PART I.

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AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.

BY DAVID HUME

Extracted from:

Enquiries Concerning the Human Understanding, and Concerning the

Principles of Morals, By David Hume.

Reprinted from The Posthumous Edition of 1777, and Edited with

Introduction, Comparative Tables of Contents, and Analytical Index

by L.A. Selby-Bigge, M.A., Late Fellow of University College, Oxford.

Second Edition, 1902

CONTENTS

I. Of the different Species of Philosophy

II. Of the Origin of Ideas

III. Of the Association of Ideas

IV. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Understanding

V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts

VI. Of Probability

VII. Of the Idea of necessary Connexion

VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity

IX. Of the Reason of Animals

X. Of Miracles

XI. Of a particular Providence and of a future State

XII. Of the academical or sceptical Philosophy

INDEX

SECTION I.

OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.

1. 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

mankind. 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 according to the light in which they present themselves. As

virtue, 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.

2. 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 understanding, 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 deformity, 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 themselves

sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives, if they

can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to the instruction

of posterity.

3. 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 influence

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.

4. 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 application 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 entertaining.

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 satisfaction 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 biasses

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.

5. 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 profound

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 ridicule, 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

internal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the workings of

the passions, and the various species of sentiment 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 throughout 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.

6. 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 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 burdensome 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 philosophy, is objected

to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source of

uncertainty and error. Here indeed 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 popular superstitions, which, being

unable to defend themselves on fair ground, raise these intangling

brambles to cover and protect their weakness. Chaced 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.

7. 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, however 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 that 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

philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and despair,

which, at some moments, prevails, may give place afterwards 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.

8. Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate enquiry, 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 instant, 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 satisfaction to

go so far; and the more obvious this science may appear (and it is by no

means obvious) the more contemptible 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 comprehension 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?

9. But may we not hope, that philosophy, if 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 determined 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 perfection. 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 principles

on mankind.

10. 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.

11. Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable

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 recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by

his imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions 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

form 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

perceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or

metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.

12. 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.

13. 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 distant 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 composition 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.

14. 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.

15. 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 correspondent 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 Laplander 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 generosity. 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.

16. 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

gradation 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 colours 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.

17. 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 without a distinct meaning, we are apt to

imagine it has a determinate 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 determined:

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 those, 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 opposition 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 perceptions, 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 undefined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious

length, without ever touching 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.

18. It is evident that there is a principle of connexion between 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 succeeded each other.

Were the loosest and freest conversation 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.

19. 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[2]:

the mention of one apartment in a building naturally introduces an

enquiry or discourse concerning the others[3]: and if we think of a

wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows

it[4]. 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[5]. 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 complete and entire.

[2] Resemblance.

[3] Contiguity.

[4] Cause and effect.

[5] For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion

among Ideas: but it may, perhaps, be considered as a mixture of

_Causation_ and _Resemblance_. 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.

20. All the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally be divided

into two kinds, to wit, _Relations 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.

21. 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

distinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality. _That the sun will

not rise to-morrow_ is no less intelligible a proposition, and implies

no more contradiction than the affirmation, _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 distinctly 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.

22. 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 reasonings

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 presence 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.

23. 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 suffocate 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 produced it, or the

effects which will arise from it; nor can our reason, unassisted by

experience, ever draw any inference concerning real existence and

matter of fact.

24. 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 loadstone, 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 pronounce 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.

25. 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, suffice. 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 consult 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 different 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 consistent 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 conjunction 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, therefore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or

infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observation and

experience.

26. 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 general causes, by means of reasonings

from analogy, experience, 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 explication of

them. These ultimate springs and principles are totally shut up from

human curiosity and enquiry. Elasticity, gravity, cohesion of parts,

communication of motion by impulse; these are probably the ultimate

causes and principles 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.

27. 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 experience 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 moment 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, independent 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.

28. But we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfaction 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 persons 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 pretensions; 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

reasoning, or any process of the understanding. This answer we must

endeavour both to explain and to defend.

29. 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 objects; while she conceals from us those

powers and principles on which the influence of those objects entirely

depends. 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 nourishment and support of a human body.

Sight or feeling conveys 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 notwithstanding this ignorance of natural powers[6] and

principles, we always presume, when we see like sensible qualities, 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

presented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experiment, 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 conclusion 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 necessary. 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 required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such an

inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argument. 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.

[6] 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.

30. 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 proposition or intermediate step, which supports the

understanding 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,

endeavour 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 arguments in the case seems evident; since it implies no

contradiction that the course of nature may change, and that an object,

seemingly like those which we have experienced, 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 demonstrative

argument or abstract reasoning _à priori_.

If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust in past

experience, and make it the standard of our future judgement, 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 experience; 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.

31. 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 philosopher 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 instance, 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.

32. Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experiments, 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 support. 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 endowed 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 conjoined with similar secret powers_, he is not guilty

of a tautology, 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 foundation, 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 inference 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 sometimes, and with regard to some objects: Why may it not

happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic, what process

of argument secures you against this supposition? 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.

33. I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable arrogance who

concludes, because an argument has escaped 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

fruitless 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 unfit 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, therefore, 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 appearance, 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.

SECTION V.

SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS.

PART I.

34. 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 endeavour 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

inconvenience, and that because it strikes in with no disorderly passion

of the human mind, nor can mingle itself with any natural affection or

propensity; and that is the Academic or Sceptical philosophy. The

academics always talk of doubt and suspense of judgement, 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 superstitious

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 profane, 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 reasonings, on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever be

affected by such a discovery. If the mind be not engaged 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.

35. 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 together; 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 experience, 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.

36. 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 understanding, 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 sufficient 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 objects--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

considering 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[7].

[7] Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on _moral_,

_political_, or _physical_ subjects, to distinguish between

_reason_ and _experience_, and to suppose, that these species

of argumentation are entirely different from each other. The

former are taken for the mere result of our intellectual

faculties, which, by considering _à priori_ the nature of

things, and examining the effects, that must follow from their

operation, establish particular principles 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 of 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 statesman, general, physician, or

merchant is trusted and followed; and the unpractised 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 experience,

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 speculative scenes of life, I

shall not scruple to pronounce, 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 the mere effects of

reasoning and reflection, they will be found to terminate, at

last, in some general principle or conclusion, 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 established without some process of thought, and some

reflection on what we have observed, in order to distinguish

its circumstances, and trace its consequences: 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 observation 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 unexperienced, 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 particular and seemingly minute circumstances,

which the man of greatest talent is, at first, apt to overlook,

though on them the justness of his conclusions, 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 comparative sense,

and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more

imperfect degree.

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.

37. 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 happened 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 civilized 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.

38. 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 presented 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 nature of this

_belief_, and of the _customary conjunction_, whence it is derived. By

this means we may meet with some explications and analogies that will

give satisfaction; at least to such as love the abstract sciences, and

can be entertained 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 enquiries may well be understood, though it be

neglected.

PART II.

39. Nothing is more free than the imagination of man; and though it

cannot exceed that original stock of ideas furnished 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 assented 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 towards 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.

40. 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 conception 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 understands 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; enforces

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,

together 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 enchanted 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 suppositions, to find other

operations of the mind analogous to it, and to trace up these phenomena

to principles still more general.

41. 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 correlative, and carries our attention

towards it, by a gentle and insensible movement. These principles of

connexion or association we have reduced to three, namely,

_Resemblance_, _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 devotees 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 postures, and

actions, in enlivening their devotion and quickening 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 possible for us to do

merely by an intellectual view and contemplation. Sensible objects have

always a greater influence 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 resemblance 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.

42. 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 diminishes 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 transports 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 neighbourhood 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[8].

[8] 'Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut,

cum ea loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros

acceperimus multum 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, quera

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 memoriae deducta sit

disciplina.'

_Cicero de Finibus_. Lib. v.

43. 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 because 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 recal to our thoughts all past

intimacies and familiarities, in more lively colours than they would

otherwise have appeared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems

to prove the principle above mentioned.

44. 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

conceive, 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 conception of flame more strong and lively than any loose, floating

reverie of the imagination. That idea arises immediately. 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 to 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 concerning 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 governed, 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 necessary to the subsistence

of our species, and the regulation of our conduct, in every circumstance

and occurrence of human 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 contemplation

of _final causes_, have here ample subject to employ their wonder and

admiration.

45. 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 deductions 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, extremely 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 understanding. 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

correspondent 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.

SECTION VI.

OF PROBABILITY[9].

[9] Mr. Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and

probable. In this view, we must say, that it is only probable

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 _probabilities_.

By proofs meaning such arguments from experience as leave no

room for doubt or opposition.

46. 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 begets 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 encreases, and

surpasses the opposite chances, the probability receives a

proportionable encrease, and begets 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 process 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, entirely 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 contrivance 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.

47. 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 medicines.

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 assurance, 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 believe 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 throughout that whole month; though this

probability varies according 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 supported

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 common theories

are in treating of such curious and such sublime subjects.

SECTION VII.

OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION.

PART I.

48. 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 determinate, the smallest distinction between them is

immediately perceptible, and the same terms are still expressive of the

same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mistaken

for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isosceles and

scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more exact 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 recal the original object, as

often as we have occasion 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 disadvantages nearly compensate

each other, and reduce both of them to a state of equality. If the mind,

with greater facility, retains the ideas of geometry clear and

determinate, it must carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of

reasoning, 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 proposition 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 satisfied 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

obstacle, therefore, to our improvement in the moral or metaphysical

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 progress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the

want of proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often discovered 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 improvement than either geometry or physics, we may

conclude, 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 surmounted.

49. 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 dispute, that all

our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other words,

that it is impossible for us to _think_ of any thing, which we have not

antecedently _felt_, either by our external or internal senses. I have

endeavoured[10] 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 definitions

to the most simple ideas, and find still some 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 intellectual view? Produce the impressions or

original sentiments, 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 obscurity. 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.

[10] Section II.

50. 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 connexion; 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 universe 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.[11]

[11] Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding

from experience, that there are several new productions in

nature, 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.

51. 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

possessed 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.

52. 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 experience, 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

instructing 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.[12]

[12] 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 _à priori._ It must, however, 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 of it.

53. 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 contemplation 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 synonimous. 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

variations, 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 mechanism or structure of

parts, upon which the effect depends, 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 extraordinary effects do ever

result from a simple act of volition.

54. 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 immediately 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 recourse to some invisible

intelligent principle[13] as the immediate 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.

[13] [Greek: theos apo maechanaes.]

55. 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 advancing still in

their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally ignorant of the power

on which depends the mutual operation 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 consciousness, 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 erroneously

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 operations. Our mental vision or conception of

ideas is nothing 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.

56. 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 magnifying, 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

immediate 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.

57. _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 apprized 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

experience. 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 verisimilitude 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 experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch

afterwards.[14]

[14] Section XII.

_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[15].

[15] 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, not to

be insisted on, without more experiments. 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 take 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?

PART II.

58. 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 comprehend

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 instance of connexion which is

conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One

event follows another; 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.

59. But there still remains one method of avoiding this conclusion, and

one source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or

event is presented, it is impossible 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 observed 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 greatest 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 instances, 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 necessary connexion. Nothing farther

is in the case. Contemplate 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 connexion, 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 observed 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 acquired a

connexion in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they

become proofs of each other's existence: 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 understanding,

or sceptical suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and

extraordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than

such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of

human reason and capacity.

60. And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising

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 objects 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

circumstance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect.

We have no idea of this connexion, nor even any distinct notion what it

is we desire to know, when we endeavour 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.[16]

[16] 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 not 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 production 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 _à priori_ draw

no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate objects, and

to suppose, 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 connexion 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.

61. 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 instance. But this

customary connexion or transition of the imagination is the only

circumstance in which they differ. 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 illustration) 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 reasonings 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.

SECTION VIII.

OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.

PART I.

62. 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.

63. 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

entertainment. 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.

64. 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 degree or direction

than what is actually produced by it. Would we, therefore, form a just

and precise idea of _necessity_, 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 reasoning 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 circumstances 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 circumstances 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.

65. As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular conjunction

of similar events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following

considerations. It is universally acknowledged 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 transferring 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 circumstances and situations, and furnishing us with

materials from which we may form our observations and become acquainted

with the regular springs of human action and behaviour. These records of

wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions, are so many collections of

experiments, by which the politician or moral philosopher fixes the

principles 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 experiments 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

immediately, 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 argument, 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 supernatural courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried

on singly to attack multitudes, as when he describes his supernatural

force and activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and

universally do we acknowledge a uniformity 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 regulate our future conduct, as well as

speculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge of

men's inclinations 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 inclinations. 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

appearances 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 expected 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 observations concerning mankind;

and no experience, however accurately 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.

66. 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 regularity? 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 observation of their conduct could never teach us

their dispositions, or serve to direct our behaviour with regard

to them.

67. 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 judgement should be formed

of such irregular and extraordinary actions, we may consider 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 appearance,

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 impediment 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

certainty 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 effect, 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.

68. 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 particular 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 accounted 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 applicable, in a more particular

manner, to some persons who have no fixed rule for their conduct, but

proceed in a continued 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,

clouds, and other variations of the weather are supposed to be governed

by steady principles; though not easily discoverable by human sagacity

and enquiry.

69. 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 inferences 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 intention 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 dealings, and render their intercourse with others more

complicated, 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 experience, in the same manner as in their

reasonings concerning 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

disappointed. In short, this experimental inference and reasoning

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

explication of it?

70. Nor have philosophers ever entertained a different opinion from the

people in this particular. For, not to mention that almost every action

of their life supposes that opinion, there are even few of the

speculative parts of learning 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 goverment had not a

uniform influence upon society? Where would be the foundation of

_morals,_ if particular 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 difference

between them in passing from one link to another: Nor is less certain of

the future event than if it were connected 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 contrary 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 certainty proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct

of mankind in such particular situations.

71. 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 operations 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 perceive, 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.

72. 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 conjunction 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 operations 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

difficulty 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 conjunction 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.[17]

[17] The prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may be accounted

for, from another cause, viz. a false sensation or 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 consider 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

_Velleïty,_ 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 spectator 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.

73. 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

acknowledged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean _a

power of acting or not acting, according to the determinations of the

will;_ that 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.

74. 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 circumstances, and render our definition intelligible,

I am persuaded 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 examined, 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 necessary.

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 controversy. 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 definition 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.[18] 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.

[18] 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 matter. And this constancy forms the

very essence of necessity, nor have we any other idea of it.

PART II.

75. 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 pretence of its dangerous consequences to

religion and morality. When any opinion leads to absurdities, it is

certainly false; but it is not certain that an opinion is false, because

it is of dangerous consequence. Such topics, therefore, 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 pretending 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 particular 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.

76. 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 consciousness; 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

unpremeditately 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.

77. 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.

78. 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 anywhere in the universe; no

indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at the same time, acted

upon. The ultimate 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 therefore 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 criminal the original cause,

if the connexion between them be necessary and evitable.

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.

79. The answer to the first objection seems obvious and convincing.

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 essential 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 excluding 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 ineffectual. 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 produced

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

narrower 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.

80. The case is the same with _moral_ as with _physical_ ill. It cannot

reasonably be supposed, that those remote considerations, 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

approbation 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 immediately, 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 sentiments 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 sentiments of the human mind:

And these sentiments are not to be controuled or altered by any

philosophical theory or speculation whatsoever.

81. The _second_ objection admits not of so easy and satisfactory 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 indifference 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!

SECTION IX.

OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS.

82. 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 certain 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 similarity 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 presumption, that the same principle has place in all.

These analogical 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.

83. _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.

84. _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 children: Neither are the generality of

mankind, in their ordinary actions and conclusions: Neither are

philosophers themselves, 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 application; 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 particular manner, which we denominate

_belief_. No other explication 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 [19].

[19] Since all reasonings 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

uniformity 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 experiment 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 subtilty.

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

experience or the greater promptitude of suggesting analogies,

will be the better reasoner.

8. Byasses 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.

85. 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 occasions; 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 extraordinary, and

inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human understanding. But our

wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish, when we consider, that the

experimental reasoning 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.

SECTION X.

OF MIRACLES.

PART I.

86. 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 evidence, 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

revealed 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 bigotry 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

superstitious 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.

87. Though experience be our only guide in reasoning concerning 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 constantly conjoined together:

Others are found to have been more variable, and sometimes to disappoint

our expectations; 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 infallible 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 supported 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

contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong degree of assurance. In

all cases, we must balance the opposite experiments, where they are

opposite, and deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to

know the exact force of the superior evidence.

88. 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

discoverable 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 principle 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 testimony. A man

delirious, or noted for falsehood and villany, 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 particular kind of report and any kind of object

has been found to be constant or variable. There are a number of

circumstances 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 concerning 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.

89. 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 testimony; 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

experiences; 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 contradition 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.[20] The incredibility of a fact, it was allowed,

might invalidate so great an authority.

[20] Plutarch, in vita Catonis.

The Indian prince, who refused to believe the first relations 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.[21]

[21] 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 uncertain. 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 whenever 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 render 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.

90. 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 proportion 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.[22]

[22] 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 circumstances, 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 concurred 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.

91. 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 endeavours 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 pronounce 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.