SECT. I. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.
In all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and infallible; but
when we apply them, our fallible said uncertain faculties are very apt
to depart from them, and fall into error. We must, therefore, in every
reasoning form a new judgment, as a check or controul on our first
judgment or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a kind of
history of all the instances, wherein our understanding has deceived us,
compared with those, wherein its testimony was just and true. Our reason
must be considered as a kind of cause, of which truth is the natural
effect; but such-a-one as by the irruption of other causes, and by the
inconstancy of our mental powers, may frequently be prevented. By this
means all knowledge degenerates into probability; and this probability
is greater or less, according to our experience of the veracity or
deceitfulness of our understanding, and according to the simplicity or
intricacy of the question.
There is no Algebraist nor Mathematician so expert in his science, as to
place entire confidence in any truth immediately upon his discovery of
it, or regard it as any thing, but a mere probability. Every time he
runs over his proofs, his confidence encreases; but still more by the
approbation of his friends; and is raised to its utmost perfection by
the universal assent and applauses of the learned world. Now it is
evident, that this gradual encrease of assurance is nothing but the
addition of new probabilities, and is derived from the constant union of
causes and effects, according to past experience and observation.
In accompts of any length or importance, Merchants seldom trust to
the infallible certainty of numbers for their security; but by the
artificial structure of the accompts, produce a probability beyond what
is derived from the skill and experience of the accomptant. For that
is plainly of itself some degree of probability; though uncertain and
variable, according to the degrees of his experience and length of
the accompt. Now as none will maintain, that our assurance in a long
numeration exceeds probability, I may safely affirm, that there scarce
is any proposition concerning numbers, of which we can have a fuller
security. For it is easily possible, by gradually diminishing the
numbers, to reduce the longest series of addition to the most simple
question, which can be formed, to an addition of two single numbers; and
upon this supposition we shall find it impracticable to shew the precise
limits of knowledge and of probability, or discover that particular
number, at which the one ends and the other begins. But knowledge and
probability are of such contrary and disagreeing natures, that they
cannot well run insensibly into each other, and that because they will
not divide, but must be either entirely present, or entirely absent.
Besides, if any single addition were certain, every one would be so, and
consequently the whole or total sum; unless the whole can be different
from all its parts. I had almost said, that this was certain; but I
reflect that it must reduce itself, as well as every other reasoning,
and from knowledge degenerate into probability.
Since therefore all knowledge resolves itself into probability, and
becomes at last of the same nature with that evidence, which we employ
in common life, we must now examine this latter species of reasoning,
and see on what foundation it stands.
In every judgment, which we can form concerning probability, as well
as concerning knowledge, we ought always to correct the first judgment,
derived from the nature of the object, by another judgment, derived from
the nature of the understanding. It is certain a man of solid sense and
long experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assurance
in his opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant, and that our
sentiments have different degrees of authority, even with ourselves, in
proportion to the degrees of our reason and experience. In the man of
the best sense and longest experience, this authority is never entire;
since even such-a-one must be conscious of many errors in the past, and
must still dread the like for the future. Here then arises a new species
of probability to correct and regulate the first, and fix its just
standard and proportion. As demonstration is subject to the controul of
probability, so is probability liable to a new correction by a reflex
act of the mind, wherein the nature of our understanding, and our
reasoning from the first probability become our objects.
Having thus found in every probability, beside the original uncertainty
inherent in the subject, a new uncertainty derived from the weakness of
that faculty, which judges, and having adjusted these two together,
we are obliged by our reason to add a new doubt derived from the
possibility of error in the estimation we make of the truth and fidelity
of our faculties. This is a doubt, which immediately occurs to us, and
of which, if we would closely pursue our reason, we cannot avoid giving
a decision. But this decision, though it should be favourable to our
preceding judgment, being founded only on probability, must weaken still
further our first evidence, and must itself be weakened by a fourth
doubt of the same kind, and so on in infinitum: till at last there
remain nothing of the original probability, however great we may
suppose it to have been, and however small the diminution by every new
uncertainty. No finite object can subsist under a decrease repeated IN
INFINITUM; and even the vastest quantity, which can enter into human
imagination, must in this manner be reduced to nothing. Let our first
belief be never so strong, it must infallibly perish by passing through
so many new examinations, of which each diminishes somewhat of its force
and vigour. When I reflect on the natural fallibility of my judgment,
I have less confidence in my opinions, than when I only consider the
objects concerning which I reason; and when I proceed still farther,
to turn the scrutiny against every successive estimation I make of my
faculties, all the rules of logic require a continual diminution, and at
last a total extinction of belief and evidence.
Should it here be asked me, whether I sincerely assent to this argument,
which I seem to take such pains to inculcate, and whether I be really
one of those sceptics, who hold that all is uncertain, and that our
judgment is not in any thing possest of any measures of truth and
falshood; I should reply, that this question is entirely superfluous,
and that neither I, nor any other person was ever sincerely and
constantly of that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and uncontroulable
necessity has determined us to judge as well as to breathe and feel; nor
can we any more forbear viewing certain objects in a stronger and
fuller light, upon account of their customary connexion with a present
impression, than we can hinder ourselves from thinking as long, as
we are awake, or seeing the surrounding bodies, when we turn our eyes
towards them in broad sunshine. Whoever has taken the pains to refute
the cavils of this total scepticism, has really disputed without an
antagonist, and endeavoured by arguments to establish a faculty, which
nature has antecedently implanted in the mind, and rendered unavoidable.
My intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments of that
fantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of the truth of my
hypothesis, that all our reasonings concerning causes and effects are
derived from nothing but custom; and that belief is more properly an act
of the sensitive, than of the cogitative part of our natures. I
have here proved, that the very same principles, which make us form
a decision upon any subject, and correct that decision by the
consideration of our genius and capacity, and of the situation of our
mind, when we examined that subject; I say, I have proved, that these
same principles, when carryed farther, and applied to every new reflex
judgment, must, by continually diminishing the original evidence, at
last reduce it to nothing, and utterly subvert all belief and opinion.
If belief, therefore, were a simple act of the thought, without any
peculiar manner of conception, or the addition of a force and vivacity,
it must infallibly destroy itself, and in every case terminate in a
total suspense of judgment. But as experience will sufficiently convince
any one, who thinks it worth while to try, that though he can find no
error in the foregoing arguments, yet he still continues to believe, and
think, and reason as usual, he may safely conclude, that his reasoning
and belief is some sensation or peculiar manner of conception, which it
is impossible for mere ideas and reflections to destroy.
But here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens, even upon my
hypothesis, that these arguments above-explained produce not a total
suspense of judgment, and after what manner the mind ever retains a
degree of assurance in any subject? For as these new probabilities,
which by their repetition perpetually diminish the original evidence,
are founded on the very same principles, whether of thought or
sensation, as the primary judgment, it may seem unavoidable, that in
either case they must equally subvert it, and by the opposition,
either of contrary thoughts or sensations, reduce the mind to a total
uncertainty. I suppose, there is some question proposed to me, and
that after revolving over the impressions of my memory and senses,
and carrying my thoughts from them to such objects, as are commonly
conjoined with them, I feel a stronger and more forcible conception on
the one side, than on the other. This strong conception forms my first
decision. I suppose, that afterwards I examine my judgment itself,
and observing from experience, that it is sometimes just and sometimes
erroneous, I consider it as regulated by contrary principles or causes,
of which some lead to truth, and some to error; and in ballancing these
contrary causes, I diminish by a new probability the assurance of my
first decision. This new probability is liable to the same diminution as
the foregoing, and so on, IN INFINITUM. It is therefore demanded, how
it happens, that even after all we retain a degree of belief, which is
sufficient for our purpose, either in philosophy or common life.
I answer, that after the first and second decision; as the action of
the mind becomes forced and unnatural, and the ideas faint and obscure;
though the principles of judgment, and the ballancing of opposite
causes be the same as at the very beginning; yet their influence on the
imagination, and the vigour they add to, or diminish from the thought,
is by no means equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with
easiness and facility, the same principles have not the same effect as
in a more natural conception of the ideas; nor does the imagination feel
a sensation, which holds any proportion with that which arises from
its common judgments and opinions. The attention is on the stretch: The
posture of the mind is uneasy; and the spirits being diverted from their
natural course, are not governed in their movements by the same laws, at
least not to the same degree, as when they flow in their usual channel.
If we desire similar instances, it will not be very difficult to find
them. The present subject of metaphysics will supply us abundantly. The
same argument, which would have been esteemed convincing in a reasoning
concerning history or politics, has little or no influence in these
abstruser subjects, even though it be perfectly comprehended; and that
because there is required a study and an effort of thought, in order
to its being comprehended: And this effort of thought disturbs the
operation of our sentiments, on which the belief depends. The case is
the same in other subjects. The straining of the imagination always
hinders the regular flowing of the passions and sentiments. A tragic
poet, that would represent his heroes as very ingenious and witty in
their misfortunes, would never touch the passions. As the emotions of
the soul prevent any subtile reasoning and reflection, so these latter
actions of the mind are equally prejudicial to the former. The mind, as
well as the body, seems to be endowed with a certain precise degree of
force and activity, which it never employs in one action, but at the
expense of all the rest. This is more evidently true, where the actions
are of quite different natures; since in that case the force of the mind
is not only diverted, but even the disposition changed, so as to render
us incapable of a sudden transition from one action to the other, and
still more of performing both at once. No wonder, then, the conviction,
which arises from a subtile reasoning, diminishes in proportion to the
efforts, which the imagination makes to enter into the reasoning, and
to conceive it in all its parts. Belief, being a lively conception, can
never be entire, where it is not founded on something natural and easy.
This I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot approve of
that expeditious way, which some take with the sceptics, to reject
at once all their arguments without enquiry or examination. If the
sceptical reasonings be strong, say they, it is a proof, that reason may
have some force and authority: if weak, they can never be sufficient to
invalidate all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument is
not just; because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible for them
to exist, and were they not destroyed by their subtility, would
be successively both strong and weak, according to the successive
dispositions of the mind. Reason first appears in possession of the
throne, prescribing laws, and imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and
authority. Her enemy, therefore, is obliged to take shelter under
her protection, and by making use of rational arguments to prove the
fallaciousness and imbecility of reason, produces, in a manner, a
patent under her hand and seal. This patent has at first an authority,
proportioned to the present and immediate authority of reason, from
which it is derived. But as it is supposed to be contradictory to
reason, it gradually diminishes the force of that governing power
and its own at the same time; till at last they both vanish away into
nothing, by a regulax and just diminution. The sceptical and dogmatical
reasons are of the same kind, though contrary in their operation and
tendency; so that where the latter is strong, it has an enemy of equal
force in the former to encounter; and as their forces were at first
equal, they still continue so, as long as either of them subsists; nor
does one of them lose any force in the contest, without taking as much
from its antagonist. It is happy, therefore, that nature breaks the
force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them from having any
considerable influence on the understanding. Were we to trust entirely
to their self-destruction, that can never take place, until they have
first subverted all conviction, and have totally destroyed human reason.
SECT. II. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.
Thus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even though he
asserts, that he cannot defend his reason by reason; and by the same
rule he must assent to the principle concerning the existence of body,
though he cannot pretend by any arguments of philosophy to maintain its
veracity. Nature has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless,
esteemed it an affair of too great importance to be trusted to our
uncertain reasonings and speculations. We may well ask, What causes
induce us to believe in the existence of body? but it is in vain to ask,
Whether there be body or not? That is a point, which we must take for
granted in all our reasonings.
The subject, then, of our present enquiry is concerning the causes which
induce us to believe in the existence of body: And my reasonings on this
head I shall begin with a distinction, which at first sight may
seem superfluous, but which will contribute very much to the perfect
understanding of what follows. We ought to examine apart those two
questions, which are commonly confounded together, viz. Why we attribute
a continued existence to objects, even when they are not present to the
senses; and why we suppose them to have an existence DISTINCT from the
mind and perception. Under this last head I comprehend their
situation as well as relations, their external position as well as
the independence of their existence and operation. These two questions
concerning the continued and distinct existence of body are intimately
connected together. For if the objects of our senses continue to
exist, even when they are not perceived, their existence is of course
independent of and distinct from the perception: and vice versa, if
their existence be independent of the perception and distinct from it,
they must continue to exist, even though they be not perceived. But
though the decision of the one question decides the other; yet that we
may the more easily discover the principles of human nature, from whence
the decision arises, we shall carry along with us this distinction, and
shall consider, whether it be the senses, reason, or the imagination,
that produces the opinion of a continued or of a distinct existence.
These are the only questions, that are intelligible on the present
subject. For as to the notion of external existence, when taken for
something specially different from our perceptions,[1] we have already
shewn its absurdity.
[1] Part. II. Sect. 6.
To begin with the SENSES, it is evident these faculties are incapable of
giving rise to the notion of the continued existence of their objects,
after they no longer appear to the senses. For that is a contradiction
in terms, and suppose that the senses continue to operate, even after
they have ceased all manner of operation. These faculties, therefore, if
they have any influence in the present case, must produce the opinion
of a distinct, not of a continued existence; and in order to that, must
present their impressions either as images and representations, or as
these very distinct and external existences.
That our senses offer not their impressions as the images of something
distinct, or independent, and external, is evident; because they convey
to us nothing but a single perception, and never give us the least
intimation of any thing beyond. A single perception can never produce
the idea of a double existence, but by some inference either of the
reason or imagination. When the mind looks farther than what immediately
appears to it, its conclusions can never be put to the account of the
senses; and it certainly looks farther, when from a single perception it
infers a double existence, and supposes the relations of resemblance and
causation betwixt them.
If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences,
they must convey the impressions as those very existences, by a kind of
fallacy and illusion. Upon this bead we may observe, that all sensations
are felt by the mind, such as they really are, and that when we
doubt, whether they present themselves as distinct objects, or as
mere impressions, the difficulty is not concerning their nature, but
concerning their relations and situation. Now if the senses presented
our impressions as external to, and independent of ourselves, both the
objects and ourselves must be obvious to our senses, otherwise they
could not be compared by these faculties. The difficulty, then, is how
fax we are ourselves the objects of our senses.
It is certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than
that concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which
constitutes a person. So far from being able by our senses merely to
determine this question, we must have recourse to the most profound
metaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it; and in common life
it is evident these ideas of self and person are never very fixed nor
determinate. It is absurd, therefore, to imagine the senses can ever
distinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects.
Add to this, that every impression, external and internal, passions,
affections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are originally on the same
footing; and that whatever other differences we may observe among them,
they appear, all of them, in their true colours, as impressions or
perceptions. And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, it is scarce
possible it should be otherwise, nor is it conceivable that our senses
should be more capable of deceiving us in the situation and relations,
than in the nature of our impressions. For since all actions and
sensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, they must
necessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be what they
appear. Every thing that enters the mind, being in reality a perception,
it is impossible any thing should to feeling appear different. This were
to suppose, that even where we are most intimately conscious, we might
be mistaken.
But not to lose time in examining, whether it is possible for our senses
to deceive us, and represent our perceptions as distinct from ourselves,
that is as external to and independent of us; let us consider whether
they really do so, and whether this error proceeds from an immediate
sensation, or from some other causes.
To begin with the question concerning EXTERNAL existence, it may perhaps
be said, that setting aside the metaphysical question of the identity
of a thinking substance, our own body evidently belongs to us; and as
several impressions appear exterior to the body, we suppose them also
exterior to ourselves. The paper, on which I write at present, is beyond
my hand. The table is beyond the paper. The walls of the chamber beyond
the table. And in casting my eye towards the window, I perceive a great
extent of fields and buildings beyond my chamber. From all this it may
be infered, that no other faculty is required, beside the senses, to
convince us of the external existence of body. But to prevent this
inference, we need only weigh the three following considerations. First,
That, properly speaking, it is not our body we perceive, when we regard
our limbs and members, but certain impressions, which enter by the
senses; so that the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these
impressions, or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult
to explain, as that which we examine at present. Secondly, Sounds, and
tastes, and smelts, though commonly regarded by the mind as continued
independent qualities, appear not to have any existence in extension,
and consequently cannot appear to the senses as situated externally
to the body. The reason, why we ascribe a place to them, shall be:
considered afterwards. Thirdly, Even our sight informs us not of
distance or outness (so to speak) immediately and without a certain
reasoning and experience, as is acknowledged by the most rational
philosophers.
As to the independency of our perceptions on ourselves, this can never
be an object of the senses; but any opinion we form concerning it, must
be derived from experience and observation: And we shall see afterwards,
that our conclusions from experience are far from being favourable to
the doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. Mean while we may
observe that when we talk of real distinct existences, we have commonly
more in our eye their independency than external situation in place,
and think an object has a sufficient reality, when its Being is
uninterrupted, and independent of the incessant revolutions, which we
are conscious of in ourselves.
Thus to resume what I have said concerning the senses; they give us no
notion of continued existence, because they cannot operate beyond the
extent, in which they really operate. They as little produce the opinion
of a distinct existence, because they neither can offer it to the mind
as represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented, they must
present both an object and an image. To make it appear as original, they
must convey a falshood; and this falshood must lie in the relations and
situation: In order to which they must be able to compare the object
with ourselves; and even in that case they do not, nor is it possible
they should, deceive us. We may, therefore, conclude with certainty,
that the opinion of a continued and of a distinct existence never arises
from the senses.
To confirm this we may observe, that there are three different kinds of
impressions conveyed by the senses. The first are those of the figure,
bulk, motion and solidity of bodies. The second those of colours,
tastes, smells, sounds, heat and cold. The third are the pains and
pleasures, that arise from the application of objects to our bodies, as
by the cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. Both philosophers
and the vulgar suppose the first of these to have a distinct continued
existence. The vulgar only regard the second as on the same footing.
Both philosophers and the vulgar, again, esteem the third to be merely
perceptions and consequently interrupted and dependent beings.
Now it is evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion,
colours, Sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to the senses, exist
after the same manner with motion and solidity, and that the difference
we make betwixt them in this respect, arises not from the mere
perception. So strong the prejudice for the distinct continued existence
Of the former qualities, that when the contrary opinion is advanced by
modern philosophers, people imagine they can almost refute it from
their feeling and experience, and that their very senses contradict this
philosophy. It is also evident, that colours, sounds, &c. are originally
on the same footing with the pain that arises from steel, and pleasure
that proceeds from a fire; and that the difference betwixt them is
founded neither on perception nor reason, but on the imagination. For
as they are confest to be, both of them, nothing but perceptions arising
from the particular configurations and motions of the parts of body,
wherein possibly can their difference consist? Upon the whole, then, we
may conclude, that as far as the senses are judges, all perceptions are
the same in the manner of their existence.
We may also observe in this instance of sounds and colours, that we
can attribute a distinct continued existence to objects without ever
consulting REASON, or weighing our opinions by any philosophical
principles. And indeed, whatever convincing arguments philosophers may
fancy they can produce to establish the belief of objects independent of
the mind, it is obvious these arguments are known but to very few, and
that it is not by them, that children, peasants, and the greatest part
of mankind are induced to attribute objects to some impressions, and
deny them to others. Accordingly we find, that all the conclusions,
which the vulgar form on this head, are directly contrary to those,
which are confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that every
thing, which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, and is
interrupted, and dependent on the mind: whereas the vulgar confound
perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued existence
to the very things they feel or see. This sentiment, then, as it is
entirely unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty than
the understanding. To which we may add, that as long as we take our
perceptions and objects to be the same, we can never infer the existence
of the one from that of the other, nor form any argument from the
relation of cause and effect; which is the only one that earl assure us
of matter of fact. Even after we distinguish our perceptions from
our objects, it will appear presently, that we are still incapable of
reasoning from the existence of one to that of the other: So that upon
the whole our reason neither does, nor is it possible it ever should,
upon any supposition, give us an assurance of the continued and
distinct existence of body. That opinion must be entirely owing to the
IMAGINATION: which must now be the subject of our enquiry.
Since all impressions are internal and perishing existences, and appear
as such, the notion of their distinct and continued existence must arise
from a concurrence of some of their qualities with the qualities of the
imagination, and since this notion does not extend to all of them, it
must arise from certain qualities peculiar to some impressions. It will
therefore be easy for us to discover these qualities by a comparison
of the impressions, to which we attribute a distinct and continued
existence, with those, which we regard as internal and perishing.
We may observe, then, that it is neither upon account of the
involuntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly supposed, nor of
their superior force and violence, that we attribute to them a reality,
and continued existence, which we refuse to others, that are voluntary
or feeble. For it is evident our pains and pleasures, our passions and
affections, which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our
perception, operate with greater violence, and are equally involuntary,
as the impressions of figure and extension, colour and sound, which we
suppose to be permanent beings. The heat of a fire, when moderate, is
supposed to exist in the fire; but the pain, which it causes upon a near
approach, is not taken to have any being, except in the perception.
These vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must search for some
other hypothesis, by which we may discover those peculiar qualities
in our impressions, which makes us attribute to them a distinct and
continued existence.
After a little examination, we shall find, that all those objects, to
which we attribute a continued existence, have a peculiar constancy,
which distinguishes them from the impressions, whose existence depends
upon our perception. Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie
at present under my eye, have always appeared to me in the same order;
and when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes or turning my head, I
soon after find them return upon me without the least alteration. My bed
and table, my books and papers, present themselves in the same uniform
manner, and change not upon account of any interruption in my seeing
or perceivilng them. This is the case with all the impressions, whose
objects are supposed to have an external existence; and is the case
with no other impressions, whether gentle or violent, voluntary or
involuntary.
This constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit of very
considerable exceptions. Bodies often change their position and
qualities, and after a little absence or interruption may become hardly
knowable. But here it is observable, that even in these changes they
preserve a coherence, and have a regular dependence on each other; which
is the foundation of a kind of reasoning from causation, and produces
the opinion of their continued existence. When I return to my chamber
after an hour's absence, I find not my fire in the same situation, in
which I left it: But then I am accustomed in other instances to see a
like alteration produced in a like time, whether I am present or absent,
near or remote. This coherence, therefore, in their changes is one of
the characteristics of external objects, as well as their constancy.
Having found that the opinion of the continued existence of body depends
on the COHERENCE, and CONSTANCY of certain impressions, I now proceed to
examine after what manner these qualities give rise to so extraordinary
an opinion. To begin with the coherence; we may observe, that though
those internal impressions, which we regard as fleeting and perishing,
have also a certain coherence or regularity in their appearances, yet
it is of somewhat a different nature, from that which we discover in
bodies. Our passions are found by experience to have a mutual connexion
with and dependence on each other; but on no occasion is it necessary
to suppose, that they have existed and operated, when they were not
perceived, in order to preserve the same dependence and connexion, of
which we have had experience. The case is not the same with relation
to external objects. Those require a continued existence, or otherwise
lose, in a great measure, the regularity of their operation. I am here
seated in my chamber with my face to the fire; and all the objects, that
strike my senses, are contained in a few yards around me. My memory,
indeed, informs me of the existence of many objects; but then this
information extends not beyond their past existence, nor do either my
senses or memory give any testimony to the continuance of their being.
When therefore I am thus seated, and revolve over these thoughts, I hear
on a sudden a noise as of a door turning upon its hinges; and a little
after see a porter, who advances towards me. This gives occasion to many
new reflections and reasonings. First, I never have observed, that
this noise could proceed from any thing but the motion of a door; and
therefore conclude, that the present phænomenon is a contradiction to
all past experience, unless the door, which I remember on the other side
the chamber, be still in being. Again, I have always found, that a human
body was possest of a quality, which I call gravity, and which hinders
it from mounting in the air, as this porter must have done to arrive
at my chamber, unless the stairs I remember be not annihilated by my
absence. But this is not all. I receive a letter, which upon, opening
it I perceive by the hand-writing and subscription to have come from a
friend, who says he is two hundred leagues distant. It is evident I can
never account for this phenomenon, conformable to my experience in other
instances, without spreading out in my mind the whole sea and continent
between us, and supposing the effects and continued existence of posts
and ferries, according to my Memory and observation. To consider
these phaenomena of the porter and letter in a certain light, they are
contradictions to common experience, and may be regarded as objections
to those maxims, which we form concerning the connexions of causes and
effects. I am accustomed to hear such a sound, and see such an object in
motion at the same time. I have not received in this particular instance
both these perceptions. These observations are contrary, unless I
suppose that the door still remains, and that it was opened without
my perceiving it: And this supposition, which was at first entirely
arbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by its being
the only one, upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. There
is scarce a moment of my life, wherein there is not a similar instance
presented to me, and I have not occasion to suppose the continued
existence of objects, in order to connect their past and present
appearances, and give them such an union with each other, as I have
found by experience to be suitable to their particular natures and
circumstances. Here then I am naturally led to regard the world, as
something real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even when
it is no longer present to my perception.
But though this conclusion from the coherence of appearances may seem to
be of the same nature with our reasonings concerning causes and effects;
as being derived from custom, and regulated by past experience; we
shall find upon examination, that they are at the bottom considerably
different from each other, and that this inference arises from the
understanding, and from custom in an indirect and oblique manner. For
it will readily be allowed, that since nothing is ever really present to
the mind, besides its own perceptions, it is not only impossible,
that any habit should ever be acquired otherwise than by the regular
succession of these perceptions, but also that any habit should ever
exceed that degree of regularity. Any degree, therefore, of regularity
in our perceptions, can never be a foundation for us to infer a greater
degree of regularity in some objects, which are not perceived; since
this supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit acquired by what was never
present to the mind. But it is evident, that whenever we infer the
continued existence of the objects of sense from their coherence, and
the frequency of their union, it is in order to bestow on the objects
a greater regularity than what is observed in our mere perceptions. We
remark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects in their past appearance
to the senses, but are not able to observe this connexion to be
perfectly constant, since the turning about of our head or the shutting
of our eyes is able to break it. What then do we suppose in this
case, but that these objects still continue their usual connexion,
notwithstanding their apparent interruption, and that the irregular
appearances are joined by something, of which we are insensible? But as
all reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only from custom, and
custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions, the extending of
custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can never be the direct and
natural effect of the constant repetition and connexion, but must arise
from the co-operation of some other principles.
I have already observed,[2] in examining the foundation of mathematics,
that the imagination, when set into any train of thinking, is apt to
continue, even when its object fails it, and like a galley put in
motion by the oars, carries on its course without any new impulse. This
I have assigned for the reason, why, after considering several loose
standards of equality, and correcting them by each other, we proceed to
imagine so correct and exact a standard of that relation, as is not
liable to the least error or variation. The same principle makes us
easily entertain this opinion of the continued existence of body.
Objects have a certain coherence even as they appear to our senses; but
this coherence is much greater and more uniform, if we suppose the
object.% to have a continued existence; and as the mind is once in the
train of observing an uniformity among objects, it naturally continues,
till it renders the uniformity as compleat as possible. The simple
supposition of their continued existence suffices for this purpose, and
gives us a notion of a much greater regularity among objects, than what
they have when we look no farther than our senses.
[2] Part II, Sect. 4.
But whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am afraid it
is too weak to support alone so vast an edifice, as is that of the
continued existence of all external bodies; and that we must join the
constancy of their appearance to the coherence, in order to give a
satisfactory account of that opinion. As the explication of this will
lead me into a considerable compass of very profound reasoning; I
think it proper, in order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or
abridgment of my system, and afterwards draw out all its parts in their
full compass. This inference from the constancy of our perceptions, like
the precedent from their coherence, gives rise to the opinion of the
continued existence of body, which is prior to that of its distinct
existence, and produces that latter principle.
When we have been accustomed to observe a constancy in certain
impressions, and have found, that the perception of the sun or ocean,
for instance, returns upon us after an absence or annihilation with like
parts and in a like order, as at its first appearance, we are not apt
to regard these interrupted perceptions as different, (which they really
are) but on the contrary consider them as individually the same,
upon account of their resemblance. But as this interruption of their
existence is contrary to their perfect identity, and makes us regard
the first impression as annihilated, and the second as newly created,
we find ourselves somewhat at a loss, and are involved in a kind of
contradiction. In order to free ourselves from this difficulty, we
disguise, as much as possible, the interruption, or rather remove it
entirely, by supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected
by a real existence, of which we are insensible. This supposition, or
idea of continued existence, acquires a force and vivacity from the
memory of these broken impressions, and from that propensity, which
they give us, to suppose them the same; and according to the precedent
reasoning, the very essence of belief consists in the force and vivacity
of the conception.
In order to justify this system, there are four things requisite. First,
To explain the PRINCIPIUM INDIVIDUATIONIS, or principle of identity.
Secondly, Give a reason, why the resemblance of our broken and
interrupted perceptions induces us to attribute an identity to them.
Thirdly, Account for that propensity, which this illusion gives, to
unite these broken appearances by a continued existence. Fourthly and
lastly, Explain that force and vivacity of conception, which arises from
the propensity.
First, As to the principle of individuation; we may observe, that the
view of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of identity.
For in that proposition, an object is the same with itself, if the idea
expressed by the word, object, were no ways distinguished from
that meant by itself; we really should mean nothing, nor would the
proposition contain a predicate and a subject, which however are implyed
in this affirmation. One single object conveys the idea of unity, not
that of identity.
On the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never convey this idea,
however resembling they may be supposed. The mind always pronounces the
one not to be the other, and considers them as forming two, three,
or any determinate number of objects, whose existences are entirely
distinct and independent.
Since then both number and unity are incompatible with the relation of
identity, it must lie in something that is neither of them. But to tell
the truth, at first sight this seems utterly impossible. Betwixt unity
and number there can be no medium; no more than betwixt existence and
nonexistence. After one object is supposed to exist, we must either
suppose another also to exist; in which case we have the idea of number:
Or we must suppose it not to exist; in which case the first object
remains at unity.
To remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea of time or
duration. I have already observ’d,[3] that time, in a strict sense,
implies succession, and that when we apply its idea to any unchangeable
object, it is only by a fiction of the imagination, by which the
unchangeable object is supposd to participate of the changes of the
co-existent objects, and in particular of that of our perceptions. This
fiction of the imagination almost universally takes place; and it is by
means of it, that a single object, placd before us, and surveyd for any
time without our discovering in it any interruption or variation, is
able to give us a notion of identity. For when we consider any two
points of this time, we may place them in different lights: We may
either survey them at the very same instant; in which case they give us
the idea of number, both by themselves and by the object; which must be
multiplyd, in order to be conceivd at once, as existent in these two
different points of time: Or on the other hand, we may trace the
succession of time by a like succession of ideas, and conceiving first
one moment, along with the object then existent, imagine afterwards a
change in the time without any VARIATION or INTERRUPTION in the object;
in which case it gives us the idea of unity. Here then is an idea,
which is a medium betwixt unity and number; or more properly speaking,
is either of them, according to the view, in which we take it: And this
idea we call that of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech,
say, that an object is the same with itself, unless we mean, that the
object existent at one time is the same with itself existent at
another. By this means we make a difference, betwixt the idea meant by
the word, OBJECT, and that meant by ITSELF, without going the length of
number, and at the same time without restraining ourselves to a strict
and absolute unity.
[3] Part II, Sect. 5.
Thus the principle of individuation is nothing but the INVARIABLENESS
and UNINTERRUPTEDNESS of any object, thro a supposd variation of
time, by which the mind can trace it in the different periods of its
existence, without any break of the view, and without being obligd to
form the idea of multiplicity or number.
I now proceed to explain the SECOND part of my system, and shew why the
constancy of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect
numerical identity, tho there be very long intervals betwixt their
appearance, and they have only one of the essential qualities of
identity, VIZ, INVARIABLENESS. That I may avoid all ambiguity and
confusion on this head, I shall observe, that I here account for the
opinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence of body;
and therefore must entirely conform myself to their manner of thinking
and of expressing themselves. Now we have already observ’d, that
however philosophers may distinguish betwixt the objects and
perceptions of the senses; which they suppose co-existent and
resembling; yet this is a distinction, which is not comprehended by the
generality of mankind, who as they perceive only one being, can never
assent to the opinion of a double existence and representation. Those
very sensations, which enter by the eye or ear, are with them the true
objects, nor can they readily conceive that this pen or paper, which is
immediately perceivd, represents another, which is different from, but
resembling it. In order, therefore, to accommodate myself to their
notions, I shall at first suppose; that there is only a single
existence, which I shall call indifferently OBJECT or PERCEPTION,
according as it shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by
both of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or stone, or
any other impression, conveyd to him by his senses. I shall be sure to
give warning, when I return to a more philosophical way of speaking and
thinking.
To enter, therefore, upon the question concerning the source of the
error and deception with regard to identity, when we attribute it to
our resembling perceptions, notwithstanding their interruption; I must
here recal an observation, which I have already prov’d and
explain’d.[4] Nothing is more apt to make us mistake one idea for
another, than any relation betwixt them, which associates them together
in the imagination, and makes it pass with facility from one to the
other. Of all relations, that of resemblance is in this respect the
most efficacious; and that because it not only causes an association of
ideas, but also of dispositions, and makes us conceive the one idea by
an act or operation of the mind, similar to that by which we conceive
the other. This circumstance I have observ’d to be of great moment; and
we may establish it for a general rule, that whatever ideas place the
mind in the same disposition or in similar ones, are very apt to be
confounded. The mind readily passes from one to the other, and
perceives not the change without a strict attention, of which,
generally speaking, it is wholly incapable.
[4] Part II. Sect. 5.
In order to apply this general maxim, we must first examine the
disposition of the mind in viewing any object which preserves a perfect
identity, and then find some other object, that is confounded with it,
by causing a similar disposition. When we fix our thought on any object,
and suppose it to continue the same for some time; it is evident we
suppose the change to lie only in the time, and never exert ourselves to
produce any new image or idea of the object. The faculties of the mind
repose themselves in a manner, and take no more exercise, than what is
necessary to continue that idea, of which we were formerly possest, and
which subsists without variation or interruption. The passage from one
moment to another is scarce felt, and distinguishes not itself by a
different perception or idea, which may require a different direction of
the spirits, in order to its conception.
Now what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable of placing
the mind in the same disposition, when it considers them, and of causing
the same uninterrupted passage of the imagination from one idea to
another? This question is of the last importance. For if we can find any
such objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing principle,
that they are very naturally confounded with identical ones, and are
taken for them in most of our reasonings. But though this question be
very important, it is not very difficult nor doubtful. For I immediately
reply, that a succession of related objects places the mind in this
disposition, and is considered with the same smooth and uninterrupted
progress of the imagination, as attends the view of the same invariable
object. The very nature and essence of relation is to connect our ideas
with each other, and upon the appearance of one, to facilitate the
transition to its correlative. The passage betwixt related ideas is,
therefore, so smooth and easy, that it produces little alteration on
the mind, and seems like the continuation of the same action; and as the
continuation of the same action is an effect of the continued view of
the same object, it is for this reason we attribute sameness to every
succession of related objects. The thought slides along the succession
with equal facility, as if it considered only one object; and therefore
confounds the succession with the identity.
We shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of relation to
make us ascribe an identity to different objects; but shall here confine
ourselves to the present subject. We find by experience, that there is
such a constancy in almost all the impressions of the senses, that their
interruption produces no alteration on them, and hinders them not from
returning the same in appearance and in situation as at their first
existence. I survey the furniture of my chamber; I shut my eyes, and
afterwards open them; and find the new perceptions to resemble perfectly
those, which formerly struck my senses. This resemblance is observed in
a thousand instances, and naturally connects together our ideas of these
interrupted perceptions by the strongest relation, and conveys the
mind with an easy transition from one to another. An easy transition
or passage of the imagination, along the ideas of these different and
interrupted perceptions, is almost the same disposition of mind with
that in which we consider one constant and uninterrupted perception. It
is therefore very natural for us to mistake the one for the other.[5]
This reasoning, it must be confest, is somewhat abstruse, and
difficult to be comprehended; but it is remarkable, that this very
difficulty may be converted into a proof of the reasoning. We may
observe, that there are two relations, and both of them
resemblances, which contribute to our mistaking the succession of
our interrupted perceptions for an identical object. The first is,
the resemblance of the perceptions: The second is the resemblance,
which the act of the mind in surveying a succession of resembling
objects bears to that in surveying an identical object. Now these
resemblances we are apt to confound with each other; and it is
natural we shoud, according to this very reasoning. But let us keep
them distinct, and we shall find no difficulty in conceiving the
precedent argument.
The persons, who entertain this opinion concerning the identity of
our resembling perceptions, are in general an the unthinking and
unphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all of us, at one time or
other) and consequently such as suppose their perceptions to be their
only objects, and never think of a double existence internal and
external, representing and represented. The very image, which is present
to the senses, is with us the real body; and it is to these interrupted
images we ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the
appearance seems contrary to the identity, and naturally leads us to
regard these resembling perceptions as different from each other, we
here find ourselves at a loss how to reconcile such opposite opinions.
The smooth passage of the imagination along the ideas of the resembling
perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The interrupted
manner of their appearance makes us consider them as so many resembling,
but still distinct beings, which appear after certain intervals. The
perplexity arising from this contradiction produces a propension to
unite these broken appearances by the fiction of a continued existence,
which is the third part of that hypothesis I proposed to explain.
Nothing is more certain from experience, than that any contradiction
either to the sentiments or passions gives a sensible uneasiness,
whether it proceeds from without or from within; from the opposition
of external objects, or from the combat of internal principles. On the
contrary, whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and either
externally forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs with their
movements, is sure to give a sensible pleasure. Now there being here an
opposition betwixt the notion of the identity of resembling perceptions,
and the interruption of their appearance, the mind must be uneasy in
that situation, and will naturally seek relief from the uneasiness.
Since the uneasiness arises from the opposition of two contrary
principles, it must look for relief by sacrificing the one to the
other. But as the smooth passage of our thought along our resembling
perceptions makes us ascribe to them an identity, we can never without
reluctance yield up that opinion. We must, therefore, turn to the other
side, and suppose that our perceptions are no longer interrupted, but
preserve a continued as well as an invariable existence, and are by that
means entirely the same. But here the interruptions in the appearance
of these perceptions are so long and frequent, that it is impossible to
overlook them; and as the appearance of a perception in the mind and
its existence seem at first sight entirely the same, it may be doubted,
whether we can ever assent to so palpable a contradiction, and suppose a
perception to exist without being present to the mind. In order to clear
up this matter, and learn how the interruption in the appearance of a
perception implies not necessarily an interruption in its existence,
it will be proper to touch upon some principles, which we shall have
occasion to explain more fully afterwards.[6]
[6] Sect. 6.
We may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the present case
is not concerning the matter of fact, or whether the mind forms such a
conclusion concerning the continued existence of its perceptions,
but only concerning the manner in which the conclusion is formed, and
principles from which it is derived. It is certain, that almost all
mankind, and even philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of
their lives, take their perceptions to be their only objects, and
suppose, that the very being, which is intimately present to the mind,
is the real body or material existence. It is also certain, that this
very perception or object is supposed to have a continued uninterrupted
being, and neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought
into existence by our presence. When we are absent from it, we say it
still exists, but that we do not feel, we do not see it. When we are
present, we say we feel, or see it. Here then may arise two questions;
First, How we can satisfy ourselves in supposing a perception to be
absent from the mind without being annihilated. Secondly, After what
manner we conceive an object to become present to the mind, without some
new creation of a perception or image; and what we mean by this seeing,
and feeling, and perceiving.
As to the first question; we may observe, that what we call a mind,
is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united
together by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to be
endowed with a perfect simplicity and identity. Now as every perception
is distinguishable from another, and may be considered as separately
existent; it evidently follows, that there is no absurdity in separating
any particular perception from the mind; that is, in breaking off all
its relations, with that connected mass of perceptions, which constitute
a thinking being.
The same reasoning affords us an answer to the second question. If the
name of perception renders not this separation from a mind absurd and
contradictory, the name of object, standing for the very same thing, can
never render their conjunction impossible. External objects are seen,
and felt, and become present to the mind; that is, they acquire such a
relation to a connected heap of perceptions, as to influence them very
considerably in augmenting their number by present reflections and
passions, and in storing the memory with ideas. The same continued and
uninterrupted Being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the mind,
and sometimes absent from it, without any real or essential change in
the Being itself. An interrupted appearance to the senses implies not
necessarily an interruption in the existence. The supposition of the
continued existence of sensible objects or perceptions involves
no contradiction. We may easily indulge our inclination to that
supposition. When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us
ascribe to them an identity, we may remove the seeming interruption by
feigning a continued being, which may fill those intervals, and preserve
a perfect and entire identity to our perceptions.
But as we here not only feign but believe this continued existence, the
question is, from whence arises such a belief; and this question leads
us to the fourth member of this system. It has been proved already, that
belief in general consists in nothing, but the vivacity of an idea; and
that an idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation to some present
impression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid perceptions of
the mind; and this quality is in part conveyed by the relation to every
connected idea. The relation causes a smooth passage from the impression
to the idea, and even gives a propensity to that passage. The mind falls
so easily from the one perception to the other, that it scarce perceives
the change, but retains in the second a considerable share of the
vivacity of the first. It is excited by the lively impression; and this
vivacity is conveyed to the related idea, without any great diminution
in the passage, by reason of the smooth transition and the propensity of
the imagination.
But suppose, that this propensity arises from some other principle,
besides that of relation; it is evident it must still have the same
effect, and convey the vivacity from the impression to the idea. Now
this is exactly the present case. Our memory presents us with a vast
number of instances of perceptions perfectly resembling each other,
that return at different distances of time, and after considerable
interruptions. This resemblance gives us a propension to consider these
interrupted perceptions as the same; and also a propension to connect
them by a continued existence, in order to justify this identity, and
avoid the contradiction, in which the interrupted appearance of these
perceptions seems necessarily to involve us. Here then we have a
propensity to feign the continued existence of all sensible objects; and
as this propensity arises from some lively impressions of the memory, it
bestows a vivacity on that fiction: or in other words, makes us believe
the continued existence of body. If sometimes we ascribe a continued
existence to objects, which are perfectly new to us, and of whose
constancy and coherence we have no experience, it is because the manner,
in which they present themselves to our senses, resembles that of
constant and coherent objects; and this resemblance is a source of
reasoning and analogy, and leads us to attribute the same qualities to
similar objects.
I believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to assent to
this system, than to comprehend it fully and distinctly, and will allow,
after a little reflection, that every part carries its own proof
along with it. It is indeed evident, that as the vulgar suppose their
perceptions to be their only objects, and at the same time believe the
continued existence of matter, we must account for the origin of the
belief upon that supposition. Now upon that supposition, it is a false
opinion that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically the
same after an interruption; and consequently the opinion of their
identity can never arise from reason, but must arise from the
imagination. The imagination is seduced into such an opinion only by
means of the resemblance of certain perceptions; since we find they are
only our resembling perceptions, which we have a propension to suppose
the same. This propension to bestow an identity on our resembling
perceptions, produces the fiction of a continued existence; since that
fiction, as well as the identity, is really false, as is acknowledged
by all philosophers, and has no other effect than to remedy the
interruption of our perceptions, which is the only circumstance that
is contrary to their identity. In the last place this propension causes
belief by means of the present impressions of the memory; since without
the remembrance of former sensations, it is plain we never should have
any belief of the continued existence of body. Thus in examining all
these parts, we find that each of them is supported by the strongest
proofs: and that all of them together form a consistent system, which is
perfectly convincing. A strong propensity or inclination alone, without
any present impression, will sometimes cause a belief or opinion. How
much more when aided by that circumstance?
But though we are led after this manner, by the natural propensity of
the imagination, to ascribe a continued existence to those sensible
objects or perceptions, which we find to resemble each other in their
interrupted appearance; yet a very little reflection and philosophy
is sufficient to make us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have
already observed, that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those two
principles, of a continued and of a distinct or independent existence,
and that we no sooner establish the one than the other follows, as a
necessary consequence. It is the opinion of a continued existence, which
first takes place, and without much study or reflection draws the other
along with it, wherever the mind follows its first and most natural
tendency. But when we compare experiments, and reason a little upon
them, we quickly perceive, that the doctrine of the independent
existence of our sensible perceptions is contrary to the plainest
experience. This leads us backward upon our footsteps to perceive our
error in attributing a continued existence to our perceptions, and is
the origin of many very curious opinions, which we shall here endeavour
to account for.
It will first be proper to observe a few of those experiments, which
convince us, that our perceptions are not possest of any independent
existence. When we press one eye with a finger, we immediately perceive
all the objects to become double, and one half of them to be removed
from their common and natural position. But as we do not attribute to
continued existence to both these perceptions, and as they are both
of the same nature, we clearly perceive, that all our perceptions are
dependent on our organs, and the disposition of our nerves and
animal spirits. This opinion is confirmed by the seeming encrease and
diminution of objects, according to their distance; by the apparent
alterations in their figure; by the changes in their colour and other
qualities from our sickness and distempers: and by an infinite number
of other experiments of the same kind; from all which we learn, that
our sensible perceptions are not possest of any distinct or independent
existence.
The natural consequence of this reasoning should be, that our
perceptions have no more a continued than an independent existence; and
indeed philosophers have so far run into this opinion, that they change
their system, and distinguish, (as we shall do for the future) betwixt
perceptions and objects, of which the former are supposed to be
interrupted, and perishing, and different at every different return; the
latter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continued existence and
identity. But however philosophical this new system may be esteemed, I
assert that it is only a palliative remedy, and that it contains all the
difficulties of the vulgar system, with some others, that are peculiar
to itself. There are no principles either of the understanding or fancy,
which lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double existence
of perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at it but by passing
through the common hypothesis of the identity and continuance of
our interrupted perceptions. Were we not first perswaded, that our
perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even when they
no longer make their appearance to the senses, we should never be led
to think, that our perceptions and objects are different, and that our
objects alone preserve a continued existence. The latter hypothesis
has no primary recommendation either to reason or the imagination, but
acquires all its influence on the imagination from the former. This
proposition contains two parts, which we shall endeavour to prove as
distinctly and clearly, as such abstruse subjects will permit.
As to the first part of the proposition, that this philosophical
hypothesis has no primary recommendation, either to reason, or the
imagination, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to reason by the
following reflections. The only existences, of which we are certain,
are perceptions, which being immediately present to us by consciousness,
command our strongest assent, and are the first foundation of all our
conclusions. The only conclusion we can draw from the existence of
one thing to that of another, is by means of the relation of cause and
effect, which shews, that there is a connexion betwixt them, and that
the existence of one is dependent on that of the other. The idea of this
relation is derived from past experience, by which we find, that two
beings are constantly conjoined together, and are always present at
once to the mind. But as no beings are ever present to the mind but
perceptions; it follows that we may observe a conjunction or a relation
of cause and effect between different perceptions, but can never observe
it between perceptions and objects. It is impossible, therefore, that
from the existence or any of the qualities of the former, we can ever
form any conclusion concerning the existence of the latter, or ever
satisfy our reason in this particular.
It is no less certain, that this philosophical system has no primary
recommendation to the imagination, and that that faculty would never, of
itself, and by its original tendency, have fallen upon such a principle.
I confess it will be somewhat difficult to prove this to the fall
satisfaction of the reader; because it implies a negative, which in many
cases will not admit of any positive proof. If any one would take the
pains to examine this question, and would invent a system, to account
for the direct origin of this opinion from the imagination, we should be
able, by the examination of that system, to pronounce a certain
judgment in the present subject. Let it be taken for granted, that our
perceptions are broken, and interrupted, and however like, are still
different from each other; and let any one upon this supposition shew
why the fancy, directly and immediately, proceeds to the belief of
another existence, resembling these perceptions in their nature, but yet
continued, and uninterrupted, and identical; and after he has done this
to my satisfaction, I promise to renounce my present opinion. Mean while
I cannot forbear concluding, from the very abstractedness and difficulty
of the first supposition, that it is an improper subject for the fancy
to work upon. Whoever would explain the origin of the common opinion
concerning the continued and distinct existence of body, must take the
mind in its common situation, and must proceed upon the supposition,
that our perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even
when they are not perceived. Though this opinion be false, it is the
most natural of any, and has alone any primary recommendation to the
fancy.
As to the second part of the proposition, that the philosophical system
acquires all its influence on the imagination from the vulgar one; we
may observe, that this is a natural and unavoidable consequence of the
foregoing conclusion, that it has no primary recommendation to reason or
the imagination. For as the philosophical system is found by experience
to take hold of many minds, and in particular of all those, who reflect
ever so little on this subject, it must derive all its authority from
the vulgar system; since it has no original authority of its own.
The manner, in which these two systems, though directly contrary, are
connected together, may be explains, as follows.
The imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking. Our
perceptions are our only objects: Resembling perceptions are the same,
however broken or uninterrupted in their appearance: This appealing
interruption is contrary to the identity: The interruption consequently
extends not beyond the appearance, and the perception or object really
continues to exist, even when absent from us: Our sensible perceptionz
have, therefore, a continued and uninterrupted existence. But as a
little reflection destroys this conclusion, that our perceptions have a
continued existence, by shewing that they have a dependent one, it would
naturally be expected, that we must altogether reject the opinion,
that there is such a thing in nature as a continued existence, which
is preserved even when it no longer appears to the senses. The case,
however, is otherwise. Philosophers are so far from rejecting the
opinion of a continued existence upon rejecting that of the independence
and continuance of our sensible perceptions, that though all sects
agree in the latter sentiment, the former, which is, in a manner, its
necessary consequence, has been peculiar to a few extravagant sceptics;
who after all maintained that opinion in words only, and were never able
to bring themselves sincerely to believe it.
There is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we form after
a calm and profound reflection, and such as we embrace by a kind of
instinct or natural impulse, on account of their suitableness and
conformity to the mind. If these opinions become contrary, it is not
difficult to foresee which of them will have the advantage. As long as
our attention is bent upon the subject, the philosophical and studyed
principle may prevail; but the moment we relax our thoughts, nature will
display herself, and draw us back to our former opinion. Nay she has
sometimes such an influence, that she can stop our progress, even in the
midst of our most profound reflections, and keep us from running on
with all the consequences of any philosophical opinion. Thus though we
clearly perceive the dependence and interruption of our perceptions, we
stop short in our career, and never upon that account reject the notion
of an independent and continued existence. That opinion has taken such
deep root in the imagination, that it is impossible ever to eradicate
it, nor will any strained metaphysical conviction of the dependence of
our perceptions be sufficient for that purpose.
But though our natural and obvious principles here prevail above our
studied reflections, it is certain there must be sonic struggle and
opposition in the case: at least so long as these rejections retain any
force or vivacity. In order to set ourselves at ease in this particular,
we contrive a new hypothesis, which seems to comprehend both
these principles of reason and imagination. This hypothesis is the
philosophical, one of the double existence of perceptions and objects;
which pleases our reason, in allowing, that our dependent perceptions
are interrupted and different; and at the same time is agreeable to the
imagination, in attributing a continued existence to something else,
which we call objects. This philosophical system, therefore, is the
monstrous offspring of two principles, which are contrary to each
other, which are both at once embraced by the mind, and which are unable
mutually to destroy each other. The imagination tells us, that our
resembling perceptions have a continued and uninterrupted existence, and
are not annihilated by their absence. Reflection tells us, that even our
resembling perceptions are interrupted in their existence, and different
from each other. The contradiction betwixt these opinions we elude by a
new fiction, which is conformable to the hypotheses both of reflection
and fancy, by ascribing these contrary qualities to different
existences; the interruption to perceptions, and the continuance to
objects. Nature is obstinate, and will not quit the field, however
strongly attacked by reason; and at the same time reason is so clear
in the point, that there is no possibility of disguising her. Not being
able to reconcile these two enemies, we endeavour to set ourselves at
ease as much as possible, by successively granting to each whatever
it demands, and by feigning a double existence, where each may find
something, that has all the conditions it desires. Were we fully
convinced, that our resembling perceptions are continued, and identical,
and independent, we should never run into this opinion of a double
existence, since we should find satisfaction in our first supposition,
and would not look beyond. Again, were we fully convinced, that our
perceptions are dependent, and interrupted, and different, we should be
as little inclined to embrace the opinion of a double existence;
since in that case we should clearly perceive the error of our first
supposition of a continued existence, and would never regard it any
farther. It is therefore from the intermediate situation of the mind,
that this opinion arises, and from such an adherence to these two
contrary principles, as makes us seek some pretext to justify our
receiving both; which happily at last is found in the system of a double
existence.
Another advantage of this philosophical system is its similarity to the
vulgar one; by which means we can humour our reason for a moment,
when it becomes troublesome and sollicitous; and yet upon its least
negligence or inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural
notions. Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect not this
advantage; but immediately upon leaving their closets, mingle with the
rest of mankind in those exploded opinions, that our perceptions are our
only objects, and continue identically and uninterruptedly the same in
all their interrupted appearances.
There are other particulars of this system, wherein we may remark its
dependence on the fancy, in a very conspicuous manner. Of these, I
shall observe the two following. First, We suppose external objects to
resemble internal perceptions. I have already shewn, that the relation
of cause and effect can never afford us any just conclusion from the
existence or qualities of our perceptions to the existence of external
continued objects: And I shall farther add, that even though they could
afford such a conclusion, we should never have any reason to infer,
that our objects resemble our perceptions. That opinion, therefore, is
derived from nothing but the quality of the fancy above-explained, <that
it borrows all its ideas from some precedent perception>. We never can
conceive any thing but perceptions, and therefore must make every thing
resemble them.
Secondly, As we suppose our objects in general to resemble our
perceptions, so we take it for granted, that every particular object
resembles that perception, which it causes. The relation of cause and
effect determines us to join the other of resemblance; and the ideas
of these existences being already united together in the fancy by the
former relation, we naturally add the latter to compleat the union.
We have a strong propensity to compleat every union by joining new
relations to those which we have before observed betwixt any ideas, as
we shall have occasion to observe presently.[7]
[7] Sect. 5.
Having thus given an account of all the systems both popular and
philosophical, with regard to external existences, I cannot forbear
giving vent to a certain sentiment, which arises upon reviewing those
systems. I begun this subject with premising, that we ought to have an
implicit faith in our senses, and that this would be the conclusion, I
should draw from the whole of my reasoning. But to be ingenuous, I feel
myself at present of a quite contrary sentiment, and am more inclined
to repose no faith at all in my senses, or rather imagination, than
to place in it such an implicit confidence. I cannot conceive how such
trivial qualities of the fancy, conducted by such false suppositions,
can ever lead to any solid and rational system. They are the coherence
and constancy of our perceptions, which produce the opinion of their
continued existence; though these qualities of perceptions have no
perceivable connexion with such an existence. The constancy of our
perceptions has the most considerable effect, and yet is attended with
the greatest difficulties. It is a gross illusion to suppose, that
our resembling perceptions are numerically the same; and it is this
illusion, which leads us into the opinion, that these perceptions are
uninterrupted, and are still existent, even when they are not present
to the senses. This is the case with our popular system. And as to
our philosophical one, it is liable to the same difficulties; and is
over-and-above loaded with this absurdity, that it at once denies and
establishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our resembling
perceptions to be identically the same, and uninterrupted; and yet have
so great a propensity to believe them such, that they arbitrarily invent
a new set of perceptions, to which they attribute these qualities. I
say, a new set of perceptions: For we may well suppose in general, but
it is impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to be in their
nature any thing but exactly the same with perceptions. What then can
we look for from this confusion of groundless and extraordinary opinions
but error and falshood? And how can we justify to ourselves any belief
we repose in them?
This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the senses, is
a malady, which can never be radically cured, but must return upon
us every moment, however we may chace it away, and sometimes may seem
entirely free from it. It is impossible upon any system to defend either
our understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther when we
endeavour to justify them in that manner. As the sceptical doubt arises
naturally from a profound and intense reflection on those subjects,
it always encreases, the farther we carry our reflections, whether in
opposition or conformity to it. Carelessness and in-attention alone can
afford us any remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon them; and
take it for granted, whatever may be the reader's opinion at this
present moment, that an hour hence he will be persuaded there is both an
external and internal world; and going upon that supposition, I intend
to examine some general systems both ancient and modern, which have
been proposed of both, before I proceed to a more particular enquiry
concerning our impressions. This will not, perhaps, in the end be found
foreign to our present purpose.
SECT. III. OF THE ANTIENT PHILOSOPHY.
Several moralists have recommended it as an excellent method of becoming
acquainted with our own hearts, and knowing our progress in virtue,
to recollect our dreams in a morning, and examine them with the same
rigour, that we would our most serious and most deliberate actions.
Our character is the same throughout, say they, and appears best
where artifice, fear, and policy have no place, and men can neither be
hypocrites with themselves nor others. The generosity, or baseness
of our temper, our meekness or cruelty, our courage or pusilanimity,
influence the fictions of the imagination with the most unbounded
liberty, and discover themselves in the most glaring colours. In like
manner, I am persuaded, there might be several useful discoveries made
from a criticism of the fictions of the antient philosophy, concerning
substances, and substantial form, and accidents, and occult qualities;
which, however unreasonable and capricious, have a very intimate
connexion with the principles of human nature.
It is confest by the most judicious philosophers, that our ideas of
bodies are nothing but collections formed by the mind of the ideas of
the several distinct sensible qualities, of which objects are composed,
and which we find to have a constant union with each other. But however
these qualities may in themselves be entirely distinct, it is certain
we commonly regard the compound, which they form, as ONE thing, and
as continuing the SAME under very considerable alterations. The
acknowledged composition is evidently contrary to this supposed
simplicity, and the variation to the identity. It may, therefore, be
worth while to consider the causes, which make us almost universally
fall into such evident contradictions, as well as the means by which we
endeavour to conceal them.
It is evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct, successive
qualities of objects are united together by a very close relation, the
mind, in looking along the succession, must be carryed from one part
of it to another by an easy transition, and will no more perceive the
change, than if it contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy
transition is the effect, or rather essence of relation; I and as the
imagination readily takes one idea for another, where their influence
on the mind is similar; hence it proceeds, that any such succession
of related qualities is readily considered as one continued object,
existing without any variation. The smooth and uninterrupted progress of
the thought, being alike in both cases, readily deceives the mind, and
makes us ascribe an identity to the changeable succession of connected
qualities.
But when we alter our method of considering the succession, and instead
of traceing it gradually through the successive points of time, survey
at once Any two distinct periods of its duration, and compare the
different conditions of the successive qualities; in that case the
variations, which were insensible when they arose gradually, do now
appear of consequence, and seem entirely to destroy the identity. By
this means there arises a kind of contrariety in our method of thinking,
from the different points of view, in which we survey the object, and
from the nearness or remoteness of those instants of time, which we
compare together. When we gradually follow an object in its successive
changes, the smooth progress of the thought makes us ascribe an identity
to the succession; because it is by a similar act of the mind we
consider an unchangeable object. When we compare its situation after
a considerable change the progress of the thought is broke; and
consequently we are presented with the idea of diversity: In order to
reconcile which contradictions the imagination is apt to feign something
unknown and invisible, which it supposes to continue the same under
all these variations; and this unintelligible something it calls a
substance, or original and first matter.
We entertain a like notion with regard to the simplicity of substances,
and from like causes. Suppose an object perfectly simple and indivisible
to be presented, along with another object, whose co-existent parts are
connected together by a strong relation, it is evident the actions of
the mind, in considering these two objects, are not very different. The
imagination conceives the simple object at once, with facility, by a
single effort of thought, without change or variation. The connexion of
parts in the compound object has almost the same effect, and so unites
the object within itself, that the fancy feels not the transition in
passing from one part to another. Hence the colour, taste, figure,
solidity, and other qualities, combined in a peach or melon, are
conceived to form one thing; and that on account of their close
relation, which makes them affect the thought in the same manner, as if
perfectly uncompounded. But the mind rests not here. Whenever it views
the object in another light, it finds that all these qualities are
different, and distinguishable, and separable from each other; which
view of things being destructive of its primary and more natural
notions, obliges the imagination to feign an unknown something, or
original substance and matter, as a principle of union or cohesion among
these qualities, and as what may give the compound object a title to be
called one thing, notwithstanding its diversity and composition.
The peripatetic philosophy asserts the original matter to be perfectly
homogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire, water, earth, and air, as
of the very same substance; on account of their gradual revolutions and
changes into each other. At the same time it assigns to each of these
species of objects a distinct substantial form, which it supposes to be
the source of all those different qualities they possess, and to be a
new foundation of simplicity and identity to each particular species.
All depends on our manner of viewing the objects. When we look along the
insensible changes of bodies, we suppose all of them to be of the same
substance or essence. When we consider their sensible differences, we
attribute to each of them a substantial and essential difference. And
in order to indulge ourselves in both these ways of considering our
objects, we suppose all bodies to have at once a substance and a
substantial form.
The notion of accidents is an unavoidable consequence of this method
of thinking with regard to substances and substantial forms; nor can
we forbear looking upon colours, sounds, tastes, figures, and other
properties of bodies, as existences, which cannot subsist apart, but
require a subject of inhesion to sustain and support them. For having
never discovered any of these sensible qualities, where, for the reasons
above-mentioned, we did not likewise fancy a substance to exist; the
same habit, which makes us infer a connexion betwixt cause and effect,
makes us here infer a dependence of every quality on the unknown
substance. The custom of imagining a dependence has the same effect as
the custom of observing it would have. This conceit, however, is no more
reasonable than any of the foregoing. Every quality being a distinct
thing from another, may be conceived to exist apart, and may exist
apart, not only from every other quality, but from that unintelligible
chimera of a substance.
But these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in their
sentiments concerning occult qualities, and both suppose a substance
supporting, which they do not understand, and an accident supported, of
which they have as imperfect an idea. The whole system, therefore, is
entirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles as natural
as any of these above-explained.
In considering this subject we may observe a gradation of three
opinions, that rise above each other, according as the persons, who form
them, acquire new degrees of reason and knowledge. These opinions are
that of the vulgar, that of a false philosophy, and that of the true;
where we shall find upon enquiry, that the true philosophy approaches
nearer to the sentiments of the vulgar, than to those of a mistaken
knowledge. It is natural for men, in their common and care, less way of
thinking, to imagine they perceive a connexion betwixt such objects
as they have constantly found united together; and because custom has
rendered it difficult to separate the ideas, they are apt to fancy such
a separation to be in itself impossible and absurd. But philosophers,
who abstract from the effects of custom, and compare the ideas of
objects, immediately perceive the falshood of these vulgar sentiments,
and discover that there is no known connexion among objects. Every
different object appears to them entirely distinct and separate; and
they perceive, that it is not from a view of the nature and qualities of
objects we infer one from another, but only when in several instances we
observe them to have been constantly conjoined. But these philosophers,
instead of drawing a just inference from this observation, and
concluding, that we have no idea of power or agency, separate from
the mind, and belonging to causes; I say, instead of drawing this
conclusion, they frequently search for the qualities, in which this
agency consists, and are displeased with every system, which their
reason suggests to them, in order to explain it. They have sufficient
force of genius to free them from the vulgar error, that there is a
natural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several sensible qualities
and actions of matter; but not sufficient to keep them from ever
seeking for this connexion in matter, or causes. Had they fallen upon
the just conclusion, they would have returned back to the situation
of the vulgar, and would have regarded all these disquisitions with
indolence and indifference. At present they seem to be in a very
lamentable condition, and such as the poets have given us but a faint
notion of in their descriptions of the punishment of Sisyphus and
Tantalus. For what can be imagined more tormenting, than to seek with
eagerness, what for ever flies us; and seek for it in a place, where it
is impossible it can ever exist?
But as nature seems to have observed a kind of justice and compensation
in every thing, she has not neglected philosophers more than the rest
of the creation; but has reserved them a consolation amid all their
disappointments and afflictions. This consolation principally consists
in their invention of the words: faculty and occult quality. For
it being usual, after the frequent use of terms, which are really
significant and intelligible, to omit the idea, which we would express
by them, and to preserve only the custom, by which we recal the idea at
pleasure; so it naturally happens, that after the frequent use of terms,
which are wholly insignificant and unintelligible, we fancy them to be
on the same footing with the precedent, and to have a secret meaning,
which we might discover by reflection. The resemblance of their
appearance deceives the mind, as is usual, and makes us imagine a
thorough resemblance and conformity. By this means these philosophers
set themselves at ease, and arrive at last, by an illusion, at the
same indifference, which the people attain by their stupidity, and true
philosophers by their moderate scepticism. They need only say, that
any phenomenon, which puzzles them, arises from a faculty or an occult
quality, and there is an end of all dispute and enquiry upon the matter.
But among all the instances, wherein the Peripatetics have shewn they
were guided by every trivial propensity of the imagination, no one is
more-remarkable than their sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of
a vacuum. There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature, to
bestow on external objects the same emotions, which it observes in
itself; and to find every where those ideas, which are most present to
it. This inclination, it is true, is suppressed by a little reflection,
and only takes place in children, poets, and the antient philosophers.
It appears in children, by their desire of beating the stones, which
hurt them: In poets, by their readiness to personify every thing: And in
the antient philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy and antipathy.
We must pardon children, because of their age; poets, because they
profess to follow implicitly the suggestions of their fancy: But
what excuse shall we find to justify our philosophers in so signal a
weakness?
SECT. IV. OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.
But here it may be objected, that the imagination, according to my own
confession, being the ultimate judge of all systems of philosophy, I
am unjust in blaming the antient philosophers for making use of that
faculty, and allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their
reasonings. In order to justify myself, I must distinguish in the
imagination betwixt the principles which are permanent, irresistible,
and universal; such as the customary transition from causes to effects,
and from effects to causes: And the principles, which are changeable,
weak, and irregular; such as those I have just now taken notice of. The
former are the foundation of all our thoughts and actions, so that upon
their removal human nature must immediately perish and go to ruin. The
latter are neither unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or so much as
useful in the conduct of life; but on the contrary are observed only to
take place in weak minds, and being opposite to the other principles
of custom and reasoning, may easily be subverted by a due contrast and
opposition. For this reason the former are received by philosophy, and
the latter rejected. One who concludes somebody to be near him, when
he hears an articulate voice in the dark, reasons justly and naturally;
though that conclusion be derived from nothing but custom, which infixes
and inlivens the idea of a human creature, on account of his usual
conjunction with the present impression. But one, who is tormented
he knows not why, with the apprehension of spectres in the dark, may,
perhaps, be said to reason, and to reason naturally too: But then it
must be in the same sense, that a malady is said to be natural; as
arising from natural causes, though it be contrary to health, the most
agreeable and most natural situation of man.
The opinions of the antient philosophers, their fictions of substance
and accident, and their reasonings concerning substantial forms and
occult qualities, are like the spectres in the dark, and are derived
from principles, which, however common, are neither universal nor
unavoidable in human nature. The modern philosophy pretends to be
entirely free from this defect, and to arise only from the solid,
permanent, and consistent principles of the imagination. Upon what
grounds this pretension is founded must now be the subject of our
enquiry.
The fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion concerning
colours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold; which it asserts to
be nothing but impressions in the mind, derived from the operation of
external objects, and without any resemblance to the qualities of the
objects. Upon examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly
produced for this opinion to be satisfactory, viz. that derived from the
variations of those impressions, even while the external object, to all
appearance, continues the same. These variations depend upon several
circumstances. Upon the different situations of our health: A man in a
malady feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before pleased him the
most. Upon the different complexions and constitutions of men That seems
bitter to one, which is sweet to another. Upon the difference of their
external situation and position: Colours reflected from the clouds
change according to the distance of the clouds, and according to the
angle they make with the eye and luminous body. Fire also communicates
the sensation of pleasure at one distance, and that of pain at another.
Instances of this kind are very numerous and frequent.
The conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satisfactory as can
possibly be imagined. It is certain, that when different impressions of
the same sense arise from any object, every one of these impressions has
not a resembling quality existent in the object. For as the same object
cannot, at the same time, be endowed with different qualities of the
same sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions entirely
different; it evidently follows, that many of our impressions have
no external model or archetype. Now from like effects we presume like
causes. Many of the impressions of colour, sound, &c. are confest to be
nothing but internal existences, and to arise from causes, which no ways
resemble them. These impressions are in appearance nothing different
from the other impressions of colour, sound, &c. We conclude, therefore,
that they are, all of them, derived from a like origin.
This principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines of that
philosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence. For upon the removal
of sounds, colours, beat, cold, and other sensible qualities, from the
rank of continued independent existences, we are reduced merely to what
are called primary qualities, as the only real ones, of which we have
any adequate notion. These primary qualities are extension and solidity,
with their different mixtures and modifications; figure, motion,
gravity, and cohesion. The generation, encrease, decay, and corruption
of animals and vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure and motion;
as also the operations of all bodies on each other; of fire, of light,
water, air, earth, and of all the elements and powers of nature. One
figure and motion produces another figure and motion; nor does there
remain in the material universe any other principle, either active or
passive, of which we can form the most distant idea.
I believe many objections might be made to this system But at present
I shall confine myself to one, which is in my opinion very decisive. I
assert, that instead of explaining the operations of external objects by
its means, we utterly annihilate all these objects, and reduce ourselves
to the opinions of the most extravagant scepticism concerning them. If
colours, sounds, tastes, and smells be merely perceptions, nothing we
can conceive is possest of a real, continued, and independent existence;
not even motion, extension and solidity, which are the primary qualities
chiefly insisted on.
To begin with the examination of motion; it is evident this is a quality
altogether inconceivable alone, and without a reference to some other
object. The idea of motion necessarily supposes that of a body moving.
Now what is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is
incomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of extension or
of solidity; and consequently the reality of motion depends upon that of
these other qualities.
This opinion, which is universally acknowledged concerning motion, I
have proved to be true with regard to extension; and have shewn that it
is impossible to conceive extension, but as composed of parts, endowed
with colour or solidity. The idea of extension is a compound idea;
but as it is not compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior
ideas, it must at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly simple
and indivisible. These simple and indivisible parts, not being ideas of
extension, must be non entities, unless conceived as coloured or solid.
Colour is excluded from any real existence. The reality, therefore, of
our idea of extension depends upon the reality of that of solidity, nor
can the former be just while the latter is chimerical. Let us, then,
lend our attention to the examination of the idea of solidity.
The idea of solidity is that of two objects, which being impelled by the
utmost force, cannot penetrate each other; but still maintain a
separate and distinct existence. Solidity, therefore, is perfectly
incomprehensible alone, and without the conception of some bodies, which
are solid, and maintain this separate and distinct existence. Now what
idea have we of these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and other
secondary qualities are excluded. The idea of motion depends on that
of extension, and the idea of extension on that of solidity. It is
impossible, therefore, that the idea of solidity can depend on either of
them. For that would be to run in a circle, and make one idea depend on
another, while at the same time the latter depends on the former. Our
modern philosophy, therefore, leaves us no just nor satisfactory idea of
solidity; nor consequently of matter.
This argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one that
comprehends it; but because it may seem abstruse and intricate to the
generality of readers, I hope to be excused, if I endeavour to render
it more obvious by some variation of the expression. In order to form
an idea of solidity, we must conceive two bodies pressing on each other
without any penetration; and it is impossible to arrive at this idea,
when we confine ourselves to one object, much more without conceiving
any. Two non-entities cannot exclude each other from their places;
because they never possess any place, nor can be endowed with any
quality. Now I ask, what idea do we form of these bodies or objects,
to which we suppose solidity to belong? To say, that we conceive them
merely as solid, is to run on in infinitum. To affirm, that we paint
them out to ourselves as extended, either resolves all into a false
idea, or returns in a circle. Extension must necessarily be considered
either as coloured, which is a false idea; I or as solid, which
brings us back to the first question. We may make the same observation
concerning mobility and figure; and upon the whole must conclude, that
after the exclusion of colours, sounds, heat and cold from the rank of
external existences, there remains nothing, which can afford us a just
and constituent idea of body.
Add to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetrability is
nothing, but an impossibility of annihilation, as[8] has been already
observed: For which reason it is the more necessary for us to form some
distinct idea of that object, whose annihilation we suppose impossible.
An impossibility of being annihilated cannot exist, and can never be
conceived to exist, by itself: but necessarily requires some object or
real existence, to which it may belong. Now the difficulty still
remains, how to form an idea of this object or existence, without
having recourse to the secondary and sensible qualities.
[8] Part II. Sect. 4.
Nor must we omit on this occasion our accustomed method of examining
ideas by considering those impressions, from which they are derived. The
impressions, which enter by the sight and hearing, the smell and taste,
are affirmed by modern philosophy to be without any resembling objects;
and consequently the idea of solidity, which is supposed to be real, can
never be derived from any of these senses. There remains, therefore,
the feeling as the only sense, that can convey the impression, which is
original to the idea of solidity; and indeed we naturally imagine, that
we feel the solidity of bodies, and need but touch any object in order
to perceive this quality. But this method of thinking is more popular
than philosophical; as will appear from the following reflections.
First, It is easy to observe, that though bodies are felt by means of
their solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different thing from the
solidity; and that they have not the least resemblance to each other.
A man, who has the palsey in one hand, has as perfect an idea of
impenetrability, when he observes that hand to be supported by the
table, as when he feels the same table with the other hand. An object,
that presses upon any of our members, meets with resistance; and that
resistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and animal spirits,
conveys a certain sensation to the mind; but it does not follow, that
the sensation, motion, and resistance are any ways resembling.
Secondly, The impressions of touch are simple impressions, except when
considered with regard to their extension; which makes nothing to the
present purpose: And from this simplicity I infer, that they neither
represent solidity, nor any real object. For let us put two cases, viz.
that of a man, who presses a stone, or any solid body, with his hand,
and that of two stones, which press each other; it will readily be
allowed, that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but
that in the former there is conjoined with the solidity, a feeling or
sensation, of which there is no appearance in the latter. In order,
therefore, to make these two cases alike, it is necessary to remove some
part of the impression, which the man feels by his hand, or organ of
sensation; and that being impossible in a simple impression, obliges
us to remove the whole, and proves that this whole impression has
no archetype or model in external objects. To which we may add, that
solidity necessarily supposes two bodies, along with contiguity and
impulse; which being a compound object, can never be represented by a
simple impression. Not to mention, that though solidity continues always
invariably the same, the impressions of touch change every moment upon
us; which is a clear proof that the latter are not representations of
the former.
Thus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our reason and our
senses; or more properly speaking, betwixt those conclusions we form
from cause and effect, and those that persuade us of the continued and
independent existence of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we
conclude, that neither colour, sound, taste, nor smell have a continued
and independent existence. When we exclude these sensible qualities
there remains nothing in the universe, which has such an existence.
SECT. V. OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.
Having found such contradictions and difficulties in every system
concerning external objects, and in the idea of matter, which we fancy
so clear and determinate, We shall naturally expect still greater
difficulties and contradictions in every hypothesis concerning our
internal perceptions, and the nature of the mind, which we are apt
to imagine so much more obscure, and uncertain. But in this we should
deceive ourselves. The intellectual world, though involved in infinite
obscurities, is not perplexed with any such contradictions, as those we
have discovered in the natural. What is known concerning it, agrees with
itself; and what is unknown, we must be contented to leave so.
It is true, would we hearken to certain philosophers, they promise to
diminish our ignorance; but I am afraid it is at the hazard of running
us into contradictions, from which the subject is of itself exempted.
These philosophers are the curious reasoners concerning the material or
immaterial substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to inhere.
In order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides, I know no
better method, than to ask these philosophers in a few words, What
they mean by substance and inhesion? And after they have answered
this question, it will then be reasonable, and not till then, to enter
seriously into the dispute.
This question we have found impossible to be answered with regard to
matter and body: But besides that in the case of the mind, it labours
under all the same difficulties, it is burthened with some additional
ones, which are peculiar to that subject. As every idea is derived from
a precedent impression, had we any idea of the substance of our minds,
we must also have an impression of it; which is very difficult, if
not impossible, to be conceived. For how can an impression represent a
substance, otherwise than by resembling it? And how can an impression
resemble a substance, since, according to this philosophy, it is not a
substance, and has none of the peculiar qualities or characteristics of
a substance?
But leaving the question of what may or may not be, for that other what
actually is, I desire those philosophers, who pretend that we have an
idea of the substance of our minds, to point out the impression that
produces it, and tell distinctly after what manner that impression
operates, and from what object it is derived. Is it an impression of
sensation or of reflection? Is it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent?
I Does it attend us at all times, or does it only return at intervals?
If at intervals, at what times principally does it return, and by what
causes is it produced?
If instead of answering these questions, any one should evade the
difficulty, by saying, that the definition of a substance is something
which may exist by itself; and that this definition ought to satisfy us:
should this be said, I should observe, that this definition agrees to
every thing, that can possibly be conceived; and never will serve to
distinguish substance from accident, or the soul from its perceptions.
For thus I reason. Whatever is clearly conceived may exist; and whatever
is clearly conceived, after any manner, may exist after the same manner.
This is one principle, which has been already acknowledged. Again, every
thing, which is different, is distinguishable, and every thing which
is distinguishable, is separable by the imagination. This is another
principle. My conclusion from both is, that since all our perceptions
are different from each other, and from every thing else in the
universe, they are also distinct and separable, and may be considered as
separately existent, and may exist separately, and have no need of any
thing else to support their existence. They are, therefore, substances,
as far as this definition explains a substance.
Thus neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor by means of
a definition are we able to arrive at any satisfactory notion of
substance; which seems to me a sufficient reason for abandoning utterly
that dispute concerning the materiality and immateriality of the soul,
and makes me absolutely condemn even the question itself. We have no
perfect idea of any thing but of a perception. A substance is entirely
different from a perception. We have, therefore, no idea of a substance.
Inhesion in something is supposed to be requisite to support the
existence of our perceptions. Nothing appears requisite to support the
existence of a perception. We have, therefore, no idea of inhesion. What
possibility then of answering that question, Whether perceptions
inhere in a material or immaterial substance, when we do not so much as
understand the meaning of the question?
There is one argument commonly employed for the immateriality of the
soul, which seems to me remarkable. Whatever is extended consists of
parts; and whatever consists of parts is divisible, if not in reality,
at least in the imagination. But it is impossible anything divisible
can be conjoined to a thought or perception, which is a being altogether
inseparable and indivisible. For supposing such a conjunction, would
the indivisible thought exist on the left or on the right hand of this
extended divisible body? On the surface or in the middle? On the back
or fore side of it? If it be conjoined with the extension, it must exist
somewhere within its dimensions. If it exist within its dimensions, it
must either exist in one particular part; and then that particular part
is indivisible, and the perception is conjoined only with it, not with
the extension: Or if the thought exists in every part, it must also be
extended, and separable, and divisible, as well as the body; which is
utterly absurd and contradictory. For can any one conceive a passion of
a yard in length, a foot in breadth, and an inch in thickness? Thought,
therefore, and extension are qualities wholly incompatible, and never
can incorporate together into one subject.
This argument affects not the question concerning the substance of the
soul, but only that concerning its local conjunction with matter; and
therefore it may not be improper to consider in general what objects
are, or are not susceptible of a local conjunction. This is a curious
question, and may lead us to some discoveries of considerable moment.
The first notion of space and extension is derived solely from the
senses of sight and feeling; nor is there any thing, but what is
coloured or tangible, that has parts disposed after such a manner, as to
convey that idea. When we diminish or encrease a relish, it is not after
the same manner that we diminish or encrease any visible object; and
when several sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and reflection
alone make us form an idea of the degrees of the distance and contiguity
of those bodies, from which they are derived. Whatever marks the place
of its existence either must be extended, or must be a mathematical
point, without parts or composition. What is extended must have a
particular figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which will
agree to a desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except to these
two senses above-mentioned. Neither ought a desire, though indivisible,
to be considered as a mathematical point. For in that case it would be
possible, by the addition of others, to make two, three, four desires,
and these disposed and situated in such a manner, as to have a
determinate length, breadth and thickness; which is evidently absurd.
It will not be surprising after this, if I deliver a maxim, which is
condemned by several metaphysicians, and is esteemed contrary to the
most certain principles of hum reason. This maxim is that an object
may exist, and yet be no where: and I assert, that this is not only
possible, but that the greatest part of beings do and must exist after
this manner. An object may be said to be no where, when its parts are
not so situated with respect to each other, as to form any figure or
quantity; nor the whole with respect to other bodies so as to answer to
our notions of contiguity or distance. Now this is evidently the case
with all our perceptions and objects, except those of the sight and
feeling. A moral reflection cannot be placed on the right or on the left
hand of a passion, nor can a smell or sound be either of a circular or a
square figure. These objects and perceptions, so far from requiring
any particular place, are absolutely incompatible with it, and even
the imagination cannot attribute it to them. And as to the absurdity of
supposing them to be no where, we may consider, that if the passions and
sentiments appear to the perception to have any particular place, the
idea of extension might be derived from them, as well as from the sight
and touch; contrary to what we have already established. If they APPEAR
not to have any particular place, they may possibly exist in the same
manner; since whatever we conceive is possible.
It will not now be necessary to prove, that those perceptions, which are
simple, and exist no where, are incapable of any conjunction in place
with matter or body, which is extended and divisible; since it is
impossible to found a relation but on some common quality. It may
be better worth our while to remark, that this question of the local
conjunction of objects does not only occur in metaphysical disputes
concerning the nature of the soul, but that even in common life we have
every moment occasion to examine it. Thus supposing we consider a fig at
one end of the table, and an olive at the other, it is evident, that in
forming the complex ideas of these substances, one of the most obvious
is that of their different relishes; and it is as evident, that we
incorporate and conjoin these qualities with such as are coloured
and tangible. The bitter taste of the one, and sweet of the other are
supposed to lie in the very visible body, and to be separated from
each other by the whole length of the table. This is so notable and so
natural an illusion, that it may be proper to consider the principles,
from which it is derived.