of his spittle, and a lame man by the mere touch of his
foot; in obedience to a vision of the god Serapis, who had enjoined
them to have recourse to the Emperor, for these miraculous cures.
The story may be seen in that fine historian[4]; where every circumstance
seems to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed at
large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any one
were now concerned to enforce the evidence of that exploded and
idolatrous superstition. The gravity, solidity, age, and probity
of so great an emperor, who, through the whole course of his life,
con- versed in a familiar manner with his friends and courtiers,
and never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity assumed
by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, a contemporary writer,
noted for candour and veracity, and withal, the greatest and most
penetrating genius, perhaps, of all antiquity; and so free from
any tendency to credulity, that he even lies under the contrary
imputation, of atheism and profaneness: The persons, from whose
authority he related the miracle, of established character for
judgement and veracity, as we may well presume; eye-witnesses
of the fact, and confirming their testimony, after the Flavian
family was despoiled of the empire, and could no longer give any
reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuere, nunc
quoque memorant, postquam nullum men- dacio pretium. To which
if we add the public nature of the facts, as related, it will
appear, that no evidence can well be supposed stronger for so
gross and so palpable a falsehood. There is also a memorable story
related by Cardinal de Retz, which may well deserve our consideration.
When that intriguing politician fled into Spain, to avoid the
persecution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the capital
of Arragon, where he was shewn, in the cathe- dral, a man, who
had served seven years as a doorkeeper, and was well known to
every body in town, that had ever paid his devotions at that church.
He had been seen, for so long a time, wanting a leg; but recovered
that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the stump; and the cardinal
assures us that he saw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched
by all the canons of the church; and the whole company in town
were appealed to for a con- firmation of the fact; whom the cardinal
found, by their zealous devotion, to be thorough believers of
the miracle. Here the relater was also contemporary to the supposed
prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine character, as well as
of great genius; the miracle of so singular a nature as could
scarcely admit of a counterfeit, and the witnesses very numerous,
and all of them, in a manner, spectators of the fact, to which
they gave their testimony. And what adds mightily to the force
of the evidence, and may double our surprise on this occasion,
is, that the cardinal himself, who relates the story, seems not
to give any credit to it, and consequently cannot be suspected
of any concurrence in the holy fraud. He considered justly, that
it was not requisite, in order to reject a fact of this nature,
to be able accurately to disprove the testimony, and to trace
its falsehood, through all the circumstances of knavery and credulity
which produced it. He knew, that, as this was commonly altogether
impossible at any small distance of time and place; so was it
extremely difficult, even where one was immediately present, by
reason of the bigotry, ignorance, cunning, and roguery of a great
part of man- kind. He therefore concluded, like a just reasoner,
that such an evidence carried falsehood upon the very face of
it, and that a miracle, supported by any human testi- mony, was
more properly a subject of derision than of argument. There surely
never was a greater number of miracles ascribed to one person,
than those, which were lately said to have been wrought in France
upon the tomb of Abbe Paris, the famous Jansenist, with whose
sanctity the people were so long deluded. The curing of the sick,
giving hearing to the deaf, and sight to the blind, were every
where talked of as the usual effects of that holy sepulchre. But
what is more extraordinary; many of the miracles were immediately
proved upon the spot, before judges of un- questioned integrity,
attested by witnesses of credit and distinction, in a learned
age, and on the most eminent theatre that is now in the world.
Nor is this all: a relation of them was published and dispersed
everywhere; nor were the Jesuits, though a learned body supported
by the civil magistrate, and determined enemies to those opinions,
in whose favour the miracles were said to have been wrought, ever
able distinctly to refute or detect them.[5] Where shall we find
such a number of circumstances, agreeing to the corroboration
of one fact? And what have we to oppose to such a cloud of witnesses,
but the absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of the events,
which they relate? And this surely, in the eyes of all reasonable
people, will alone be regarded as a sufficient refutation. Is
the consequence just, because some human testimony has the utmost
force and authority in some cases, when it relates the battle
of Philippi or Pharsalia for instance; that therefore all kinds
of testimony must, in all cases, have equal force and authority?
Suppose that the Caesarean and Pompeian factions had, each of
them, claimed the victory in these battles, and that the historians
of each party had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their own
side; how could mankind, at this distance, have been able to determine
between them? The contrariety is equally strong between the miracles
related by Herodotus or Plutarch, and those delivered by Mariana,
Bede, or any monkish historian. The wise lend a very academic
faith to every report which favours the passion of the reporter;
whether it magnifies his country, his family, or himself, or in
any other way strikes in with his natural inclinations and pro-
pensities. But what greater temptation than to appear a missionary,
a prophet, an ambassador from heaven? Who would not encounter
many dangers and difficulties, in order to attain so sublime a
character? Or if, by the help of vanity and a heated imagination,
a man has first made a convert of himself, and entered seriously
into the delusion; who ever scruples to make use of pious frauds,
in support of so holy and meritorious a cause? The smallest spark
may here kindle into the greatest flame; because the materials
are always prepared for it. The avidum genus auricularum[6], the
gazing populace, re- ceive greedily, without examination, whatever
sooths super- stition, and promotes wonder. How many stories of
this nature have, in all ages, been detected and exploded in their
infancy? How many more have been celebrated for a time, and have
afterwards sunk into neglect and oblivion? Where such reports,
therefore, fly about, the solution of the phenomenon is obvious;
and we judge in conformity to regular experience and observa-
tion, when we account for it by the known and natural principles
of credulity and delusion. And shall we, rather than have a recourse
to so natural a solution, allow of a miraculous violation of the
most established laws of nature? I need not mention the difficulty
of detecting a falsehood in any private or even public history,
at the place, where it is said to happen; much more when the scene
is removed to ever so small a distance. Even a court of judicature,
with all the authority, accuracy, and judgement, which they can
employ, find themselves often at a loss to distinguish between
truth and falsehood in the most recent actions. But the matter
never comes to any issue, if trusted to the common method of altercations
and debate and flying rumours; especially when men's passions
have taken part on either side. In the infancy of new religions,
the wise and learned commonly esteem the matter too inconsiderable
to deserve their attention or regard. And when afterwards they
would willingly detect the cheat in order to undeceive the deluded
multitude, the season is now past, and the records and witnesses,
which might clear up the matter, have perished beyond recovery.
No means of detection remain, but those which must be drawn from
the very testimony itself of the reporters: and these, though
always sufficient with the judicious and know- ing, are commonly
too fine to fall under the comprehension of the vulgar. Upon the
whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for any kind of miracle
has ever amounted to a probability, much less to a proof; and
that, even supposing it amounted to a proof, it would be opposed
by another proof; derived from the very nature of the fact, which
it would endeavour to establish. It is experience only, which
gives authority to human testimony; and it is the same experience,
which assures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, these
two kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to do but
subtract the one from the other, and embrace an opinion, either
on one side or the other, with that assurance which arises from
the remainder. But according to the principle here explained,
this subtraction, with regard to all popular religions, amounts
to an entire annihilation; and therefore we may establish it as
a maxim, that no human testimony can have such force as to prove
a miracle, and make it a just foundation for any such system of
religion. I beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when
I say, that a miracle can never be proved, so as to be the foundation
of a system of religion. For I own, that other- wise, there may
possibly be miracles, or violations of the usual course of nature,
of such a kind as to admit of proof from human testimony; though,
perhaps, it will be im- possible to find any such in all the records
of history. Thus, suppose, all authors, in all languages, agree,
that, from the first of January, 1600, there was a total darkness
over the whole earth for eight days: suppose that the tradition
of this extraordinary event is still strong and lively among the
people: that all travellers, who return from foreign countries,
bring us accounts of the same tradition, without the least variation
or contradiction: it is evident, that our present philosophers,
instead of doubting the fact, ought to receive it as certain,
and ought to search for the causes whence it might be derived.
The decay, corruption, and dissolution of nature, is an event
rendered probable by so many analogies, that any phenomenon, which
seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe, comes within
the reach of human testimony, if that testi- mony be very extensive
and uniform. But suppose, that all the historians who treat of
England, should agree, that, on the first of January, 1600, Queen
Elizabeth died; that both before and after her death she was seen
by her physicians and the whole court, as is usual with persons
of her rank; that her successor was acknowl- edged and proclaimed
by the parliament; and that, after being interred a month, she
again appeared, resumed the throne, and governed England for three
years: I must confess that I should be surprised at the concurrence
of so many odd circumstances, but should not have the least inclination
to believe so miraculous an event. I should not doubt of her pretended
death, and of those other public circumstances that followed it:
I should only assert it to have been pretended, and that it neither
was, nor possibly could be real. You would in vain object to me
the difficulty, and almost impossibility of deceiving the world
in an affair of such consequence; the wisdom and solid judgment
of that renowned queen; with the little or no advantage which
she could reap from so poor an artifice: all this might astonish
me; but I would still reply, that the knavery and folly of men
are such common phenomena, that I should rather believe the most
extraordinary events to arise from their concurrence, than admit
of so signal a violation of the laws of nature. But should this
miracle be ascribed to any new system of religion; men, in all
ages, have been so much imposed on by ridiculous stories of that
kind, that this very circumstance would be a full proof of a cheat,
and sufficient, with all men of sense, not only to make them reject
the fact, but even reject it without farther examination. Though
the Being to whom the miracle is ascribed, be, in this case, Almighty,
it does not, upon that account, become a whit more probable; since
it is impossible for us to know the attributes or actions of such
a Being, otherwise than from the experience which we have of his
productions, in the usual course of nature. This still reduces
us to past observation, and obliges us to compare the instances
of the violation of truth in the testi- mony of men, with those
of the violation of the laws of nature by miracles, in order to
judge which of them is most likely and probable. As the violations
of truth are more common in the testimony concerning religious
mir- acles, than in that concerning any other matter of fact;
this must diminish very much the authority of the former testimony,
and make us form a general resolution, never to lend any attention
to it, with whatever specious pretence it may be covered. Lord
Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles of reasoning.
'We ought,' says he, 'to make a collection or particular history
of all monsters and prodigious births or productions, and in a
word of every thing new, rare, and extraordinary in nature. But
this must be done with the most severe scrutiny, lest we depart
from truth. Above all, every relation must be considered as suspicious,
which depends in any degree upon religion, as the prodigies of
Livy: and no less so, everything that is to be found in the writers
of natural magic or alchimy, or such authors, who seem, all of
them, to have an unconquerable appetite for falsehood and fable.[7]
I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here delivered,
as I think it may serve to confound those dangerous friends or
disguised enemies to the Christian Religion, who have undertaken
to defend it by the principles of human reason. Our most holy
religion is founded on Faith, not on reason; and it is a sure
method of exposing it to put it to such a trial as it is, by no
means, fitted to endure. To make this more evident, let us examine
those miracles, related in scripture; and not to lose ourselves
in too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we find
in the Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the principles
of these pretended Christians, not as the word or testimony of
God himself, but as the production of a mere human writer and
historian. Here then we are first to consider a book, presented
to us by a barbarous and ignorant people, written in an age when
they were still more bar- barous, and in all probability long
after the facts which it relates, corroborated by no concurring
testimony, and resembling those fabulous accounts, which every
nation gives of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it
full of prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state
of the world and of human nature entirely different from the present:
of our fall from that state: of the age of man, extended to near
a thousand years: of the destruction of the world by a deluge:
of the arbitrary choice of one people, as the favourites of heaven;
and that people the countrymen of the author: of their deliverance
from bond- age by prodigies the most astonishing imaginable: I
desire any one to lay his hand upon his heart, and after a serious
consideration declare, whether he thinks that the falsehood of
such a book, supported by such a testimony, would be more extraordinary
and miraculous than all the miracles it relates; which is, however,
necessary to make it be received, according to the measures of
probability above established. What we have said of miracles may
be applied, without any variation, to prophecies; and indeed,
all prophecies are real miracles, and as such only, can be admitted
as proofs of any revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity
of human nature to foretell future events, it would be absurd
to employ any prophecy as an argument for a divine mission or
authority from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may conclude,
that the Christian Religion not only was at first attended with
miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any reasonable
person without one. Mere reason is insufficient to convince us
of its veracity: and whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it,
is conscious of a con- tinued miracle in his own person, which
subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him
a determina- tion to believe what is most contrary to custom and
ex- perience. [1] Plutarch, in vita Catonis. [2] No Indian, it
is evident, could have experience that water did not freeze in
cold climates. This is placing nature in a situation quite unknown
to him; and it is impossible for him to tell a priori what will
result from it. It is making a new experiment, the consequence
of which is always uncer- tain. One may sometimes conjecture from
analogy what will follow; but still this is but conjecture. And
it must be confessed, that, in the present case of freezing, the
event follows contrary to the rules of analogy, and is such as
a rational Indian would not look for. The operations of cold upon
water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but when-
ever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a moment,
from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event,
therefore, may be denominated extraordinary, and requires a pretty
strong testimony, to ren- der it credible to people in a warm
climate: But still it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform
experience of the course of nature in cases where all the circumstances
are the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra have always seen water
fluid in their own climate, and the freezing of their rivers ought
to be deemed a prodigy: But they never saw water in Muscovy during
the winter; and therefore they cannot reasonably be positive what
would there be the consequence. [3] Sometimes an event may not,
in itself, seem to be contrary to the laws of nature, and yet,
if it were real, it might, by reason of some circum- stances,
be denominated a miracle; because, in fact, it is contrary to
these laws. Thus if a person, claiming a divine authority, should
command a sick person to be well, a healthful man to fall down
dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, in short, should
order many natural events, which immediately follow upon his command;
these might justly be esteemed miracles, because they are really,
in this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if any suspicion
remain, that the event and command con- curred by accident there
is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of nature. If this
suspicion be removed, there is evidently a miracle, and a transgression
of these laws; because nothing can be more contrary to nature
than that the voice or command of a man should have such an influence.
A miracle may be accurately defined, a transgression of a law
of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition
of some invisible agent. A miracle may either be discoverable
by men or not. This alters not its nature and essence. The raising
of a house or ship into the air is a visible miracle. The raising
of a feather, when the wind wants ever so little of a force requisite
for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not so sensible
with regard to us. [4] Hist. lib. v. cap. 8, Suetonius gives nearly
the same account in vita Vesp. [5] By Mons. Montgeron, counsellor
or judge of the Parliament of Paris. [6] Lucret. [7] Nov. Org.
lib. ii. aph. 29. SECTION XI OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF
A FUTURE STATE I WAS lately engaged in conversation with a friend
who loves sceptical paradoxes; where, though he ad- vanced many
principles, of which I can by no means approve, yet as they seem
to be curious, and to bear some relation to the chain of reasoning
carried on throughout this enquiry, I shall here copy them from
my memory as accurately as I can, in order to submit them to the
judge- ment of the reader. Our conversation began with my admiring
the singular good fortune of philosophy, which, as it requires
entire liberty above all other privileges, and chiefly flourishes
from the free opposition of sentiments and argumentation, received
its first birth in an age and country of freedom and toleration,
and was never cramped, even in its most extrav- agant principles,
by any creeds, concessions, or penal statutes. For, except the
banishment of Protagoras, and the death of Socrates, which last
event proceeded partly from other motives, there are scarcely
any instances to be met with, in ancient history, of this bigoted
jealousy, with which the present age is so much infested. Epicurus
lived at Athens to an advanced age, in peace and tranquillity:
Epicureans[1] were even admitted to receive the sacerdotal character,
and to officiate at the altar, in the most sacred rites of the
established religion: and the public encourage- ment[2] of pensions
and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the Roman
emperors[3], to the professors of every sect of philosophy. How
requisite such kind of treat- ment was to philosophy, in her early
youth, will easily be conceived, if we reflect, that, even at
present, when she may be supposed more hardy and robust, she bears
with much difficulty the inclemency of the seasons, and those
harsh winds of calumny and persecution, which blow upon her. You
admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune of philosophy,
what seems to result from the natural course of things, and to
be unavoidable in every age and nation. This pertinacious bigotry,
of which you complain, as so fatal to philosophy, is really her
offspring, who, after allying with superstition, separates himself
entirely from the interest of his parent, and becomes her most
inveterate enemy and persecutor. Speculative dogmas of religion,
the present occasions of such furious dispute, could not possibly
be con- ceived or admitted in the early ages of the world; when
mankind, being wholly illiterate, formed an idea of religion more
suitable to their weak apprehension, and composed their sacred
tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of traditional
belief, more than of argument or disputation. After the first
alarm, therefore, was over, which arose from the new paradoxes
and principles of the philosophers; these teachers seem ever after,
during the ages of antiquity, to have lived in great harmony with
the established supersti- tion, and to have made a fair partition
of mankind between them; the former claiming all the learned and
wise, the latter possessing all the vulgar and illiterate. It
seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of the
question, and never suppose, that a wise magistrate can justly
be jealous of certain tenets of philosophy, such as those of Epicurus,
which, denying a divine existence, and conse- quently a providence
and a future state, seem to loosen, in a great measure the ties
of morality, and may be supposed, for that reason, pernicious
to the peace of civil society. I know, replied he, that in fact
these persecutions never, in any age, proceeded from calm reason,
or from experience of the pernicious consequences of philosophy;
but arose entirely from passion and prejudice. But what if I should
advance farther, and assert, that if Epicurus had been ac- cused
before the people, by any of the sycophants or inform- ers of
those days, he could easily have defended his cause, and proved
his principles of philosophy to be as salutary as those of his
adversaries, who endeavoured, with such zeal, to expose him to
the public hatred and jealousy? I wish, said I, you would try
your eloquence upon so extraordinary a topic, and make a speech
for Epicurus, which might satisfy, not the mob of Athens, if you
will allow that ancient and polite city to have contained any
mob, but the more philosophical part of his audience, such as
might be supposed capable of comprehending his arguments. The
matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions, replied he:
and if you please, I shall suppose myself Epi- curus for a moment,
and make you stand for the Athenian people, and shall deliver
you such an harangue as will fill all the urn with white beans,
and leave not a black one to gratify the malice of my adversaries.
Very well: pray proceed upon these suppositions. I come hither,
O ye Athenians, to justify in your assembly what I maintain in
my school, and I find myself impeached by furious antagonists,
instead of reasoning with calm and dispassionate enquirers. Your
deliberations, which of right should be directed to questions
of public good, and the interest of the commonwealth, are diverted
to the disquisi- tions of speculative philosophy; and these magnificent,
but perhaps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more familiar
but more useful occupations. But so far as in me lies, I will
prevent this abuse. We shall not here dispute con- cerning the
origin and government of worlds. We shall only enquire how far
such questions concern the public interest. And if I can persuade
you, that they are entirely indifferent to the peace of society
and security of government, I hope that you will presently send
us back to our schools, there to examine, at leisure, the question
the most sublime, but, at the same time, the most speculative
of all philosophy. The religious philosophers, not satisfied with
the tradition of your forefathers, and doctrine of your priests
(in which I willingly acquiesce), indulge a rash curiosity, in
trying how far they can establish religion upon the principles
of reason; and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying, the
doubts, which naturally arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry.
They paint, in the most magnificent colours, the order, beauty,
and wise arrangement of the universe; and then ask, if such a
glorious display of intelligence could proceed from the fortuitous
concourse of atoms, or if chance could produce what the greatest
genius can never sufficiently admire. I shall not examine the
justness of this argument. I shall allow it to be as solid as
my antagonists and accusers can desire. It is sufficient, if I
can prove, from this very reasoning, that the question is entirely
speculative, and that, when, in my philosophical disquisitions,
I deny a providence and a future state, I undermine not the founda-
tions of society, but advance principles, which they them- selves,
upon their own topics, if they argue consistently, must allow
to be solid and satisfactory. You then, who are my accusers, have
acknowledged, that the chief or sole argument for a divine existence
(which I never questioned) is derived from the order of nature;
where there appear such marks of intelligence and design, that
you think it extravagant to assign for its cause, either chance,
or the blind and unguided force of matter. You allow, that this
is an argument drawn from effects to causes. >From the order
of the work, you infer, that there must have been project and
forethought in the workman. If you can- not make out this point,
you allow, that your conclusion fails; and you pretend not to
establish the conclusion in a greater latitude than the phenomena
of nature will justify. These are your concessions. I desire you
to mark the con- sequences. When we infer any particular cause
from an effect, we must proportion the one to the other, and can
never be allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what
are exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of ten ounces
raised in any scale may serve as a proof, that the counterbalancing
weight exceeds ten ounces; but can never afford a reason that
it exceeds a hundred. If the cause, assigned for any effect, be
not sufficient to produce it, we must either reject that cause,
or add to it such qualities as will give it a just proportion
to the effect. But if we ascribe to it farther qualities, or affirm
it capable of producing other effects, we can only indulge the
licence of conjecture, and arbitrarily suppose the existence of
qualities and energies, without reason or authority. The same
rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute unconscious matter,
or a rational intelligent being. If the cause be known only by
the effect, we never ought to ascribe to it any qualities, beyond
what are precisely requisite to produce the effect: nor can we,
by any rules of just reason- ing, return back from the cause,
and infer other effects from it, beyond those by which alone it
is known to us. No one, merely from the sight of one of Zeuxis's
pictures, could know, that he was also a statuary or architect,
and was an artist no less skilful in stone and marble than in
colours. The talents and taste, displayed in the particular work
before us; these we may safely conclude the workman to be pos-
sessed of. The cause must be proportioned to the effect; and if
we exactly and precisely proportion it, we shall never find in
it any qualities, that point farther, or afford an inference concerning
any other design or performance. Such qualities must be somewhat
beyond what is merely requisite for producing the effect, which
we examine. Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of
the existence or order of the universe; it follows, that they
possess that precise degree of power, intelligence, and benevolence,
which appears in their workmanship; but nothing farther can ever
be proved, except we call in the assistance of exaggeration and
flattery to supply the defects of argument and reasoning. So far
as the traces of any attributes, at present, appear, so far may
we conclude these attributes to exist. The supposition of farther
attributes is mere hypothesis; much more the supposition, that,
in distant regions of space or periods of time, there has been,
or will be, a more magnificent display of these attributes, and
a scheme of administration more suitable to such imaginary virtues.
We can never be allowed to mount up from the universe, the effect,
to Jupiter, the cause; and then descend downwards, to infer any
new effect from that cause; as if the present effects alone were
not entirely worthy of the glorious attributes, which we ascribe
to that deity. The knowledge of the cause being derived solely
from the effect, they must be exactly adjusted to each other;
and the one can never refer to anything farther, or be the foundation
of any new inference and conclusion. You find certain phenomena
in nature. You seek a cause or author. You imagine that you have
found him. You afterwards become so enamoured of this offspring
of your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he must produce
something greater and more perfect than the present scene of things,
which is so full of ill and disorder. You forget, that this superlative
intelligence and benevo- lence are entirely imaginary, or, at
least, without any foun- dation in reason; and that you have no
ground to ascribe to him any qualities, but what you see he has
actually exerted and displayed in his productions. Let your gods,
therefore, O philosophers, be suited to the present appear- ances
of nature: and presume not to alter these appearances by arbitrary
suppositions, in order to suit them to the at- tributes, which
you so fondly ascribe to your deities. When priests and poets,
supported by your authority, O Athenians, talk of a golden or
silver age, which preceded the present state of vice and misery,
I hear them with at- tention and with reverence. But when philosophers,
who pretend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold
the same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the same ob- sequious
submission and pious deference. I ask; who carried them into the
celestial regions, who admitted them into the councils of the
gods, who opened to them the book of fate, that they thus rashly
affirm, that their deities have executed, or will execute, any
purpose beyond what has actually appeared? If they tell me, that
they have mounted on the steps or by the gradual ascent of reason,
and by drawing inferences from effects to causes, I still insist,
that they have aided the ascent of reason by the wings of imagination;
otherwise they could not thus change their manner of inference,
and argue from causes to effects; presuming, that a more perfect
production than the present world would be more suitable to such
perfect beings as the gods, and forgetting that they have no reason
to ascribe to these celestial beings any perfection or any attribute,
but what can be found in the present world. Hence all the fruitless
industry to account for the ill appearances of nature, and save
the honour of the gods; while we must acknowledge the reality
of that evil and disorder, with which the world so much abounds.
The obstinate and intractable qualities of matter, we are told,
or the observance of general laws, or some such reason, is the
sole cause, which controlled the power and benevo- lence of Jupiter,
and obliged him to create mankind and every sensible creature
so imperfect and so unhappy. These attributes then, are, it seems,
beforehand, taken for granted, in their greatest latitude. And
upon that supposition, I own that such conjectures may, perhaps,
be admitted as plausible solutions of the ill phenomena. But still
I ask; Why take these attributes for granted, or why ascribe to
the cause any qualities but what actually appear in the effect?
Why torture your brain to justify the course of nature upon suppositions,
which, for aught you know, may be entirely imaginary, and of which
there are to be found no traces in the course of nature? The religious
hypothesis, therefore, must be considered only as a particular
method of accounting for the visible phenomena of the universe:
but no just reasoner will ever presume to infer from it any single
fact, and alter or add to the phenomena, in any single particular.
If you think, that the appearances of things prove such causes,
it is al- lowable for you to draw an inference concerning the
exist- ence of these causes. In such complicated and sublime subjects,
every one should be indulged in the liberty of conjecture and
argument. But here you ought to rest. If you come backward, and
arguing from your inferred causes, conclude, that any other fact
has existed, or will exist, in the course of nature, which may
serve as a fuller display of particular attributes; I must admonish
you, that you have departed from the method of reasoning, attached
to the present subject, and have certainly added something to
the attributes of the cause, beyond what appears in the effect;
otherwise you could never, with tolerable sense or propriety,
add anything to the effect, in order to render it more worthy
of the cause. Where, then, is the odiousness of that doctrine,
which I teach in my school, or rather, which I examine in my gardens?
Or what do you find in this whole question, wherein the security
of good morals, or the peace and order of society, is in the least
concerned? I deny a providence, you say, and supreme governor
of the world, who guides the course of events, and punishes the
vicious with infamy and disappointment, and rewards the virtuous
with honour and success, in all their under- takings. But surely,
I deny not the course itself of events, which lies open to every
one's inquiry and examination. I acknowledge, that, in the present
order of things, virtue is attended with more peace of mind than
vice, and meets with a more favourable reception from the world.
I am sensible, that, according to the past experience of mankind,
friendship is the chief joy of human life, and moderation the
only source of tranquillity and happiness. I never balance between
the virtuous and the vicious course of life; but am sensible,
that, to a well-disposed mind, every ad- vantage is on the side
of the former. And what can you say more, allowing all your suppositions
and reasonings? You tell me, indeed, that this disposition of
things proceeds from intelligence and design. But whatever it
proceeds from, the disposition itself, on which depends our happiness
or misery, and consequently our conduct and deportment in life
is still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you, to
regulate my behaviour, by my experience of past events. And if
you affirm, that, while a divine providence is allowed and a supreme
distributive justice in the universe, I ought to expect some more
particular reward of the good, and punishment of the bad, beyond
the ordinary course of events; I here find the same fallacy, which
I have before endeavoured to detect. You persist in imagining,
that, if we grant that divine existence, for which you so earnestly
contend, you may safely infer consequences from it, and add something
to the experienced order of nature, by arguing from the attributes
which you ascribe to your gods. You seem not to remember, that
all your reasonings on this subJect can only be drawn from effects
to causes; and that every argument, deducted from causes to effects,
must of necessity be a gross sophism; since it is impossible for
you to know anything of the cause, but what you have antecedently,
not inferred, but discovered to the full, in the effect. But what
must a philosopher think of those vain rea- soners, who instead
of regarding the present scene of things as the sole object of
their contemplation, so far reverse the whole course of nature,
as to render this life merely a passage to something farther;
a porch, which leads to a greater, and vastly different building;
a prologue, which serves only to introduce the piece, and give
it more grace and propriety? Whence, do you think, can such philoso-
phers derive their idea of the gods? From their own con- ceit
and imagination surely. For if they derived it from the present
phenomena, it would never point to anything farther, but must
be exactly adjusted to them. That the divinity may possibly be
endowed with attributes, which we have never seen exerted; may
be governed by principles of action, which we cannot discover
to be satisfied: all this will freely be allowed. But still this
is mere possibility and hypothesis. We never can have reason to
infer any attributes, or any principles of action in him, but
so far as we know them to have been exerted and satisfied. Are
there any marks of a distributive justice in the world? If you
answer in the affirmative, I conclude, that, since justice here
exerts itself, it is satisfied. If you reply in the negative,
I conclude, that you have then no reason to ascribe justice, in
our sense of it, to the gods. If you hold a medium between affirmation
and negation, by saying, that the justice of the gods, at present,
exerts itself in part, but not in its full extent; I answer, that
you have no reason to give it any particular extent, but only
so far as you see it, at present, exert itself. Thus I bring the
dispute, O Athenians, to a short issue with my antagonists. The
course of nature lies open to my contemplation as well as to theirs.
The experi- enced train of events is the great standard, by which
we all regulate our conduct. Nothing else can be appealed to in
the field, or in the senate. Nothing else ought ever to be heard
of in the school, or in the closet. In vain would our limited
understanding break through those boundaries, which are too narrow
for our fond imagination. While we argue from the course of nature,
and infer a particular intelligent cause, which first bestowed,
and still preserves order in the universe, we embrace a principle,
which is both uncertain and useless. It is uncertain; be- cause
the subject lies entirely beyond the reach of human experience.
It is useless; because our knowledge of this cause being derived
entirely from the course of nature, we can never, according to
the rules of just reasoning, return back from the cause with any
new inference, or making additions to the common and experienced
course of nature, establish any new principles of conduct and
be- haviour. I observe (said I, finding he had finished his harangue)
that you neglect not the artifice of the demagogues of old; and
as you were pleased to make me stand for the people, you insinuate
yourself into my favour by embracing those principles, to which,
you know, I have always ex- pressed a particular attachment. But
allowing you to make experience (as indeed I think you ought)
the only standard of our judgement concerning this, and all other
questions of fact; I doubt not but, from the very same experience,
to which you appeal, it may be possible to refute this reasoning,
which you have put into the mouth of Epicurus. If you saw, for
instance, a half-finished building, surrounded with heaps of brick
and stone and mortar, and all the instruments of masonry; could
you not infer from the effect, that it was a work of design and
con- trivance? And could you not return again, from this in- ferred
cause, to infer new additions to the effect, and conclude, that
the building would soon be finished, and receive all the further
improvements, which art could be- stow upon it? If you saw upon
the sea-shore the print of one human foot, you would conclude,
that a man had passed that way, and that he had also left the
traces of the other foot, though effaced by the rolling of the
sands or inundation of the waters. Why then do you refuse to admit
the same method of reasoning with regard to the order of nature?
Consider the world and the present life only as an imperfect building,
from which you can infer a superior intelligence; and arguing
from that superior intelligence, which can leave nothing imperfect;
why may you not infer a more finished scheme or plan, which will
receive its completion in some distant point of space or time?
Are not these methods of reasoning exactly similar? And under
what pretence can you embrace the one, while you reject the other?
The infinite difference of the subjects, replied he, is a sufficient
foundation for this difference in my conclusions. In works of
human art and contrivance, it is allowable to advance from the
effect to the cause, and returning back from the cause, to form
new inferences concerning the effect, and examine the alterations,
which it has probably undergone, or may still undergo. But what
is the founda- tion of this method of reasoning? Plainly this;
that man is a being, whom we know by experience, whose motives
and designs we are acquainted with, and whose projects and inclinations
have a certain connexion and coherence, according to the laws
which nature has established for the government of such a creature.
When, therefore, we find, that any work has proceeded from the
skill and industry of man; as we are otherwise acquainted with
the nature of the animal, we can draw a hundred infer- ences concerning
what may be expected from him; and these inferences will all be
founded in experience and observation. But did we know man only
from the single work or production which we examine, it were impossible
for us to argue in this manner; because our knowledge of all the
qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in that case derived
from the production, it is impossible they could point to anything
farther, or be the foundation of any new inference. The print
of a foot in the sand can only prove, when considered alone, that
there was some figure adapted to it, by which it was produced:
but the print of a human foot proves likewise, from our other
experience, that there was probably another foot, which also left
its impression, though effaced by time or other accidents. Here
we mount from the effect to the cause; and descending again from
the cause, infer alterations in the effect; but this is not a
continuation of the same simple chain of reasoning. We comprehend
in this case a hundred other experiences and observations, concerning
the usual figure and members of that species of animal, without
which this method of argument must be considered as fallacious
and sophistical. The case is not the same with our reasonings
from the works of nature. The Deity is known to us only by his
productions, and is a single being in the universe, not comprehended
under any species or genus, from whose experienced attributes
or qualities, we can, by analogy, infer any attribute or quality
in him. As the universe shews wisdom and goodness, we infer wisdom
and good- ness. As it shews a particular degree of these perfections,
we infer a particular degree of them, precisely adapted to the
effect which we examine. But farther attributes or farther degrees
of the same attributes, we can never be authorised to infer or
suppose, by any rules of just rea- soning. Now, without some such
licence of supposition, it is impossible for us to argue from
the cause, or infer any alteration in the effect, beyond what
has immediately fallen under our observation. Greater good produced
by this Being must still prove a greater degree of goodness: a
more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments must proceed
from a greater regard to justice and equity. Every supposed addition
to the works of nature makes an addition to the attributes of
the Author of nature; and consequently, being entirely unsupported
by any reason or argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture
and hypothesis.[4] The great source of our mistake in this subject,
and of the unbounded licence of conjecture, which we indulge,
is, that we tacitly consider ourselves, as in the place of the
Supreme Being, and conclude, that he will, on every occasion,
observe the same conduct, which we ourselves, in his situation,
would have embraced as reasonable and eligible. But, besides that
the ordinary course of nature may convince us, that almost everything
is regulated by principles and maxims very different from ours;
besides this, I say, it must evidently appear contrary to all
rules of analogy to reason, from the intentions and projects of
men, to those of a Being so different, and so much su- perior.
In human nature, there is a certain experienced coherence of designs
and inclinations; so that when, from any fact, we have discovered
one intention of any man, it may often be reasonable, from experience,
to infer an- other, and draw a long chain of conclusions concerning
his past or future conduct. But this method of reasoning can never
have place with regard to a Being, so remote and in- comprehensible,
who bears much less analogy to any other being in the universe
than the sun to a waxen taper, and who discovers himself only
by some faint traces or outlines, beyond which we have no authority
to ascribe to him any attribute or perfection. What we imagine
to be a superior perfection, may really be a defect. Or were it
ever so much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the Supreme
Being, where it appears not to have been really exerted, to the
full, in his works, savours more of flattery and panegyric, than
of just reasoning and sound philosophy. All the philo- sophy,
therefore, in the world, and all the religion, which is nothing
but a species of philosophy, will never be able to carry us beyond
the usual course of experience, or give us measures of conduct
and behaviour different from those which are furnished by reflections
on common life. No new fact can ever be inferred from the religious
hypothesis; no event foreseen or foretold; no reward or punishment
ex- pected or dreaded, beyond what is already known by practice
and observation. So that my apology for Epicurus will still appear
solid and satisfactory; nor have the political inter- ests of
society any connexion with the philosophical dis- putes concerning
metaphysics and religion. There is still one circumstance, replied
I, which you seem to have overlooked. Though I should allow your
premises, I must deny your conclusion. You conclude, that religious
doctrines and reasonings can have no influence on life, because
they ought to have no influence; never con- sidering, that men
reason not in the same manner you do, but draw many consequences
from the belief of a divine Existence, and suppose that the Deity
will inflict punish- ments on vice, and bestow rewards on virtue,
beyond what appear in the ordinary course of nature. Whether this
reasoning of theirs be just or not, is no matter. Its influence
on their life and conduct must still be the same. And those, who
attempt to disabuse them of such prejudices, may, for aught I
know, be good reasoners, but I cannot allow them to be good citizens
and politicians; since they free men from one restraint upon their
passions, and make the infringement of the laws of society, in
one respect, more easy and secure. After all, I may, perhaps,
agree to your general conclusion in favour of liberty, though
upon different premises from those, on which you endeavour to
found it. I think, that the state ought to tolerate every principle
of philosophy; nor is there an instance, that any government has
suffered in its political interests by such indulgence. There
is no enthusiasm among philosophers; their doctrines are not very
alluring to the people; and no restraint can be put upon their
reasonings, but what must be of dangerous con- sequence to the
sciences, and even to the state, by paving the way for persecution
and oppression in points, where the generality of mankind are
more deeply interested and concerned. But there occurs to me (continued
I) with regard to your main topic, a difficulty, which I shall
just propose to you without insisting on it; lest it lead into
reasonings of too nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much
doubt whether it be possible for a cause to be known only by its
effect (as you have all along supposed) or to be of so singular
and particular a nature as to have no parallel and no similarity
with any other cause or object, that has ever fallen under our
observation. It is only when two species of objects are found
to be constantly conjoined, that we can infer the one from the
other; and were an effect presented, which was entirely singular,
and could not be comprehended under any known species, I do not
see, that we could form any conjecture or inference at all concerning
its cause. If experience and observation and analogy be, indeed,
the only guides which we can reasonably follow in inferences of
this nature; both the effect and cause must bear a similarity
and resemblance to other effects and causes, which we know, and
which we have found, in many instances, to be con- joined with
each other. I leave it to your own reflection to pursue the consequences
of this principle. I shall just observe, that, as the antagonists
of Epicurus always sup- pose the universe, an effect quite singular
and unparalleled, to be the proof of a Deity, a cause no less
singular and un- paralleled; your reasonings, upon that supposition,
seem, at least, to merit our attention. There is, I own, some
dif- ficulty, how we can ever return from the cause to the effect,
and, reasoning from our ideas of the former, infer any alteration
on the latter, or any, addition to it. [1] Luciani, [3 greek words].
[2] Luciani, [greek word]. [3] Luciani and Dio. [4] In general,
it may, I think, Be established as a maxim, that where any cause
is known only by its particular effects, it must be impossible
to infer any new effects from that cause; since the qualities,
which are requisite to produce these new effects along with the
former, must either be different, or superior, or of more extensive
operation, than those which simply pro- duced the effect, whence
alone the cause is supposed to be known to us. We can never, therefore,
have any reason to suppose the existence of these qualities. To
say, that the new effects proceed only from a continuation of
the same energy, which is already known from the first effects,
will not remove the difficulty. For even granting this to be the
case (which can seldom be supposed), the very continuation and
exertion of a like energy (for it is impossible it can be absolutely
the same), I say, this exertion of a like energy, in a different
period of space and time, is a very arbitrary supposition, and
what there cannot possibly be any traces of it in the effects,
from which all our knowledge of the cause is originally derived.
Let the inferred cause be exactly proportioned (as it should be)
to the known effect; and it is impossible that it can possess
any qualities, from which new or different effects can be inferred.
SECTION XII OF THE ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY PART I THERE
is not a greater number of philosophical reason- ings, displayed
upon any subject, than those, which prove the existence of a Deity,
and refute the falla- cies of Atheists; and yet the most religious
philosophers still dispute whether any man can be so blinded as
to be a speculative atheist. How shall we reconcile these contra-
dictions? The knights errant, who wandered about to clear the
world of dragons and giants, never entertained the least doubt
with regard to the existence of these monsters. The Sceptic is
another enemy of religion, who naturally provokes the indignation
of all divines and graver philoso- phers; though it is certain,
that no man ever met with any such absurd creature, or conversed
with a man, who had no opinion or principle concerning any subject,
either of action or speculation. This begets a very natural question;
What is meant by a sceptic? And how far it is possible to push
these philosophical principles of doubt and uncertainty? There
is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study and philosophy,
which is much inculcated by Des Cartes and others, as a sovereign
preservative against error and precipitate judgement. It recommends
an universal doubt, not only of all our former opinions and principles,
but also of our very faculties; of whose veracity, say they, we
must assure ourselves, by a chain of reasoning, deduced from some
original principle, which cannot possibly be fallacious or deceitful.
But neither is there any such original principle, which has a
prerogative above others, that are self-evident and convincing:
or if there were, could we advance a step beyond it, but by the
use of those very faculties, of which we are supposed to be already
diffident. The Cartesian doubt, therefore, were it ever possible
to be attained by any human creature (as it plainly is not) would
be entirely in- curable; and no reasoning could ever bring us
to a state of assurance and conviction upon any subject. It must,
however, be confessed, that this species of scep- ticism, when
more moderate, may be understood in a very reasonable sense, and
is a necessary preparative to the study of philosophy, by preserving
a proper impartiality in our judgements, and weaning our mind
from all those preju- dices, which we may have imbibed from education
or rash opinion. To begin with clear and self-evident principles,
to advance by timorous and sure steps, to review frequently our
conclusions, and examine accurately all their conse- quences;
though by these means we shall make both a slow and a short progress
in our systems; are the only methods, by which we can ever hope
to reach truth, and attain a proper stability and certainty in
our determinations. There is another species of scepticism, consequent
to science and enquiry, when men are supposed to have dis- covered,
either the absolute fallaciousness of their mental faculties,
or their unfitness to reach any fixed determination in all those
curious subjects of speculation, about which they are commonly
employed. Even our very senses are brought into dispute, by a
certain species of philosophers; and the maxims of common life
are subjected to the same doubt as the most profound principles
or conclusions of metaphysics and theology. As these paradoxical
tenets (if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in some
philosophers, and the refutation of them in several, they naturally
excite our curiosity, and make us enquire into the arguments,
on which they may be founded. I need not insist upon the more
trite topics, employed by the sceptics in all ages, against the
evidence of sense; such as those which are derived from the imperfection
and fallaciousness of our organs, on numberless occasions; the
crooked appearance of an oar in water; the various aspects of
objects, according to their different distances; the double images
which arise from the pressing one eye; with many other appearances
of a like nature. These sceptical topics, indeed, are only sufficient
to prove, that the senses alone are not implicitly to be depended
on; but that we must correct their evidence by reason, and by
considerations, derived from the nature of the medium, the distance
of the object, and the disposition of the organ, in order to render
them, within their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and falsehood.
There are other more profound arguments against the senses, which
admit not of so easy a solution. It seems evident, that men are
carried, by a natural instinct or prepossession, to repose faith
in their senses; and that, without any reasoning, or even almost
before the use of reason, we always suppose an external universe,
which depends not on our perception, but would exist, though we
and every sensible creature were absent or an- nihilated. Even
the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and preserve
this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts, designs,
and actions. It seems also evident, that, when men follow this
blind and powerful instinct of nature, they always suppose the
very images, presented by the senses, to be the external objects,
and never entertain any suspicion, that the one are nothing but
representations of the other. This very table, which we see white,
and which we feel hard, is believed to exist, independent of our
perception, and to be something external to our mind, which perceives
it. Our presence bestows not being on it: our absence does not
annihilate it. It preserves its existence uniform and entire,
independ- ent of the situation of intelligent beings, who perceive
or contemplate it. But this universal and primary opinion of all
men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches
us, that nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image
or perception, and that the senses are only the inlets, through
which these images are conveyed, without being able to produce
any immediate intercourse between the mind and the object. The
table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we remove farther from
it: but the real table, which exists independent of us, suffers
no alteration: it was, there- fore, nothing but its image, which
was present to the mind. These are the obvious dictates of reason;
and no man, who reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which
we consider, when we say, this house and that tree, are nothing
but perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies or represen-
tations of other existences, which remain uniform and inde- pendent.
So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to con- tradict
or depart from the primary instincts of nature, and to embrace
a new system with regard to the evidence of our senses. But here
philosophy finds herself extremely em- barrassed, when she would
justify this new system, and obviate the cavils and objections
of the sceptics. She can no longer plead the infallible and irresistible
instinct of nature: for that led us to a quite different system,
which is acknowledged fallible and even erroneous. And to justify
this pretended philosophical system, by a chain of clear and convincing
argument, or even any appearance of argu- ment, exceeds the power
of all human capacity. By what argument can it be proved, that
the perceptions of the mind must be caused by external objects,
entirely different from them, though resembling them (if that
be possible) and could not arise either from the energy of the
mind itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and unknown
spirit, or from some other cause still more un- known to us? It
is acknowledged, that, in fact, many of these perceptions arise
not from anything external, as in dreams, madness, and other diseases.
And nothing can be more inexplicable than the manner, in which
body should so operate upon mind as ever to convey an image of
itself to a substance, supposed of so different, and even contrary
a nature. It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of
the senses be produced by external objects, resembling them: how
shall this question be determined? By experience surely; as all
other questions of a like nature. But here experience is, and
must be entirely silent. The mind has never anything present to
it but the perceptions, and cannot possibly reach any experience
of their connexion with ob- jects. The supposition of such a connexion
is, therefore, without any foundation in reasoning. To have recourse
to the veracity of the supreme Being, in order to prove the veracity
of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit. If
his veracity were at all concerned in this matter, our senses
would be entirely infallible; because it is not possible that
he can ever deceive. Not to mention, that, if the external world
be once called in question, we shall be at a loss to find argu-
ments, by which we may prove the existence of that Being or any
of his attributes. This is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder
and more philosophical sceptics will always triumph, when they
endeavour to introduce an universal doubt into all subjects of
human knowledge and enquiry. Do you follow the in- stincts and
propensities of nature, may they say, in assenting to the veracity
of sense? But these lead you to believe that the very perception
or sensible image is the external object. Do you disclaim this
principle, in order to embrace a more rational opinion, that the
perceptions are only representations of something external? You
here depart from your natural propensities and more obvious senti-
ments; and yet are not able to satisfy your reason, which can
never find any convincing argument from experience to prove, that
the perceptions are connected with any external objects. There
is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived from the
most profound philosophy; which might merit our attention, were
it requisite to dive so deep, in order to discover arguments and
reasonings, which can so little serve to any serious purpose.
It is universally allowed by modern enquirers, that all the sensible
qualities of ob- jects, such as hard, soft, hot, cold, white,
black, &c. are merely secondary, and exist not in the objects
themselves, but are perceptions of the mind, without any external
archetype or model, which they represent. If this be al- lowed,
with regard to secondary qualities, it must also follow, with
regard to the supposed primary qualities of extension and solidity;
nor can the latter be any more entitled to that denomination than
the former. The idea of extension is entirely acquired from the
senses of sight and feeling; and if all the qualities, perceived
by the senses, be in the mind, not in the object, the same con-
clusion must reach the idea of extension, which is wholly dependent
on the sensible ideas or the ideas of secondary qualities. Nothing
can save us from this conclusion, but the asserting, that the
ideas of those primary qualities are attained by Abstraction,
an opinion, which, if we examine it accurately, we shall find
to be unintelligible, and even absurd. An extension, that is neither
tangible nor visible, cannot possibly be conceived: and a tangible
or visible extension, which is neither hard nor soft, black nor
white, is equally beyond the reach of human conception. Let any
man try to conceive a triangle in general, which is neither Isosceles
nor Scalenum, nor has any particular length or proportion of sides;
and he will soon perceive the absurdity of all the scholastic
notions with regard to abstraction and general ideas.[1] Thus
the first philosophical objection to the evidence of sense or
to the opinion of external existence consists in this, that such
an opinion, if rested on natural instinct, is contrary to reason,
and if referred to reason, is contrary to natural instinct, and
at the same time carries no rational evidence with it, to convince
an impartial enquirer. The second objection goes farther, and
represents this opinion as contrary to reason: at least, if it
be a principle of reason, that all sensible qualities are in the
mind, not in the object. Bereave matter of all its intelligible
qualities, both primary and secondary, you in a manner annihilate
it, and leave only a certain unknown, inexplicable something,
as the cause of our perceptions; a notion so imperfect, that no
sceptic will think it worth while to contend against it. PART
II IT may seem a very extravagant attempt of the sceptics to destroy
reason by argument and ratiocination; yet is this the grand scope
of all their enquiries and disputes. They endeavour to find objections,
both to our abstract reasonings, and to those which regard matter
of fact and existence. The chief objection against all abstract
reasonings is derived from the ideas of space and time; ideas,
which, in common life and to a careless view, are very clear and
intelligible, but when they pass through the scrutiny of the profound
sciences (and they are the chief object of these sciences) afford
principles, which seem full of absurdity and contradiction. No
priestly dogmas, invented on purpose to tame and subdue the rebellious
reason of mankind, ever shocked common sense more than the doctrine
of the infinitive divisibility of extension, with its consequences;
as they are pompously displayed by all geometricians and metaphysicians,
with a kind of triumph and exultation. A real quantity, infinitely
less than any finite quantity, con- taining quantities infinitely
less than itself, and so on in infinitum; this is an edifice so
bold and prodigious, that it is too weighty for any pretended
demonstration to support, because it shocks the clearest and most
natural principles of human reason.[2] But what renders the matter
more extraordinary, is, that these seemingly absurd opinions are
supported by a chain of reasoning, the clearest and most natural;
nor is it possible for us to allow the premises without admitting
the consequences. Nothing can be more convincing and satisfactory
than all the conclusions con- cerning the properties of circles
and triangles; and yet, when these are once received, how can
we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle and its tangent
is infinitely less than any rectilineal angle, that as you may
increase the diameter of the circle in infinitum, this angle of
contact becomes still less, even in infinitum, and that the angle
of contact between other curves and their tangents may be infinitely
less than those between any circle and its tangent, and so on,
in infinitum? The demonstration of these prin- ciples seems as
unexceptionable as that which proves the three angles of a triangle
to be equal to two right ones, though the latter opinion be natural
and easy, and the former big with contradiction and absurdity.
Reason here seems to be thrown into a kind of amazement and sus-
pence, which, without the suggestions of any sceptic, gives her
a diffidence of herself, and of the ground on which she treads.
She sees a full light, which illuminates certain places; but that
light borders upon the most profound darkness. And between these
she is so dazzled and con- founded, that she scarcely can pronounce
with certainty and assurance concerning any one object. The absurdity
of these bold determinations of the ab- stract sciences seems
to become, if possible, still more palpable with regard to time
than extension. An infinite number of real parts of time, passing
in succession, and exhausted one after another, appears so evident
a contra- diction, that no man, one should think, whose judgement
is not corrupted, instead of being improved, by the sciences,
would ever be able to admit of it. Yet still reason must remain
restless, and unquiet, even with regard to that scepticism, to
which she is driven by these seeming absurdities and contradictions.
How any clear, distinct idea can contain circumstances, contradictory
to itself, or to any other clear, distinct idea, is absolutely
incomprehensible; and is, perhaps, as absurd as any propo- sition,
which can be formed. So that nothing can be more sceptical, or
more full of doubt and hesitation, than this scepticism itself,
which arises from some of the paradoxical conclusions of geometry
or the science of quantity.[3] The sceptical objections to moral
evidence, or to the reasonings concerning matter of fact, are
either popular or philosophical. The popular objections are derived
from the natural weakness of human understanding; the contra-
dictory opinions, which have been entertained in different ages
and nations; the variations of our judgement in sick- ness and
health, youth and old age, prosperity and adver- sity; the perpetual
contradiction of each particular man's opinions and sentiments;
with many other topics of that kind. It is needless to insist
farther on this head. These objections are but weak. For as, in
common life, we reason every moment concerning fact and existence,
and cannot possibly subsist, without continually employing this
species of argument, any popular objections, derived from thence,
must be insufficient to destroy that evidence. The great subverter
of Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of scepticism is action,
and employment, and the occupations of common life. These principles
may flourish and triumph in the schools; where it is, indeed,
difficult, if not impossible, to refute them. But as soon as they
leave the shade, and by the presence of the real objects, which
actuate our passions and sentiments, are put in opposition to
the more powerful principles of our nature, they vanish like smoke,
and leave the most determined sceptic in the same condition as
other mortals. The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within
his proper sphere, and display those philosophical objections,
which arise from more profound researches. Here he seems to have
ample matter of triumph; while he justly insists, that all our
evidence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond the testimony
of sense or memory, is derived entirely from the relation of cause
and effect; that we have no other idea of this relation than that
of two objects, which have been frequently conjoined together;
that we have no argument to convince us, that objects, which have,
in our experience, been frequently conjoined, will likewise, in
other instances, be conjoined in the same manner; and that nothing
leads us to this inference but custom or a certain instinct of
our nature; which it is indeed difficult to resist, but which,
like other instincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While the
sceptic insists upon these topics, he shows his force, or rather,
indeed, his own and our weakness; and seems, for the time at least,
to destroy all assurance and conviction. These arguments might
be displayed at greater length, if any durable good or benefit
to society could ever be expected to result from them. For here
is the chief and most confounding objection to excessive scepticism,
that no durable good can ever result from it; while it remains
in its full force and vigour. We need only ask such a sceptic,
What his meaning is? And what he proposes by all these curious
researches? He is immediately at a loss, and knows not what to
answer. A Copernican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his different
system of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction, which will
remain constant and durable, with his audience. A Stoic or Epicurean
displays principles, which may not be durable, but which have
an effect on conduct and be- haviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot
expect, that his philos- ophy will have any constant influence
on the mind: or if it had, that its influence would be beneficial
to society. On the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge
anything, that all human life must perish, were his principles
universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action
would immediately cease; and men remain in a total lethargy, till
the necessities of nature, unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable
existence. It is true; so fatal an event is very little to be
dreaded. Nature is always too strong for principle. And though
a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into a momentary amazement
and confusion by his profound reasonings; the first and most trivial
event in life will put to flight all his doubts and scruples,
and leave him the same, in every point of action and speculation,
with the philosophers of every other sect, or with those who never
concerned themselves in any philosophical researches. When he
awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join in the laugh
against himself, and to confess, that all his objections are mere
amusement, and can have no other tendency than to show the whimsical
condition of mankind, who must act and reason and believe; though
they are not able, by their most diligent enquiry, to satisfy
themselves concerning the foundation of these operations, or to
remove the objections, which may be raised against them. PART
III THERE is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academ- ical
philosophy, which may be both durable and useful, and which may,
in part, be the result of this Pyrrhonism, or excessive scepticism,
when its undistinguished doubts are, in some measure, corrected
by common sense and reflection. The greater part of mankind are
naturally apt to be affirm- ative and dogmatical in their opinions;
and while they see objects only on one side, and have no idea
of any counter- poising argument, they throw themselves precipitately
into the principles, to which they are inclined; nor have they
any indulgence for those who entertain opposite sentiments. To
hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding, checks their
passion, and suspends their action. They are, there- fore, impatient
till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneasy: and
they think, that they could never remove themselves far enough
from it, by the violence of their affirmations and obstinacy of
their belief. But could such dogmatical reasoners become sensible
of the strange in- firmities of human understanding, even in its
most perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious in its
determina- tions; such a reflection would naturally inspire them
with more modesty and reserve, and diminish their fond opinion
of themselves, and their prejudice against antagonists. The illiterate
may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, amidst all
the advantages of study and reflection, are com- monly still diffident
in their determinations: and if any of the learned be inclined,
from their natural temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small
tincture of Pyrrhonism might abate their pride, by showing them,
that the few ad- vantages, which they may have attained over their
fellows, are but inconsiderable, if compared with the universal
per- plexity and confusion, which is inherent in human nature.
In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and modesty,
which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought for ever to
accompany a just reasoner. Another species of mitigated scepticism
which may be of advantage to mankind, and which may be the natural
result of the Pyrrhonian doubts and scruples, is the limita- tion
of our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to the narrow
capacity of human understanding. The imagina- tion of man is naturally
sublime, delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary,
and running, without control, into the most distant parts of space
and time in order to avoid the objects, which custom has rendered
too familiar to it. A correct Judgement observes a contrary method,
and avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to
common life, and to such subjects as fall under daily prac- tice
and experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the embellishment
of poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and politicians.
To bring us to so salutary a determination, nothing can be more
serviceable, than to be once thoroughly convinced of the force
of the Pyrrhonian doubt, and of the impossibility, that anything,
but the strong power of natural instinct, could free us from it.
Those who have a propensity to philosophy, will still continue
their researches; because they reflect, that, besides the immediate
pleasure attending such an occupation, philosophical decisions
are nothing but the reflections of common life, methodized and
corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond common
life, so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties
which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations.
While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why we believe, after
a thousand experiments, that a stone will fall, or fire burn;
can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning any determination, which
we may form, with regard to the origin of worlds, and the situation
of nature, from, and to eternity? This narrow limitation, indeed,
of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so reasonable, that it
suffices to make the slightest examination into the natural powers
of the human mind and to compare them with their objects, in order
to recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper
subjects of science and enquiry. It seems to me, that the only
objects of the abstract science or of demonstration are quantity
and number, and that all attempts to extend this more perfect
species of knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and
illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number are entirely
similar, their relations become intricate and involved; and nothing
can be more curious, as well as useful, than to trace, by a variety
of mediums, their equality or inequality, through their different
appearances. But as all other ideas are clearly distinct and different
from each other, we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny,
than to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection,
pronounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any difficulty
in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the undeterminate
meaning of words, which is corrected by juster definitions. That
the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other
two sides, cannot be known, let the terms be ever so exactly defined,
without a train of reasoning and enquiry. But to convince us of
this propo- sition, that where there is no property, there can
be no in- justice, it is only necessary to define the terms, and
explain injustice to be a violation of property. This proposition
is, indeed, nothing but a more imperfect definition. It is the
same case with all those pretended syllogistical reasonings, which
may be found in every other branch of learning, except the sciences
of quantity and number; and these may safely, I think, be pronounced
the only proper objects of knowledge and demonstration. All other
enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and existence; and
these are evidently incapable of demon- stration. Whatever is
may not be. No negation of a fact can involve a contradiction.
The non-existence of any being, without exception, is as clear
and distinct an idea as its existence. The proposition, which
affirms it not to be, however false, is no less conceivable and
intelligible, than that which affirms it to be. The case is different
with the sciences, properly so called. Every proposition, which
is not true, is there confused and unintelligible. That the cube
root of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a false proposition,
and can never be distinctly conceived. But that Caesar, or the
angel Gabriel, or any being never ex- isted, may be a false proposition,
but still is perfectly con- ceivable, and implies no contradiction.
The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by arguments
from its cause or its effect; and these argu- ments are founded
entirely on experience. If we reason a priori, anything may appear
able to produce anything. The falling of a pebble may, for aught
we know, extinguish the sun; or the wish of a man control the
planets in their orbits. It is only experience, which teaches
us the nature and bounds of cause and effect, and enables us to
infer the existence of one object from that of another.[4] Such
is the foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the greater
part of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action
and behaviour. Moral reasonings are either concerning particular
or gen- eral facts. All deliberations in life regard the former;
as also all disquisitions in history, chronology, geography, and
astronomy. The sciences, which treat of general facts, are politics,
natural philosophy, physic, chemistry, &c. where the quali-
ties, causes and effects of a whole species of objects are enquired
into. Divinity or Theology, as it proves the existence of a Deity,
and the immortality of souls, is composed partly of reasonings
concerning particular, partly concerning gen- eral facts. It has
a foundation in reason, so far as it is supported by experience.
But its best and most solid foundation is faith and divine revelation.
Morals and criticism are not so properly objects of the understanding
as of taste and sentiment. Beauty, whether moral or natural, is
felt, more properly than perceived. Or if we reason concerning
it, and endeavour to fix its standard, we regard a new fact, to
wit, the general tastes of mankind, or some such fact, which may
be the object of reasoning and enquiry. When we run over libraries,
persuaded of these principles, what havoc must we make? If we
take in our hand any volume; of divinity or school metaphysics,
for instance; let us ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning
concern- ing quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experi-
mental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence? No.
Commit it then to the flames: for it can contain nothing but sophistry
and illusion. [1] This argument is drawn from Dr. Berkeley; and
indeed most of the writings of that very ingenious author form
the best lessons of scepticism, which are to be found either among
the ancient or modern philosophers, Bayle not excepted. He professes,
however, in his title-page (and undoubt- edly with great truth)
to have composed his book against the sceptics as well as against
the atheists and free-thinkers. But that all his arguments, though
otherwise intended, are, in reality, merely sceptical, appears
from this, that they admit of no answer and produce no conviction.
Their only effect is to cause that momentary amazement and irresolution
and confu- sion, which is the result of scepticism. [2] Whatever
disputes there may be about the mathematical points, we must allow
that there are physical points; that is, parts of extension, which
can- not be divided or lessened, either by the eye or imagination.
These images, then, which are present to the fancy or senses,
are absolutely indivisible, and consequently must be allowed by
mathematicians to be infinitely less than any real part of extension;
and yet nothing appears more certain to reason, than that an infinite
number of them composes an infinite extension. How much more an
infinite number of those infinitely small parts of exten- sion,
which are still supposed infinitely divisible. [3] It seems to
be not impossible to avoid these absurdities and contradic- tions,
if it be admitted, that there is no such thing as abstract or
general ideas, properly speaking; but that all general ideas are,
in reality, particula r ones, attached to a general term, which
recalls, upon occasion, other par- ticular ones, that resemble,
in certain circumstances, the idea, present to the mind. Thus
when the term Horse is pronounced, we immediately figure to ourselves
the idea of a black or a white animal, of a particular size or
figure: But as that term is also usually applied to animals of
other colours, figures and sizes, these ideas, though not actually
present to the imagina- tion, are easily recalled; and our reasoning
and conclusion proceed in the same way, as if they were actually
present. If this be admitted (as seems reasonable) it follows
that all the ideas of quantity, upon which mathema- ticians reason,
are nothing but particular, and such as are suggested by the senses
and imagination, and consequently, cannot be infinitely divisible.
It is sufficient to have dropped this hint at present, without
prosecuting it any farther. It certainly concerns all lovers of
science not to expose them- selves to the ridicule and contempt
of the ignorant by their conclusions; and this seems the readiest
solution of these difficulties. [4] That impious maxim of the
ancient philosophy, Ex nihilo, nihil fit, by which the creation
of matter was excluded, ceases to be a maxim, accord- ing to this
philosophy. Not only the will of the supreme Being may create
matter; but, for aught, we know a priori, the will of any other
being might create it, or any other cause, that the most whimsical
imagination can assign. [End] .