E-text prepared by RichardW and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/humespolitical00humeuoft
Some characters might not display properly in this UTF-8
text file (e.g., empty squares). If so, the reader should
consult the original page images noted above.
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Original small capitals are now uppercase (but some small
capital styling has been discarded).
Footnotes have been relabeled 1–117, converted to endnotes,
and moved to the ends of the relevant chapters.
The Scott Library.
HUME’S POLITICAL DISCOURSES.
⁂ For Full List of the Volumes in This Series,
See Catalogue at End of Book.
HUME’S POLITICAL DISCOURSES.
With an Introduction by William Bell Robertson,
Author of “Foundations of Political Economy,”
“Slavery of Labour,” Etc.
The Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd.
London and Felling-on-Tyne.
New York: 3 East 14th Street.
CONTENTS.
Introduction vii
Of Commerce 1
Of Refinement in the Arts 15
Of Money 27
Of Interest 39
Of the Balance of Trade 51
Of the Jealousy of Trade 67
Of the Balance of Power 71
Of Taxes 78
Of Public Credit 83
Of some Remarkable Customs 98
Of the Populousness of Ancient Nations 106
Of the Original Contract 174
Of Passive Obedience 192
Of the Coalition of Parties 196
Of the Protestant Succession 203
Idea of a Perfect Commonwealth 214
That Politics may be Reduced to a Science 229
Of the First Principles of Government 243
Of Political Society 247
Alphabetical Arrangement of Authorities cited by Hume 253
INTRODUCTION.
Regretting the meagre records of the life of Adam Smith, the Right
Hon. R. B. Haldane, M.P.,[1] remarks:—“We think of him, in the main,
and we think of him rightly, as the bosom friend of David Hume” (b.
1711, d. 1777). Naturally, incidents in the life of a philosopher are
neither numerous nor stirring. It is unreasonable to expect them, and
such stories as are handed down regarding great thinkers are best not
to be accepted unreservedly. I leave Hume, therefore, to present his
own picture as drawn in _My own Life_—the picture he wished posterity
to have—which consequently follows this introduction, and is itself
followed by Adam Smith’s celebrated letter to Mr. Strahan, Hume’s
publisher, giving an account of Hume’s death.
It is chiefly as a political economist that Hume concerns us here,
as it is in the _Political Discourses_, first published in 1752, his
economic principles are set forth. What the reader may expect to find
in these _Discourses_ I prefer to let writers of renown tell. Thus Lord
Brougham—
“Of the _Political Discourses_ it would be difficult to speak in
terms of too great commendation. They combine almost every excellence
which can belong to such a performance. The reasoning is clear, and
unencumbered with more words or more illustrations than are necessary
for bringing out the doctrines. The learning is extensive, accurate,
and profound, not only as to systems of philosophy, but as to history,
whether modern or ancient. . . . The great merit, however, of these
_Discourses_ is their originality, and the new system of politics
and political economy which they unfold. Mr. Hume is, beyond all
doubt, the author of the modern doctrines which now rule the world of
science, which are to a great extent the guide of practical statesmen,
and are only prevented from being applied in their fullest extent to
the affairs of nations by the clashing interests and the ignorant
prejudices of certain powerful classes.”
Thus, again, J. Hill Burton,[2] Hume’s biographer—
“These _Discourses_ are in truth the cradle of political economy; and
much as that science has been investigated and expounded in later
times, these earliest, shortest, and simplest developments of its
principles are still read with delight even by those who are masters
of all the literature of this great subject. But they possess a
quality which more elaborate economists have striven after in vain,
in being a pleasing object of study not only to the initiated, but to
the ordinary popular reader, and of being admitted as just and true
by many who cannot or will not understand the views of later writers
on political economy. They have thus the rarely conjoined merit that,
as they were the first to direct the way to the true sources of this
department of knowledge, those who have gone farther, instead of
superseding them, have in the general case confirmed their accuracy.”
The _Discourses_, in Hume’s own words, was “the only work of mine that
was successful on the first publication,” and its success was great.
Translated into French immediately, “they conferred,” says Professor
Huxley, “a European reputation upon their author; and, what was more
to the purpose, influenced the later school of economists of the
eighteenth century.” On the same head Burton says—“As no Frenchman
had previously approached the subject of political economy with a
philosophical pen, this little book was a main instrument, either by
causing assent or provoking controversy, in producing the host of
French works published between the time of its translation and the
publication of Smith’s _Wealth of Nations_ in 1776. The work of the
elder Mirabeau in particular—_L’ami des Hommes_—was in a great measure
a controversial examination of Hume’s opinions on population.”
Professor Knight of St. Andrews, again, echoes similar sentiments.
“The merit of the _Discourses_,” he remarks, “is not only great, but
they are unrivalled to this day; and it is not too much to affirm that
they prepared the way for all the subsequent economic literature of
England, including the _Wealth of Nations_, in which Smith laid down
the broad and durable foundations of the science. . . . The effect
produced by these _Discourses_ was great. Immediately translated into
French, they passed through five editions in fourteen years. They
were a distinctive addition to English literature, and were strictly
scientific, though not technical. They at once floated Hume into
fame, bringing him to the front, both as a thinker and as a man of
letters; and posterity has ratified this judgment of the hour. . . .
They contain many original germs of economic truth. The effect they
had on practical statesmen, such as Pitt, must not be overlooked. It
was perhaps an advantage that the economic doctrines, both of Hume and
Smith, were published at that particular time, as they led naturally
and easily to several reforms, without being developed to extremes, as
was subsequently the case in France.”
All this testimony as to the merits of the _Discourses_—testimony from
men of widely divergent views—is sufficient justification for offering
them in popular form to the public at a time like the present, when the
foundations of political economy are, one might say, being re-laid.[3]
We have already hinted at the friendship that existed between Hume and
Adam Smith. Hume was Smith’s senior by twelve years, and seems to have
had the latter brought under his notice by Hutcheson, Professor of
Moral Philosophy at Glasgow University. In a letter to Hutcheson, dated
March 4th, 1740, he says—“My bookseller has sent to Mr. Smith a copy
of my book,[4] which I hope he has received as well as your letter.”
“The Smith here mentioned,” Burton says, “we may fairly conclude,
notwithstanding the universality of the name, to be Adam Smith, who was
then a student in the University of Glasgow, and not quite seventeen
years old. It may be inferred that Hutcheson had mentioned Smith as a
person on whom it would serve some good purpose to bestow a copy of
the _Treatise_; and we have here evidently the first introduction to
each other’s notice of two friends, of whom it can be said there was no
third person writing the English language during the same period who
has had so much influence upon the opinions of mankind as either of
these two men.”
Hume’s influence upon Adam Smith was great. Even in the ring of the
phraseology of the _Wealth of Nations_ I sometimes fancy I can hear
Hume. Anyway, the book referred to in the above letter as sent to
Smith, Mr. Haldane considers as “in all probability” the determining
factor in making Smith abandon his original intention of entering the
Church. “Whether Hume could have been but for Smith we cannot now say;
but we know that, but for Hume, Smith could never have been.”[5] While
agreeing that “but for Hume Smith could never have been,” I see no
reason to question that Hume could have been without Smith. Hume had
within him what may here be called the divine light, and it had to come
out. That is why, “in poverty and riches, in health and sickness, in
laborious obscurity and amidst the blaze of fame,” his ruling passion—a
passion for literature—never abated. No man can strike out for himself
an original line and stick to it like this, “through thick and thin,”
unless he have assurance of the truth of that that is in him. Hume had
this assurance. True, he sought fame—and he achieved fame; not for its
own sake—that is inconceivable in so great a thinker, a thinker with
such a true notion of the relation of things—but for the sake of the
truths he had to promulgate; for the higher his eminence the wider and
more attentive would be his audience. Of course, he sought fame, and
he found gratification in it. It was not the gratification of vanity,
however, that writers on Hume usually interpret it as; it was the
gratification arising from the knowledge that one has hit the mark—that
one has not laboured in vain. The petty vanity ascribed to Hume would
not have suffered him as “the parent of the first elucidations of
political economy to see his own offspring eclipsed, and to see it with
pride”—his attitude, according to Burton, on the successful reception
of _The Wealth of Nations_. Vanity, again, would have prevented between
these two men that unalloyed friendship so charming to contemplate.
In 1776, the year before Hume’s death, _The Wealth of Nations_
appeared, and here is how Hume writes to the author:—
“_February_ 8, 1776.
“DEAR SMITH,—I am as lazy a correspondent as you, yet my anxiety about
you makes me write. By all accounts your book has been printed long
ago; yet it has never been so much as advertized. What is the reason?
If you wait till the fate of America be decided, you may wait long.
“By all accounts you intend to settle with us this spring; yet we hear
no more of it. What is the reason? Your chamber in my house is always
unoccupied. I am always at home. I expect you to land here.
“I have been, am, and shall be probably in an indifferent state of
health. I weighed myself t’other day, and find I have fallen five
complete stones. If you delay much longer I shall probably disappear
altogether.
“The Duke of Buccleuch tells me that you are very zealous in American
affairs. My notion is that the matter is not so important as is
commonly imagined. If I be mistaken, I shall probably correct my error
when I see you or read you. Our navigation and general commerce may
suffer more than our manufactures. Should London fall as much in its
size as I have done, it will be the better. It is nothing but a hulk
of bad and unclean humours.”
At last the book appears, and Hume writes his friend, April 1st, 1776:—
“I am much pleased with your performance; and the perusal of it has
taken me from a state of great anxiety. It was a work of so much
expectation by yourself, by your friends, and by the public, that I
trembled for its first appearance, but am now much relieved. Not but
that the reading of it necessarily requires so much attention, and
the public is disposed to give so little, that I shall still doubt
for some time of its being at first very popular. But it has depth
and solidity and acuteness, and is so much illustrated by curious
facts that it must at last take the public attention. It is probably
much improved by your last abode in London. If you were here at my
fireside, I should dispute some of your principles. I cannot think
that the rent of farms makes any part of the price of produce,[6]
but that the price is determined altogether by the quantity and the
demand. . . . But these and a hundred other points are fit only to be
discussed in conversation.”
Hume, though he “took a particular pleasure in the company of modest
women, and had no reason to be displeased with the reception he met
with from them,” died unmarried. Adam Smith also died unmarried,
“though he was for several years,” according to Dugald Stewart,
“attached to a young lady of great beauty and accomplishment.” Hume, in
the Essay “Of the Study of History,” speaks of being desired once by “a
young beauty _for whom I had some passion_ to send her some novels and
romances for her amusement.” David was a “canny” man though. In these
circumstances the following playful sally in a letter from Hume to Mrs.
Dysart, of Eccles, a relative, may have interest:—“What arithmetic
will serve to fix the proportion between good and bad wives, and rate
the different classes of each? Sir Isaac Newton himself, who could
measure the course of the planets and weigh the earth as in a pair of
scales—even he had not algebra enough to reduce that amiable part of
our species to a just equation; and they are the only heavenly bodies
whose orbits are as yet uncertain.”
The foregoing are mere glimpses of this truly great man, and are
offered with a view to awakening and stimulating amongst general
readers a desire for first-hand knowledge of David Hume.
W. B. R.
_May_ 1906.
MY OWN LIFE.
It is difficult for a man to speak long of himself without vanity;
therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought an instance of vanity
that I pretend at all to write my life; but this narrative shall
contain little more than the History of my Writings; as, indeed, almost
all my life has been spent in literary pursuits and occupations. The
first success of most of my writings was not such as to be an object of
vanity.
I was born the 26th of April 1711, old style, at Edinburgh. I was of a
good family, both by father and mother. My father’s family is a branch
of the Earl of Home’s or Hume’s; and my ancestors had been proprietors
of the estate, which my brother possesses, for several generations. My
mother was daughter of Sir David Falconer, President of the College of
Justice; the title of Halkerton came by succession to her brother.
My family, however, was not rich; and, being myself a younger brother,
my patrimony, according to the mode of my country, was of course very
slender. My father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I was
an infant, leaving me, with an elder brother and a sister, under the
care of our mother, a woman of singular merit, who, though young and
handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educating of
her children. I passed through the ordinary course of education with
success, and was seized very early with a passion for literature, which
has been the ruling passion of my life, and the great source of my
enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriety, and my industry gave
my family a notion that the law was a proper profession for me; but
I found an insurmountable aversion to everything but the pursuits of
philosophy and general learning; and while they fancied I was poring
upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I was
secretly devouring.
My very slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to this plan of
life, and my health being a little broken by my ardent application, I
was tempted, or rather forced, to make a very feeble trial for entering
into a more active scene of life. In 1734 I went to Bristol, with some
recommendations to eminent merchants, but in a few months found that
scene totally unsuitable to me. I went over to France, with a view of
prosecuting my studies in a country retreat, and I there laid that plan
of life which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved
to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to
maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as
contemptible except the improvement of my talents in literature.
During my retreat in France, first at Rheims, but chiefly at La Fleche,
in Anjou, I composed my _Treatise of Human Nature_. After passing three
years very agreeably in that country, I came over to London in 1737.
In the end of 1738 I published my Treatise, and immediately went down
to my mother and my brother, who lived at his country-house, and was
employing himself very judiciously and successfully in the improvement
of his fortune.
Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my _Treatise of Human
Nature_. It fell _dead-born from the press_, without reaching such
distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots. But being
naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered
the blow, and prosecuted with great ardour my studies in the country.
In 1742 I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays: the work
was favourably received, and soon made me entirely forget my former
disappointment. I continued with my mother and brother in the country,
and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I
had too much neglected in my early youth.
In 1745 I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me
to come and live with him in England; I found also that the friends
and family of that young nobleman were desirous of putting him under
my care and direction, for the state of his mind and health required
it. I lived with him a twelvemonth. My appointments during that time
made a considerable accession to my small fortune. I then received
an invitation from General St. Clair to attend him as a secretary to
his expedition, which was at first meant against Canada, but ended
in an incursion on the coast of France. Next year—to wit, 1747—I
received an invitation from the General to attend him in the same
station in his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin.
I then wore the uniform of an officer, and was introduced at these
courts as aide-de-camp to the General, along with Sir Harry Erskine
and Captain Grant, now General Grant. These two years were almost the
only interruptions which my studies have received during the course
of my life. I passed them agreeably, and in good company; and my
appointments, with my frugality, had made me reach a fortune, which I
called independent, though most of my friends were inclined to smile
when I said so; in short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds.
I had always entertained a notion that my want of success in publishing
the _Treatise of Human Nature_ had proceeded more from the manner than
the matter, and that I had been guilty of a very usual indiscretion in
going to the press too _early_. I, therefore, cast the first part of
that work anew in the _Inquiry concerning Human Understanding_, which
was published while I was at Turin. But this piece was at first little
more successful than the _Treatise of Human Nature_. On my return
from Italy, I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment
on account of Dr. Middleton’s _Free Inquiry_, while my performance
was entirely overlooked and neglected. A new edition, which had been
published at London, of my _Essays, Moral and Political_, met not with
a much better reception.
Such is the force of natural temper, that these disappointments made
little or no impression on me. I went down in 1749 and lived two years
with my brother at his country-house, for my mother was now dead. I
there composed the second part of my Essays, which I called _Political
Discourses_, and also my _Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals_,
which is another part of my Treatise that I cast anew. Meanwhile, my
bookseller, A. Millar, informed me that my former publications (all
but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the subject of
conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing, and that
new editions were demanded. Answers by Reverends and Right Reverends
came out two or three in a year; and I found, by Dr. Warburton’s
railing, that the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company.
However, I had a fixed resolution, which I inflexibly maintained, never
to reply to anybody; and not being very irascible in my temper, I have
easily kept myself clear of all literary squabbles. These symptoms of
a rising reputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed
to see the favourable than unfavourable side of things; a turn of mind
which it is more happy to possess than to be born to an estate of ten
thousand a year.
In 1751 I removed from the country to the town, the true scene for
a man of letters. In 1752 were published at Edinburgh, where I then
lived, my _Political Discourses_, the only work of mine that was
successful on the first publication. It was well received abroad
and at home. In the same year was published at London my _Inquiry
concerning the Principles of Morals_; which, in my own opinion (who
ought not to judge on that subject), is of all my writings, historical,
philosophical, or literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed
and unobserved into the world.
In 1752 the Faculty of Advocates chose me their Librarian, an office
from which I received little or no emolument, but which gave me
the command of a large library. I then formed the plan of writing
the _History of England_; but being frightened with the notion of
continuing a narrative through a period of seventeen hundred years, I
commenced with the accession of the House of Stuart, an epoch when,
I thought, the misrepresentations of faction began chiefly to take
place. I was, I own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of
this work. I thought that I was the only historian that had at once
neglected present power, interest, and authority, and the cry of
popular prejudices; and as the subject was suited to every capacity, I
expected proportional applause. But miserable was my disappointment:
I was assailed by one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even
detestation; English, Scotch, and Irish, Whig and Tory, Churchman and
Sectary, Freethinker and Religionist, Patriot and Courtier, united in
their rage against the man who had presumed to shed a generous tear for
the fate of Charles I. and the Earl of Strafford; and after the first
ebullitions of their fury were over, what was still more mortifying,
the book seemed to sink into oblivion. Mr. Millar told me that in a
twelvemonth, he sold only forty-five copies of it. I scarcely, indeed,
heard of one man in the three kingdoms, considerable for rank or
letters, that could endure the book. I must only except the Primate
of England, Dr. Herring, and the Primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, which
seem two odd exceptions. These dignified prelates separately sent me
messages not to be discouraged.
I was, however, I confess, discouraged; and had not the war been at
that time breaking out between France and England, I had certainly
retired to some provincial town of the former kingdom, have changed
my name, and never more have returned to my native country. But as
this scheme was not now practicable, and the subsequent volume was
considerably advanced, I resolved to pick up courage, and to persevere.
In this interval I published at London my _Natural History of
Religion_, along with some other small pieces. Its public entry was
rather obscure, except only that Dr. Hurd wrote a pamphlet against
it, with all the illiberal petulance, arrogance, and scurrility which
distinguish the Warburtonian school. This pamphlet gave me some
consolation for the otherwise indifferent reception of my performance.
In 1756, two years after the fall of the first volume, was published
the second volume of my _History_, containing the period from the death
of Charles I. till the Revolution. This performance happened to give
less displeasure to the Whigs, and was better received. It not only
rose itself, but helped to buoy up its unfortunate brother.
But though I had been taught, by experience, that the Whig party
were in possession of bestowing all places, both in the State and
in literature, I was so little inclined to yield to their senseless
clamour, that in about a hundred alterations which further study,
reading, or reflection engaged me to make in the reigns of the two
first Stuarts, I have made all of them invariably to the Tory side. It
is ridiculous to consider the English constitution before that period
as a regular plan of liberty.
In 1759 I published my _History of the House of Tudor_. The clamour
against this performance was almost equal to that against the history
of the two first Stuarts. The reign of Elizabeth was particularly
obnoxious. But I was now callous against the impressions of public
folly, and continued very peaceably and contentedly in my retreat
at Edinburgh, to finish, in two volumes, the more early part of the
English History, which I gave to the public in 1761, with tolerable,
and but tolerable success.
But notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, to which my
writings had been exposed, they had still been making such advances
that the copy-money given me by the booksellers much exceeded anything
formerly known in England; I was become not only independent, but
opulent. I retired to my native country of Scotland, determined never
more to set my foot out of it; and retaining the satisfaction of never
having preferred a request to one great man, or even making advances
of friendship to any of them. As I was now turned of fifty, I thought
of passing all the rest of my life in this philosophical manner, when
I received, in 1763, an invitation from the Earl of Hertford, with
whom I was not in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy
to Paris, with a near prospect of being appointed Secretary to the
embassy, and, in the meanwhile, of performing the functions of that
office. This offer, however inviting, I at first declined, both because
I was reluctant to begin connections with the great, and because I was
afraid the civilities and gay company of Paris would prove disagreeable
to a person of my age and humour; but on his lordship’s repeating the
invitation, I accepted of it. I have every reason, both of pleasure and
interest, to think myself happy in my connections with that nobleman,
as well as afterwards with his brother, General Conway.
Those who have not seen the strange effects of Modes, will never
imagine the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all
ranks and stations. The more I resiled from their excessive civilities,
the more I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction
in living in Paris, from the great number of sensible, knowing, and
polite company with which that city abounds above all places in the
universe. I thought once of settling there for life.
I was appointed Secretary to the embassy; and in summer 1765, Lord
Hertford left me, being appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. I was
_chargé d’affaires_ till the arrival of the Duke of Richmond, towards
the end of the year. In the beginning of 1766 I left Paris, and next
summer went to Edinburgh, with the same view as formerly, of burying
myself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place, not
richer, but with much more money, and a much larger income, by means
of Lord Hertford’s friendship, than I left it; and I was desirous
of trying what superfluity could produce, as I had formerly made an
experiment of a competency. But in 1767 I received from Mr. Conway
an invitation to be Under Secretary; and this invitation, both the
character of the person and my connections with Lord Hertford prevented
me from declining. I returned to Edinburgh in 1769, very opulent (for
I possessed a revenue of £1000 a year), healthy, and, though somewhat
stricken in years, with the prospect of enjoying long my ease, and of
seeing the increase of my reputation.
In spring 1775, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels, which at
first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend it, become
mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have
suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange,
have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered
a moment’s abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that were I to name the
period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I
might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same
ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company. I consider,
besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few
years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary
reputation’s breaking out at last with additional lustre, I knew that
I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more
detached from life than I am at present.
To conclude historically with my own character. I am, or rather was
(for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which
emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments)—I was, I say, a man
of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social,
and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible
of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my
love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper,
notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not
unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and
literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest
women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with
from them. In a word, though most men anywise eminent have found reason
to complain of calumny, I never was touched, or even attacked by her
baleful tooth: and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both
civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf
of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate
any one circumstance of my character and conduct: not but that the
zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and
propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they never could find any
which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say
there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope
it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily
cleared and ascertained.
_April_ 18, 1776.
ADAM SMITH’S CELEBRATED ACCOUNT OF HUME’S DEATH.
“KIRKCALDY, FIFESHIRE, _Nov._ 9, 1776.
“DEAR SIR,—It is with a real, though a very melancholy pleasure, that
I sit down to give you some account of the behaviour of our excellent
friend, Mr. Hume, during his last illness.
“Though, in his own judgment, his disease was mortal and incurable,
yet he allowed himself to be prevailed upon, by the entreaty of his
friends, to try what might be the effects of a long journey. A few days
before he set out he wrote that account of his own life which, together
with his other papers, he has left to your care. My account, therefore,
shall begin where his ends.
“He set out for London towards the end of April, and at Morpeth met
with Mr. John Home and myself, who had both come down from London to
see him, expecting to have found him in Edinburgh. Mr. Home returned
with him, and attended him during the whole of his stay in England,
with that care and attention which might be expected from a temper so
perfectly friendly and affectionate. As I had written to my mother
that she might expect me in Scotland, I was under the necessity of
continuing my journey. His disease seemed to yield to exercise and
change of air, and when he arrived in London he was apparently in much
better health than when he left Edinburgh. He was advised to go to
Bath to drink the waters, which appeared for some time to have so good
an effect upon him that even he himself began to entertain, what he
was not apt to do, a better opinion of his own health. His symptoms,
however, soon returned with their usual violence, and from that moment
he gave up all thoughts of recovery, but submitted with the utmost
cheerfulness, and the most perfect complacency and resignation. Upon
his return to Edinburgh, though he found himself much weaker, yet his
cheerfulness never abated, and he continued to divert himself as usual,
with correcting his own works for a new edition, and reading books of
amusement, with the conversation of his friends, and, sometimes in the
evening, with a party at his favourite game of whist. His cheerfulness
was so great, his conversation and amusements ran so much in their
usual strain that, notwithstanding all bad symptoms, many people
could not believe he was dying. ‘I shall tell your friend, Colonel
Edmondstone,’ said Doctor Dundas to him one day, ‘that I left you
much better, and in a fair way of recovery.’ ‘Doctor,’ said he, ‘as I
believe you would not choose to tell anything but the truth, you had
better tell him that I am dying as fast as my enemies, if I have any,
could wish, and as easily and as cheerfully as my best friends could
desire.’ Colonel Edmondstone soon afterwards came to see him, and took
leave of him; and on his way home he could not forbear writing him a
letter bidding him once more an eternal adieu, and applying to him, as
a dying man, the beautiful French verses in which the Abbé Chaulieu,
in expectation of his own death, laments his approaching separation
from his friend, the Marquis de la Fare. Mr. Hume’s magnanimity and
firmness were such, that his most affectionate friends knew that they
hazarded nothing in talking or writing to him as to a dying man,
and that, so far from being hurt by this frankness, he was rather
pleased and flattered by it. I happened to come into his room while
he was reading this letter, which he had just received, and which he
immediately showed me. I told him that though I was sensible how very
much he was weakened, and that appearances were in many respects very
bad yet his cheerfulness was still so great, the spirit of life seemed
still to be so very strong in him, that I could not help
entertaining some faint hopes. He answered—‘Your hopes are groundless.
An habitual diarrhœa of more than a year’s standing would be a very bad
disease at any age: at my age it is a mortal one. When I lie down in
the evening, I feel myself weaker than when I rose in the morning; and
when I rise in the morning, weaker than when I lay down in the evening.
I am sensible, besides, that some of my vital parts are affected, so
that I must soon die.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘if it must be so, you have at
least the satisfaction of leaving all your friends, your brother’s
family in particular, in great prosperity.’ He said that he felt that
satisfaction so sensibly, that when he was reading a few days before,
Lucian’s _Dialogues of the Dead_, among all the excuses which are
alleged to Charon for not entering readily into his boat, he could not
find one that fitted him: he had no house to finish, he had no daughter
to provide for, he had no enemies upon whom he wished to revenge
himself. ‘I could not well imagine,’ said he, ‘what excuse I could make
to Charon in order to obtain a little delay. I have done everything of
consequence which I ever meant to do; and I could at no time expect
to leave my relations and friends in a better situation than that in
which I am now like to leave them; I therefore have all reason to die
contented.’ He then diverted himself with inventing several jocular
excuses, which he supposed he might make to Charon, and with imagining
the very surly answers which it might suit the character of Charon
to return to them. ‘Upon further consideration,’ said he, ‘I thought
I might say to him, good Charon, I have been correcting my works for
a new edition; allow me a little time that I may see how the public
receives the alterations.’ But Charon would answer, ‘When you have seen
the effect of these, you will be for making other alterations. There
will be no end of such excuses; so, honest friend, please step into the
boat.’ But I might still urge, ‘Have a little patience, good Charon;
I have been endeavouring to open the eyes of the public. If I live a
few years longer, I may have the satisfaction of seeing the downfall
of some of the prevailing systems of superstition.’ But Charon would
then lose all temper and decency. ‘You loitering rogue; that will not
happen these many hundred years. Do you fancy I will grant you a lease
for so long a term? Get into the boat this instant, you lazy, loitering
rogue.’
“But though Mr. Hume always talked of his approaching dissolution
with great cheerfulness, he never affected to make any parade of his
magnanimity. He never mentioned the subject but when the conversation
naturally led to it, and never dwelt longer upon it than the course of
the conversation happened to require; it was a subject, indeed, which
occurred pretty frequently, in consequence of the inquiries which his
friends who came to see him naturally made concerning the state of his
health. The conversation which I mentioned above, and which passed
on Thursday the 8th of August, was the last except one that I ever
had with him. He had now become so very weak that the company of his
most intimate friends fatigued him; for his cheerfulness was still so
great, his complaisance and social disposition were still so entire,
that when any friend was with him he could not help talking more, and
with greater exertion than suited the weakness of his body. At his own
desire, therefore, I agreed to leave Edinburgh, where I was staying
partly upon his account, and returned to my mother’s house here, at
Kirkcaldy, upon condition that he would send for me whenever he wished
to see me; the physician who saw him most frequently, Dr. Black,
undertaking in the meantime to write me occasionally an account of the
state of his health.
“On the 22nd of August the doctor wrote me the following letter:—
“‘Since my last Mr. Hume has passed his time pretty easily, but is much
weaker. He sits up, goes downstairs once a day, and amuses himself with
reading, but seldom sees anybody. He finds that even the conversation
of his most intimate friends fatigues and oppresses him; and it is
happy that he does not need it, for he is quite free from anxiety,
impatience, or low spirits, and passes his time very well with the
assistance of amusing books.’
“I received the day after a letter from Mr. Hume himself, of which the
following is an extract:—
“‘EDINBURGH, _August_ 23, 1776.
“‘MY DEAREST FRIEND,—I am obliged to make use of my nephew’s hand in
writing to you, as I do not rise to-day.
· · · · · ·
“‘I go very fast to decline, and last night had a small fever, which I
hoped might put a quicker period to this tedious illness; but unluckily
it has, in a great measure, gone off. I cannot submit to your coming
over here on my account, as it is possible for me to see you so small
a part of the day, but Dr. Black can better inform you concerning the
degree of strength which may from time to time remain with me. Adieu,
etc.’
“Three days after I received the following letter from Dr. Black:—
“‘EDINBURGH, _August_ 26_th_, 1776.
“‘DEAR SIR,—Yesterday, about four o’clock afternoon, Mr. Hume expired.
The near approach of his death became evident in the night between
Thursday and Friday, when his disease became excessive, and soon
weakened him so much that he could no longer rise out of his bed. He
continued to the last perfectly sensible, and free from much pain
or feeling of distress. He never dropped the smallest expression of
impatience, but when he had occasion to speak to the people about him
always did it with affection and tenderness. I thought it improper to
write to bring you over, especially as I heard that he had dictated a
letter to you desiring you not to come. When he became very weak it
cost him an effort to speak, and he died in such a happy composure of
mind that nothing could exceed it!’
“Thus died our most excellent and never-to-be-forgotten friend,
concerning whose philosophical opinions men will, no doubt, judge
variously, every one approving or condemning them according as they
happen to coincide or disagree with his own; but concerning whose
character and conduct there can scarce be a difference of opinion.
His temper, indeed, seemed to be more happily balanced—if I may be
allowed such an expression—than that perhaps of any other man I have
ever known. Even in the lowest state of his fortune his great and
necessary frugality never hindered him from exercising, upon proper
occasions, acts both of charity and generosity. It was a frugality
founded not upon avarice but upon the love of independency. The extreme
gentleness of his nature never weakened either the firmness of his mind
or the steadiness of his resolutions. His constant pleasantry was the
genuine effusion of good-nature and good-humour tempered with delicacy
and modesty, and without even the slightest tincture of malignity—so
frequently the disagreeable source of what is called wit in other men.
It never was the meaning of his raillery to mortify, and therefore, far
from offending, it seldom failed to please and delight even those who
were the object of it. To his friends—who were frequently the object of
it—there was not perhaps any one of all his great and amiable qualities
which contributed more to endear his conversation. And that gaiety of
temper, so agreeable in society, but which is so often accompanied with
frivolous and superficial qualities, was in him certainly attended
with the most severe application, the most extensive learning, the
greatest depth of thought, and a capacity in every respect the most
comprehensive. Upon the whole, I have always considered him, both in
his lifetime and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the idea
of a perfectly wise and virtuous man as perhaps the nature of human
frailty will permit.
“I ever am, dear sir, most affectionately yours,
“ADAM SMITH.”
⁂ “It is a usual fallacy,” says Hume in “Of the Populousness of Ancient
Nations,” “to consider all the ages of antiquity as one period.” The
dates given in the Appendix may serve as a corrective in this regard.
NOTES, INTRODUCTION.
[1] _Life of Adam Smith_, “Great Writers” series.
[2] _Life and Correspondence of David Hume_, 1846.
[3] See _Foundations of Political Economy_, The Walter Scott Publishing
Company, Limited.
[4] His _Treatise of Human Nature_, regarding the publication of which
he wrote in 1751 to Sir Gilbert Elliot, of Minto—“I was carried away
by the heat of youth and invention to publish too precipitately. So
vast an undertaking, planned before I was one-and-twenty, and composed
before I was twenty-five, must necessarily be very defective. I have
repented my haste a hundred and a hundred times.”
[5] Haldane, _Life of Adam Smith_, “Great Writers” series.
[6] Hume’s view is the juster here.
HUME’S POLITICAL DISCOURSES
[Illustration, ornamental]
OF COMMERCE.
The greatest part of mankind may be divided into two classes: that of
shallow thinkers, who fall short of the truth; and that of abstruse
thinkers, who go beyond it. The latter class are by far the most
uncommon; and I may add, by far the most useful and valuable. They
suggest hints, at least, and start difficulties, which they want,
perhaps, skill to pursue; but which may produce very fine discoveries,
when handled by men who have a more just way of thinking. At worst,
what they say is uncommon; and if it should cost some pains to
comprehend it, one has, however, the pleasure of hearing something that
is new. An author is little to be valued who tells us nothing but what
we can learn from every coffee-house conversation.
All people of shallow thought are apt to decry even those of solid
understanding, as abstruse thinkers, and metaphysicians, and refiners;
and never will allow anything to be just which is beyond their own
weak conceptions. There are some cases, I own, where an extraordinary
refinement affords a strong presumption of falsehood, and where no
reasoning is to be trusted but what is natural and easy. When a man
deliberates concerning his conduct in any particular affair, and
forms schemes in politics, trade, economy, or any business in life,
he never ought to draw his arguments too fine, or connect too long
a chain of consequences together. Something is sure to happen that
will disconcert his reasoning, and produce an event different
from what he expected. But when we reason upon general subjects,
one may justly affirm that our speculations can scarce ever be too
fine, provided they be just; and that the difference between a common
man and a man of genius is chiefly seen in the shallowness or depth
of the principles upon which they proceed. General reasonings seem
intricate, merely because they are general; nor is it easy for the
bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of particulars, that
common circumstance in which they all agree, or to extract it, pure
and unmixed, from the other superfluous circumstances. Every judgment
or conclusion, with them, is particular. They cannot enlarge their
view to those universal propositions which comprehend under them an
infinite number of individuals, and include a whole science in a single
theorem. Their eye is confounded with such an extensive prospect; and
the conclusions derived from it, even though clearly expressed, seem
intricate and obscure. But however intricate they may seem, it is
certain that general principles, if just and sound, must always prevail
in the general course of things, though they may fail in particular
cases; and it is the chief business of philosophers to regard the
general course of things. I may add that it is also the chief business
of politicians; especially in the domestic government of the state,
where the public good, which is, or ought to be, their object, depends
on the concurrence of a multitude of cases; not, as in foreign
politics, on accidents and chances, and the caprices of a few persons.
This therefore makes the difference between particular deliberations
and general reasonings, and renders subtlety and refinement much more
suitable to the latter than to the former.
I thought this introduction necessary before the following discourses
on commerce, money, interest, balance of trade, etc., where, perhaps,
there will occur some principles which are uncommon, and which may seem
too refined and subtle for such vulgar subjects. If false, let them be
rejected; but no one ought to entertain a prejudice against them merely
because they are out of the common road.
The greatness of a state, and the happiness of its subjects, however
independent they may be supposed in some respects, are commonly allowed
to be inseparable with regard to commerce; and as private men receive
greater security in the possession of their trade and riches from the
power of the public, so the public becomes powerful in proportion to
the riches and extensive commerce of private men. This maxim is true in
general, though I cannot forbear thinking that it may possibly admit of
some exceptions, and that we often establish it with too little reserve
and limitation. There may be some circumstances where the commerce,
and riches, and luxury of individuals, instead of adding strength
to the public, will serve only to thin its armies, and diminish its
authority among the neighbouring nations. Man is a very variable being,
and susceptible of many different opinions, principles, and rules of
conduct. What may be true while he adheres to one way of thinking will
be found false when he has embraced an opposite set of manners and
opinions.