_Hyl._ It cannot.
_Phil._ Doth it not therefore follow that distance is not properly and
immediately perceived by sight?
_Hyl._ It should seem so.
_Phil._ Again, is it your opinion that colours are at a distance(814)?
_Hyl._ It must be acknowledged they are only in the mind.
_Phil._ But do not colours appear to the eye as coexisting in the same
place with extension and figures?
_Hyl._ They do.
_Phil._ How can you then conclude from sight that figures exist without,
when you acknowledge colours do not; the sensible appearance being the
very same with regard to both?
_Hyl._ I know not what to answer.
_Phil._ But, allowing that distance was truly and immediately perceived by
the mind, yet it would not thence follow it existed out of the mind. For,
whatever is immediately perceived is an idea(815): and can any idea exist
out of the mind?
_Hyl._ To suppose that were absurd: but, inform me, Philonous, can we
perceive or know nothing beside our ideas(816)?
_Phil._ As for the rational deducing of causes from effects, that is
beside our inquiry. And, by the senses you can best tell whether you
perceive anything which is not immediately perceived. And I ask you,
whether the things immediately perceived are other than your own
sensations or ideas? You have indeed more than once, in the course of this
conversation, declared yourself on those points; but you seem, by this
last question, to have departed from what you then thought.
_Hyl._ To speak the truth, Philonous, I think there are two kinds of
objects:—the one perceived immediately, which are likewise called _ideas_;
the other are real things or external objects, perceived by the mediation
of ideas, which are their images and representations. Now, I own ideas do
not exist without the mind; but the latter sort of objects do. I am sorry
I did not think of this distinction sooner; it would probably have cut
short your discourse.
_Phil._ Are those external objects perceived by sense, or by some other
faculty?
_Hyl._ They are perceived by sense.
_Phil._ How! Is there anything perceived by sense which is not immediately
perceived?
_Hyl._ Yes, Philonous, in some sort there is. For example, when I look on
a picture or statue of Julius Cæsar, I may be said after a manner to
perceive him (though not immediately) by my senses.
_Phil._ It seems then you will have our ideas, which alone are immediately
perceived, to be pictures of external things: and that these also are
perceived by sense, inasmuch as they have a conformity or resemblance to
our ideas?
_Hyl._ That is my meaning.
_Phil._ And, in the same way that Julius Cæsar, in himself invisible, is
nevertheless perceived by sight; real things, in themselves imperceptible,
are perceived by sense.
_Hyl._ In the very same.
_Phil._ Tell me, Hylas, when you behold the picture of Julius Cæsar, do
you see with your eyes any more than some colours and figures, with a
certain symmetry and composition of the whole?
_Hyl._ Nothing else.
_Phil._ And would not a man who had never known anything of Julius Cæsar
see as much?
_Hyl._ He would.
_Phil._ Consequently he hath his sight, and the use of it, in as perfect a
degree as you?
_Hyl._ I agree with you.
_Phil._ Whence comes it then that your thoughts are directed to the Roman
emperor, and his are not? This cannot proceed from the sensations or ideas
of sense by you then perceived; since you acknowledge you have no
advantage over him in that respect. It should seem therefore to proceed
from reason and memory: should it not?
_Hyl._ It should.
_Phil._ Consequently, it will not follow from that instance that anything
is perceived by sense which is not immediately perceived. Though I grant
we may, in one acceptation, be said to perceive sensible things mediately
by sense: that is, when, from a frequently perceived connexion, the
immediate perception of ideas by one sense _suggests_ to the mind others,
perhaps belonging to another sense, which are wont to be connected with
them. For instance, when I hear a coach drive along the streets,
immediately I perceive only the sound; but, from the experience I have had
that such a sound is connected with a coach, I am said to hear the coach.
It is nevertheless evident that, in truth and strictness, nothing can be
_heard_ but _sound_; and the coach is not properly perceived by sense, but
suggested from experience. So likewise when we are said to see a red-hot
bar of iron; the solidity and heat of the iron are not the objects of
sight, but suggested to the imagination by the colour and figure which are
properly perceived by that sense. In short, those things alone are
actually and strictly perceived by any sense, which would have been
perceived in case that same sense had then been first conferred on us. As
for other things, it is plain they are only suggested to the mind by
experience, grounded on former perceptions. But, to return to your
comparison of Cæsar’s picture, it is plain, if you keep to that, you must
hold the real things, or archetypes of our ideas, are not perceived by
sense, but by some internal faculty of the soul, as reason or memory. I
would therefore fain know what arguments you can draw from reason for the
existence of what you call _real things_ or _material objects_. Or,
whether you remember to have seen them formerly as they are in themselves;
or, if you have heard or read of any one that did.
_Hyl._ I see, Philonous, you are disposed to raillery; but that will never
convince me.
_Phil._ My aim is only to learn from you the way to come at the knowledge
of _material beings_. Whatever we perceive is perceived immediately or
mediately: by sense, or by reason and reflexion. But, as you have excluded
sense, pray shew me what reason you have to believe their existence; or
what _medium_ you can possibly make use of to prove it, either to mine or
your own understanding.
_Hyl._ To deal ingenuously, Philonous, now I consider the point, I do not
find I can give you any good reason for it. But, thus much seem pretty
plain, that it is at least possible such things may really exist. And, as
long as there is no absurdity in supposing them, I am resolved to believe
as I did, till you bring good reasons to the contrary.
_Phil._ What! Is it come to this, that you only _believe_ the existence of
material objects, and that your belief is founded barely on the
possibility of its being true? Then you will have me bring reasons against
it: though another would think it reasonable the proof should lie on him
who holds the affirmative. And, after all, this very point which you are
now resolved to maintain, without any reason, is in effect what you have
more than once during this discourse seen good reason to give up. But, to
pass over all this; if I understand you rightly, you say our ideas do not
exist without the mind, but that they are copies, images, or
representations, of certain originals that do?
_Hyl._ You take me right.
_Phil._ They are then like external things(817)?
_Hyl._ They are.
_Phil._ Have those things a stable and permanent nature, independent of
our senses; or are they in a perpetual change, upon our producing any
motions in our bodies—suspending, exerting, or altering, our faculties or
organs of sense?
_Hyl._ Real things, it is plain, have a fixed and real nature, which
remains the same notwithstanding any change in our senses, or in the
posture and motion of our bodies; which indeed may affect the ideas in our
minds, but it were absurd to think they had the same effect on things
existing without the mind.
_Phil._ How then is it possible that things perpetually fleeting and
variable as our ideas should be copies or images of anything fixed and
constant? Or, in other words, since all sensible qualities, as size,
figure, colour, &c., that is, our ideas, are continually changing, upon
every alteration in the distance, medium, or instruments of sensation; how
can any determinate material objects be properly represented or painted
forth by several distinct things, each of which is so different from and
unlike the rest? Or, if you say it resembles some one only of our ideas,
how shall we be able to distinguish the true copy from all the false ones?
_Hyl._ I profess, Philonous, I am at a loss. I know not what to say to
this.
_Phil._ But neither is this all. Which are material objects in
themselves—perceptible or imperceptible?
_Hyl._ Properly and immediately nothing can be perceived but ideas. All
material things, therefore, are in themselves insensible, and to be
perceived only by our ideas.
_Phil._ Ideas then are sensible, and their archetypes or originals
insensible?
_Hyl._ Right.
_Phil._ But how can that which is sensible be _like_ that which is
insensible? Can a real thing, in itself _invisible_, be like a _colour_;
or a real thing, which is not _audible_, be like a _sound_? In a word, can
anything be like a sensation or idea, but another sensation or idea?
_Hyl._ I must own, I think not.
_Phil._ Is it possible there should be any doubt on the point? Do you not
perfectly know your own ideas?
_Hyl._ I know them perfectly; since what I do not perceive or know can be
no part of my idea(818).
_Phil._ Consider, therefore, and examine them, and then tell me if there
be anything in them which can exist without the mind: or if you can
conceive anything like them existing without the mind.
_Hyl._ Upon inquiry, I find it is impossible for me to conceive or
understand how anything but an idea can be like an idea. And it is most
evident that _no idea can exist without the mind_(819).
_Phil._ You are therefore, by your principles, forced to deny the
_reality_ of sensible things; since you made it to consist in an absolute
existence exterior to the mind. That is to say, you are a downright
sceptic. So I have gained my point, which was to shew your principles led
to Scepticism.
_Hyl._ For the present I am, if not entirely convinced, at least silenced.
_Phil._ I would fain know what more you would require in order to a
perfect conviction. Have you not had the liberty of explaining yourself
all manner of ways? Were any little slips in discourse laid hold and
insisted on? Or were you not allowed to retract or reinforce anything you
had offered, as best served your purpose? Hath not everything you could
say been heard and examined with all the fairness imaginable? In a word,
have you not in every point been convinced out of your own mouth? And, if
you can at present discover any flaw in any of your former concessions, or
think of any remaining subterfuge, any new distinction, colour, or comment
whatsoever, why do you not produce it?
_Hyl._ A little patience, Philonous. I am at present so amazed to see
myself ensnared, and as it were imprisoned in the labyrinths you have
drawn me into, that on the sudden it cannot be expected I should find my
way out. You must give me time to look about me and recollect myself.
_Phil._ Hark; is not this the college bell?
_Hyl._ It rings for prayers.
_Phil._ We will go in then, if you please, and meet here again to-morrow
morning. In the meantime, you may employ your thoughts on this morning’s
discourse, and try if you can find any fallacy in it, or invent any new
means to extricate yourself.
_Hyl._ Agreed.
The Second Dialogue
_Hylas._ I beg your pardon, Philonous, for not meeting you sooner. All
this morning my head was so filled with our late conversation that I had
not leisure to think of the time of the day, or indeed of anything else.
_Philonous._ I am glad you were so intent upon it, in hopes if there were
any mistakes in your concessions, or fallacies in my reasonings from them,
you will now discover them to me.
_Hyl._ I assure you I have done nothing ever since I saw you but search
after mistakes and fallacies, and, with that view, have minutely examined
the whole series of yesterday’s discourse: but all in vain, for the
notions it led me into, upon review, appear still more clear and evident;
and, the more I consider them, the more irresistibly do they force my
assent.
_Phil._ And is not this, think you, a sign that they are genuine, that
they proceed from nature, and are conformable to right reason? Truth and
beauty are in this alike, that the strictest survey sets them both off to
advantage; while the false lustre of error and disguise cannot endure
being reviewed, or too nearly inspected.
_Hyl._ I own there is a great deal in what you say. Nor can any one be
more entirely satisfied of the truth of those odd consequences, so long as
I have in view the reasonings that lead to them. But, when these are out
of my thoughts, there seems, on the other hand, something so satisfactory,
so natural and intelligible, in the modern way of explaining things that,
I profess, I know not how to reject it.
_Phil._ I know not what way you mean.
_Hyl._ I mean the way of accounting for our sensations or ideas.
_Phil._ How is that?
_Hyl._ It is supposed the soul makes her residence in some part of the
brain, from which the nerves take their rise, and are thence extended to
all parts of the body; and that outward objects, by the different
impressions they make on the organs of sense, communicate certain
vibrative motions to the nerves; and these being filled with spirits
propagate them to the brain or seat of the soul, which, according to the
various impressions or traces thereby made in the brain, is variously
affected with ideas(820).
_Phil._ And call you this an explication of the manner whereby we are
affected with ideas?
_Hyl._ Why not, Philonous? Have you anything to object against it?
_Phil._ I would first know whether I rightly understand your hypothesis.
You make certain traces in the brain to be the causes or occasions of our
ideas. Pray tell me whether by the _brain_ you mean any sensible thing.
_Hyl._ What else think you I could mean?
_Phil._ Sensible things are all immediately perceivable; and those things
which are immediately perceivable are ideas; and these exist only in the
mind. Thus much you have, if I mistake not, long since agreed to.
_Hyl._ I do not deny it.
_Phil._ The brain therefore you speak of, being a sensible thing, exists
only in the mind(821). Now, I would fain know whether you think it
reasonable to suppose that one idea or thing existing in the mind
occasions all other ideas. And, if you think so, pray how do you account
for the origin of that primary idea or brain itself?
_Hyl._ I do not explain the origin of our ideas by that brain which is
perceivable to sense—this being itself only a combination of sensible
ideas—but by another which I imagine.
_Phil._ But are not things imagined as truly _in the mind_ as things
perceived(822)?
_Hyl._ I must confess they are.
_Phil._ It comes, therefore, to the same thing; and you have been all this
while accounting for ideas by certain motions or impressions of the brain;
that is, by some alterations in an idea, whether sensible or imaginable it
matters not.
_Hyl._ I begin to suspect my hypothesis.
_Phil._ Besides spirits, all that we know or conceive are our own ideas.
When, therefore, you say all ideas are occasioned by impressions in the
brain, do you conceive this brain or no? If you do, then you talk of ideas
imprinted in an idea causing that same idea, which is absurd. If you do
not conceive it, you talk unintelligibly, instead of forming a reasonable
hypothesis.
_Hyl._ I now clearly see it was a mere dream. There is nothing in it.
_Phil._ You need not be much concerned at it; for after all, this way of
explaining things, as you called it, could never have satisfied any
reasonable man. What connexion is there between a motion in the nerves,
and the sensations of sound or colour in the mind? Or how is it possible
these should be the effect of that?
_Hyl._ But I could never think it had so little in it as now it seems to
have.
_Phil._ Well then, are you at length satisfied that no sensible things
have a real existence; and that you are in truth an arrant sceptic?
_Hyl._ It is too plain to be denied.
_Phil._ Look! are not the fields covered with a delightful verdure? Is
there not something in the woods and groves, in the rivers and clear
springs, that soothes, that delights, that transports the soul? At the
prospect of the wide and deep ocean, or some huge mountain whose top is
lost in the clouds, or of an old gloomy forest, are not our minds filled
with a pleasing horror? Even in rocks and deserts is there not an
agreeable wildness? How sincere a pleasure is it to behold the natural
beauties of the earth! To preserve and renew our relish for them, is not
the veil of night alternately drawn over her face, and doth she not change
her dress with the seasons? How aptly are the elements disposed! What
variety and use [(823)in the meanest productions of nature!] What
delicacy, what beauty, what contrivance, in animal and vegetable bodies!
How exquisitely are all things suited, as well to their particular ends,
as to constitute opposite parts of the whole! And, while they mutually aid
and support, do they not also set off and illustrate each other? Raise now
your thoughts from this ball of earth to all those glorious luminaries
that adorn the high arch of heaven. The motion and situation of the
planets, are they not admirable for use and order? Were those (miscalled
_erratic_) globes once known to stray, in their repeated journeys through
the pathless void? Do they not measure areas round the sun ever
proportioned to the times? So fixed, so immutable are the laws by which
the unseen Author of nature actuates the universe. How vivid and radiant
is the lustre of the fixed stars! How magnificent and rich that negligent
profusion with which they appear to be scattered throughout the whole
azure vault! Yet, if you take the telescope, it brings into your sight a
new host of stars that escape the naked eye. Here they seem contiguous and
minute, but to a nearer view immense orbs of light at various distances,
far sunk in the abyss of space. Now you must call imagination to your aid.
The feeble narrow sense cannot descry innumerable worlds revolving round
the central fires; and in those worlds the energy of an all-perfect Mind
displayed in endless forms. But, neither sense nor imagination are big
enough to comprehend the boundless extent, with all its glittering
furniture. Though the labouring mind exert and strain each power to its
utmost reach, there still stands out ungrasped a surplusage immeasurable.
Yet all the vast bodies that compose this mighty frame, how distant and
remote soever, are by some secret mechanism, some Divine art and force,
linked in a mutual dependence and intercourse with each other; even with
this earth, which was almost slipt from my thoughts and lost in the crowd
of worlds. Is not the whole system immense, beautiful, glorious beyond
expression and beyond thought! What treatment, then, do those philosophers
deserve, who would, deprive these noble and delightful scenes of all
_reality_? How should those Principles be entertained that lead us to
think all the visible beauty of the creation a false imaginary glare? To
be plain, can you expect this Scepticism of yours will not be thought
extravagantly absurd by all men of sense?
_Hyl._ Other men may think as they please; but for your part you have
nothing to reproach me with. My comfort is, you are as much a sceptic as I
am.
_Phil._ There, Hylas, I must beg leave to differ from you.
_Hyl._ What! Have you all along agreed to the premises, and do you now
deny the conclusion, and leave me to maintain those paradoxes by myself
which you led me into? This surely is not fair.
_Phil._ I deny that I agreed with you in those notions that led to
Scepticism. You indeed said the _reality_ of sensible things consisted in
an _absolute existence out of the minds of spirits_, or distinct from
their being perceived. And pursuant to this notion of reality, _you_ are
obliged to deny sensible things any real existence: that is, according to
your own definition, you profess yourself a sceptic. But I neither said
nor thought the reality of sensible things was to be defined after that
manner. To me it is evident, for the reasons you allow of, that sensible
things cannot exist otherwise than in a mind or spirit. Whence I conclude,
not that they have no real existence, but that, seeing they depend not on
my thought, and have an existence distinct from being perceived by
me(824), _there must be some other Mind wherein they exist_. As sure,
therefore, as the sensible world really exists, so sure is there an
infinite omnipresent Spirit who contains and supports it.
_Hyl._ What! This is no more than I and all Christians hold; nay, and all
others too who believe there is a God, and that He knows and comprehends
all things.
_Phil._ Aye, but here lies the difference. Men commonly believe that all
things are known or perceived by God, because they believe the being of a
God; whereas I, on the other side, immediately and necessarily conclude
the being of a God, because all sensible things must be perceived by
Him(825).
_Hyl._ But, so long as we all believe the same thing, what matter is it
how we come by that belief?
_Phil._ But neither do we agree in the same opinion. For philosophers,
though they acknowledge all corporeal beings to be perceived by God, yet
they attribute to them an absolute subsistence distinct from their being
perceived by any mind whatever; which I do not. Besides, is there no
difference between saying, _There is a God, therefore He perceives all
things_; and saying, _Sensible things do really exist; and, if they really
exist, they are necessarily perceived by an infinite Mind: therefore there
is an infinite Mind, or God_(826)_?_ This furnishes you with a direct and
immediate demonstration, from a most evident principle, of the _being of a
God_. Divines and philosophers had proved beyond all controversy, from the
beauty and usefulness of the several parts of the creation, that it was
the workmanship of God. But that—setting aside all help of astronomy and
natural philosophy, all contemplation of the contrivance, order, and
adjustment of things—an infinite Mind should be necessarily inferred
from(827) the bare _existence of the sensible world_, is an advantage to
them only who have made this easy reflexion: That the sensible world is
that which we perceive by our several senses; and that nothing is
perceived by the senses beside ideas; and that no idea or archetype of an
idea can exist otherwise than in a mind. You may now, without any
laborious search into the sciences, without any subtlety of reason, or
tedious length of discourse, oppose and baffle the most strenuous advocate
for Atheism. Those miserable refuges, whether in an eternal succession of
unthinking causes and effects, or in a fortuitous concourse of atoms;
those wild imaginations of Vanini, Hobbes, and Spinoza: in a word, the
whole system of Atheism, is it not entirely overthrown, by this single
reflexion on the repugnancy included in supposing the whole, or any part,
even the most rude and shapeless, of the visible world, to exist without a
Mind? Let any one of those abettors of impiety but look into his own
thoughts, and there try if he can conceive how so much as a rock, a
desert, a chaos, or confused jumble of atoms; how anything at all, either
sensible or imaginable, can exist independent of a Mind, and he need go no
farther to be convinced of his folly. Can anything be fairer than to put a
dispute on such an issue, and leave it to a man himself to see if he can
conceive, even in thought, what he holds to be true in fact, and from a
notional to allow it a real existence(828)?
_Hyl._ It cannot be denied there is something highly serviceable to
religion in what you advance. But do you not think it looks very like a
notion entertained by some eminent moderns(829), of _seeing all things in
God_?
_Phil._ I would gladly know that opinion: pray explain it to me.