The Internet Wiretap online edition of
AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING
HUMAN UNDERSTANDING
by
DAVID HUME
Harvard Classics Volume 37
Copyright 1910 P.F. Collier & Son
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SECTION I
OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.
MORAL philosophy, or the science of human nature,
may be treated after two different manners; each
of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute
to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of man-
kind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action;
and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment;
pursuing one object, and avoiding another, according to
the value which these objects seem to possess, and accord-
ing to the light in which they present themselves. As vir-
tue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this
species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable
colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and
treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and
such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and engage
the affections. They select the most striking observations
and instances from common life; place opposite characters
in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue
by the views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in
these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious
examples. They make us feel the difference between vice
and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and
so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity and
true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the
end of all their labours.
The other species of philosophers consider man in the
light of a reasonable rather than an active being, and
endeavour to form his understanding more than cultivate
his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of
speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in
order to find those principles, which regulate our under-
standing, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or
blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They
think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should
not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of
morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk
of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and de-
formity, without being able to determine the source of
these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task,
they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from
particular instances to general principles, they still push on
their enquiries to principles more general, and rest not
satisfied till they arrive at those original principles, by
which, in every science, all human curiosity must be
bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and
even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the
approbation of the learned and the wise; and think them-
selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole
lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may
contribute to the instruction of posterity.
It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will
always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference
above the accurate and abstruse; and by many will be
recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful
than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds
the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles
which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them
nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On
the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a
turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action,
vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes
into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any in-
fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of
our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of
our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the
profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.
This also must be confessed, that the most durable,
as well as justest fame, has been acquired by the easy
philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto to
have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice
or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able
to support their renown with more equitable posterity. It
is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake
in his subtile reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary
parent of another, while he pushes on his consequences,
and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by
its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular
opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent
the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and more
engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no
farther; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the
natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path,
and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The
fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle
is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and still
maintains his reputation: but the glory of Malebranche
is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And
Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke
shall be entirely forgotten.
The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly
but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to
contribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure
of society; while he lives remote from communication with
mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally
remote from their comprehension. On the other hand,
the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing
deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and
nation where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely
destitute of all relish for those noble entertainments. The
most perfect character is supposed to lie between those
extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books,
company, and business; preserving in conversation that
discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters;
and in business, that probity and accuracy which are
the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse
and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be
more useful than compositions of the easy style and manner,
which draw not too much from life, require no deep appli-
cation or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the
student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise
precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By
means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable,
science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement en-
tertaining.
Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from
science his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow
are the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfac-
tion can be hoped for in this particular, either from the
extent of security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no
less than a reasonable being: but neither can he always
enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the
proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and
from that disposition, as well as from the various necessities
of human life, must submit to business and occupation:
but the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always
support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that
nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable
to the human race, and secretly admonished them to allow
none of these biases to draw too much, so as to incapacitate
them for other occupations and entertainments. Indulge
your passion for science, says she, but let your science be
human, and such as may have a direct reference to action
and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I
prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy
which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which
they involve you, and by the cold reception which your
pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated.
Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still
a man.
Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the
easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without
throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might
not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general
opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition,
his own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often
carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all pro-
found reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics,
we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be
pleaded in their behalf.
We may begin with observing, that one considerable
advantage, which results from the accurate and abstract
philosophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and humane;
which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient
degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings.
All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life
in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us with
different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridi-
cule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set
before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in
this undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick
apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the in-
ternal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the
workings of the passions, and the various species of senti-
ment which discriminate vice and virtue. How painful
soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes,
in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe
with success the obvious and outward appearances of life
and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most
hideous and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful
to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen.
While the latter employs all the richest colours of his art,
and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs;
he must still carry his attention to the inward structure
of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric
of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ.
Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just
reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt
the one by depreciating the other.
Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even
those which most concern life or action, that a spirit of
accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them nearer their
perfection, and renders them more subservient to the
interests of society. And though a philosopher may live
remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully
cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself through-
out the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on
every art and calling. The politician will acquire greater
foresight and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing
of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles
in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his
discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations.
The stability of modern governments above the ancient,
and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and
probably will still improve, by similar gradations.
Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies,
beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought
not even this to be despised; as being one accession to
those few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed
on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path
of life leads through the avenues of science and learning; and
whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way,
or open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed
a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches
may appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds
as with some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous
and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure
from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burden-
some and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the
mind as well as to the eye; but to bring light from
obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and
rejoicing.
But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philos-
ophy, is objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but
as the inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here in-
deed lies the justest and most plausible objection against
a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not properly
a science; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of
human vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly
inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft of pop-
ular superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves
on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to cover and
protect their weakness. Chased from the open country, these
robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon
every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it
with religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist,
if he remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many,
through cowardice and folly, open the gates to the enemies,
and willingly receive them with reverence and submission,
as their legal sovereigns.
But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should
desist from such researches, and leave superstition still
in possession of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an
opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity of carrying
the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy? In
vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment,
will at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover the
proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many
persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling
such topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair
can never reasonably have place in the sciences; since, how-
ever unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there
is still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or
improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach
discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adventurous
genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself
stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his
predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving
so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only
method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse
questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of human
understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its
powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for
such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to
this fatigue in order to live at ease ever after: and must
cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to
destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some
persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful philos-
ophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and de-
spair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give place after-
wards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and
just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all
persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert
that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which
being mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in
a manner impenetrable to careless reasoners, and gives it
the air of science and wisdom.
Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en-
quiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning,
there are many positive advantages, which result from an
accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human
nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the
mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet,
whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem
involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those
lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish
them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same
aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in an in-
stant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and
improved by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore,
no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different
operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to
class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that
seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made
the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering
and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed
with regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses,
rises in its value, when directed towards the operations
of the mind, in proportion to the difficulty and labour,
which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no
farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the
distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satis-
faction to go so far; and the more obvious this science
may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more con-
temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all
pretenders to learning and philosophy.
Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science
is uncertain and chimerical; unless we should entertain
such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation,
and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind
is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these
powers are distinct from each other, that what is really
distinct to the immediate perception may be distinguished
by reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and
falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth
and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass of human
understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of
this kind, such as those between the will and understanding,
the imagination and passions, which fall within the com-
prehension of every human creature; and the finer and
more philosophical distinctions are no less real and certain,
though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances,
especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give
us a juster notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch
of learning. And shall we esteem it worthy the labour of
a philosopher to give us a true system of the planets, and
adjust the position and order of those remote bodies;
while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much
success, delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so
intimately concerned?
But may we not hope, that philosophy, cultivated with
care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may
carry its researches still farther, and discover, at least in
some degree, the secret springs and principles, by which the
human mind is actuated in its operations? Astronomers
had long contented themselves with proving, from the
phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of
the heavenly bodies: till a philosopher, at last, arose,
who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also deter-
mined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the
planets are governed and directed. The like has been
performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there
is no reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries
concerning the mental powers and economy, if prosecuted
with equal capacity and caution. It is probable, that one
operation and principle of the mind depends on another;
which, again, may be resolved into one more general and
universal: and how far these researches may possibly
be carried, it will be difficult for us, before, or even after,
a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that
attempts of this kind are every day made even by those
who philosophize the most negligently: and nothing can
be more requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with
thorough care and attention; that, if it lie within the
compass of human understanding, it may at last be happily
achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with some
confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not
desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how
much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this
species of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists
have hitherto been accustomed, when they considered the
vast multitude and diversity of those actions that excite
our approbation or dislike, to search for some common
principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend.
And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far,
by their passion for some one general principle; it must,
however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting
to find some general principles, into which all the vices
and virtues were justly to be resolved. The like has been
the endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians:
nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though
perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent
application may bring these sciences still nearer their per-
fection. To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind
may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and dogmatical,
than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy, that
has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and prin-
ciples on mankind.
What though these reasonings concerning human nature
seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension? This affords
no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it
seems impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many
wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious and
easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we
may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point
of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make
any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of
such unspeakable importance.
But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations
is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them,
and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care
and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have,
in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light
upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred
the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can
unite the boundaries of the different species of philosophy,
by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness, and truth
with novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this
easy manner, we can undermine the foundations of an
abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served
only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity
and error!
SECTION II
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS
EVERY one will readily allow, that there is a consider-
able difference between the perceptions of the mind,
when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the
pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards re-
calls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his
imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the percep-
tions of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the
force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we
say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is,
that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we
could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind be
disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive
at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions
altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry,
however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such
a manner as to make the description be taken for a real
landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the
dullest sensation.
We may observe a like distinction to run through all the
other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is
actuated in a very different manner from one who only
thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person
is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from
a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake
that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the
passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and
affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its
objects truly; but the colours which it employs are faint
and dull, in comparison of those in which our original per-
ceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or
metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.
Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the
mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished
by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less
forcible and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or
Ideas. The other species want a name in our language,
and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite
for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under
a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little
freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word
in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term
impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions,
when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire,
or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas,
which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are
conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or
movements above mentioned.
Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than
the thought of man, which not only escapes all human
power and authority, but is not even restrained within the
limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join
incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination
no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and
familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one
planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the
thought can in an instant transport us into the most dis-
tant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe,
into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to
lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard
of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond
the power of thought, except what implies an absolute
contradiction.
But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is
really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this
creative power of the mind amounts to no more than
the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or
diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and
experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we
only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with
which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we
can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can
conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and
shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In
short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from
our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and com-
position of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or,
to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or
more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or
more lively ones.
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope,
be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas,
however compounded or sublime, we always find that they
resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied
from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas,
which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are
found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The
idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and
good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our
own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities
of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry
to what length we please; where we shall always find, that
every idea which we examine is copied from a similar
impression. Those who would assert that this position is
not universally true nor without exception, have only one,
and that an easy method of refuting it; by producing that
idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source.
It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our
doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception,
which corresponds to it.
Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ,
that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation,
we always find that he is as little susceptible of the cor-
respondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of
colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them
that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new
inlet for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas;
and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The
case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any
sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Lap-
lander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine.
And though there are few or no instances of a like
deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or
is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs
to his species; yet we find the same observation to take
place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form
no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish
heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and gener-
osity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess
many senses of which we can have no conception; because
the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the
only manner by which an idea can have access to the mind,
to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.
There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which
may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas
to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions.
I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct
ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound,
which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from
each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now
if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of
the different shades of the same colour; and each shade
produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if
this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual grada-
tion of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most
remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the means
to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the
extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person
to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have
become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds
except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it
never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the
different shades of that colour, except that single one, be
placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest
to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank,
where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there
is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous
colour than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be
possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this
deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular
shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his
senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion
that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the simple
ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the
correspondent impressions; though this instance is so
singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does
not merit that for it alone we should alter our general
maxim.
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems,
in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were
made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible,
and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken
possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace
upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally
faint and obscure: the mind has but a slender hold of them:
they are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas;
and when we have often employed any term, though with-
out a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a deter-
minate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions,
that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong
and vivid: the limits between them are more exactly deter-
mined: nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with
regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion
that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning
or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from
what impression is that supposed idea derived? And if it
be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our
suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may
reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise,
concerning their nature and reality.[1]
[1] It is probable that no more was meant by these, who denied innate
ideas, than that all ideas were copies of our impressions; though it must
be confessed, that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with
such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about their
doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural,
then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate
or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposi-
tion to what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant,
contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it
worth while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at,
or after our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly taken in
a very loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing for any of our per-
ceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this
sense, I should desire to know, what can be meant by asserting, that self-
love, or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate?
But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above
explained, and understanding by innate, what is original or copied from
no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are
innate, and our ideas not innate.
To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was
betrayed into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde-
fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without ever touch-
ing the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution seem to run
through that philosopher's reasonings on this as well as most other subjects.
SECTION III
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS
IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion be-
tween the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and
that in their appearance to the memory or imagination,
they introduce each other with a certain degree of method
and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse
this is so observable that any particular thought, which
breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is
immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our
wildest and most wandering reveries, nay in our very
dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the imagination
ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still
a connexion upheld among the different ideas, which suc-
ceeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversa-
tion to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed
something which connected it in all its transitions. Or
where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of
discourse might still inform you, that there had secretly
revolved in his mind a succession of thought, which had
gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among
different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least
connexion or communication, it is found, that the words,
expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly
correspond to each other: a certain proof that the simple
ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound
together by some universal principle, which had an equal
influence on all mankind.
Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that
different ideas are connected together; I do not find that
any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all
the principles of association; a subject, however, that seems
worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three
principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance,
Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect.
That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I
believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our
thoughts to the original:[1] the mention of one apartment
in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse
concerning the others:[2] and if we think of a wound, we
can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it.[3]
But that this enumeration is complete, and that there are
no other principles of association except these, may be
difficult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even
to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases,
is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the
principle which binds the different thoughts to each other,
never stopping till we render the principle as general as
possible.[4] The more instances we examine, and the more
care we employ, the more assurance shall we acquire, that
the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is com-
plete and entire.
[1] Resemblance.
[2] Contiguity.
[3] Cause and effect.
[4] For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas:
but it may perhaps, be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resem-
blance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that
is, the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation of an
object, implies the idea of its former existence.
SECTION IV
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF
THE UNDERSTANDING
PART I
ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may
naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Rela-
tions of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first
kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic;
and in short, every affirmation which is either intuitively or
demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse
is equal to the square of the two sides, is a proposition
which expresses a relation between these figures. That
three times five is equal to the half of thirty, expresses a
relation between these numbers. Propositions of this kind
are discoverable by the mere operation of thought, without
dependence on what is anywhere existent in the universe.
Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the
truths demonstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their
certainty and evidence.
Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human
reason, are not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our
evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with
the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still
possible; because it can never imply a contradiction, and
is conceived by the mind with the same facility and dis-
tinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality. That the
sun will not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible a propo-
sition, and implies no more contradiction than the affirma-
tion, that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt
to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false,
it would imply a contradiction, and could never be dis-
tinctly conceived by the mind.
It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to
enquire what is the nature of that evidence which assures
us of any real existence and matter of fact, beyond the
present testimony of our senses, or the records of our
memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been
little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns; and
therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so
important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while
we march through such difficult paths without any guide
or direction. They may even prove useful, by exciting
curiosity, and destroying that implicit faith and security,
which is the bane of all reasoning and free enquiry. The
discovery of defects in the common philosophy, if any such
there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement, but
rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something
more full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to
the public.
All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be
founded on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of
that relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our
memory and senses. If you were to ask a man, why he
believes any matter of fact, which is absent; for instance,
that his friend is in the country, or in France; he would
give you a reason; and this reason would be some other
fact; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of his
former resolutions and promises. A man finding a watch
or any other machine in a desert island, would conclude
that there had once been men in that island. All our rea-
sonings concerning fact are of the same nature. And here
it is constantly supposed that there is a connexion between
the present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were
there nothing to bind them together, the inference would
be entirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice
and rational discourse in the dark assures us of the pres-
ence of some person: Why? because these are the effects
of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with
it. If we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature,
we shall find that they are founded on the relation of cause
and effect, and that this relation is either near or remote,
direct or collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects
of fire, and the one effect may justly be inferred from the
other.
If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the
nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact,
we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of cause
and effect.
I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which
admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation
is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but
arises entirely from experience, when we find that any
particular objects are constantly conjoined with each other.
Let an object be presented to a man of ever so strong natural
reason and abilities; if that object be entirely new to him,
he will not be able, by the most accurate examination of
its sensible qualities, to discover any of its causes or effects.
Adam, though his rational faculties be supposed, at the
very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from
the fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffo-
cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it would
consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities
which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro-
duced it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can
our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any in-
ference concerning real existence and matter of fact.
This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable,
not by reason but by experience, will readily be admitted
with regard to such objects, as we remember to have once
been altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious
of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling
what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of
marble to a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy;
he will never discover that they will adhere together in such
a manner as to require great force to separate them in a
direct line, while they make so small a resistance to a
lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to
the common course of nature, are also readily confessed to
be known only by experience; nor does any man imagine
that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a load-
stone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In
like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an
intricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no
difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience.
Who will assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why
milk or bread is proper nourishment for a man, not for
a lion or a tiger?
But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have
the same evidence with regard to events, which have become
familiar to us from our first appearance in the world, which
bear a close analogy to the whole course of nature, and
which are supposed to depend on the simple qualities of
objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are apt
to imagine that we could discover these effects by the mere
operation of our reason, without experience. We fancy,
that were we brought on a sudden into this world, we
could at first have inferred that one Billiard-ball would
communicate motion to another upon impulse; and that we
needed not to have waited for the event, in order to pro-
nounce with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of
custom, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers our
natural ignorance, but even conceals itself, and seems not to
take place, merely because it is found in the highest degree.
But to convince us that all the laws of nature, and all
the operations of bodies without exception, are known only
by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suf-
fice. Were any object presented to us, and were we
required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will
result from it, without consulting past observation; after
what manner, I beseech you, must the mind proceed in this
operation? It must invent or imagine some event, which
it ascribes to the object as its effect; and it is plain that
this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can
never possibly find the effect in the supposed cause, by the
most accurate scrutiny and examination. For the effect is
totally different from the cause, and consequently can never
be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a
quite distinct event from motion in the first; nor is there
anything in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the
other. A stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and
left without any support, immediately falls: but to consider
the matter a priori, is there anything we discover in this
situation which can beget the idea of a downward, rather
than an upward, or any other motion, in the stone or metal?
And as the first imagination or invention of a particular
effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we con-
sult not experience; so must we also esteem the supposed
tie or connexion between the cause and effect, which binds
them together, and renders it impossible that any other
effect could result from the operation of that cause. When
I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line
towards another; even suppose motion in the second ball
should by accident be suggested to me, as the result of their
contact or impulse; may I not conceive, that a hundred dif-
ferent events might as well follow from that cause? May
not both these balls remain at absolute rest? May not the
first ball return in a straight line, or leap off from the second
in any line or direction? All these suppositions are con-
sistent and conceivable. Why then should we give the
preference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable
than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be
able to show us any foundation for this preference.
In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its
cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause,
and the first invention or conception of it, a priori, must be
entirely arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the con-
junction of it with the cause must appear equally arbitrary;
since there are always many other effects, which, to reason,
must seem fully as consistent and natural. In vain, there-
fore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or
infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observa-
tion and experience.
Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher,
who is rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign
the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show
distinctly the action of that power, which produces any
single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the
utmost effort of human reason is to reduce the principles,
productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity,
and to resolve the many particular effects into a few gen-
eral causes, by means of reasonings from analogy, experi-
ence, and observation. But as to the causes of these general
causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall
we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular ex-
plication of them. These ultimate springs and principles
are totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elas-
ticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion
by impulse; these are probably the ultimate causes and prin-
ciples which we shall ever discover in nature; and we may
esteem ourselves sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry
and reasoning, we can trace up the particular phenomena
to, or near to, these general principles. The most perfect
philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance
a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of
the moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger
portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness
and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us at
every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it.
Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural
philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into
the knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of
reasoning for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part
of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the supposition that
certain laws are established by nature in her operations;
and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist ex-
perience in the discovery of these laws, or to determine
their influence in particular instances, where it depends
upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it
is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the mo-
ment or force of any body in motion is in the compound
ratio or proportion of its solid contents and its velocity;
and consequently, that a small force may remove the greatest
obstacle or raise the greatest weight, if, by any contrivance
or machinery, we can increase the velocity of that force,
so as to make it an overmatch for its antagonist. Geometry
assists us in the application of this law, by giving us the
just dimensions of all the parts and figures which can enter
into any species of machine; but still the discovery of the
law itself is owing merely to experience, and all the abstract
reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards
the knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider
merely any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, inde-
pendent of all observation, it never could suggest to us the
notion of any distinct object, such as its effect; much less,
show us the inseparable and inviolable connexion between
them. A man must be very sagacious who could discover
by reasoning that crystal is the effect of heat, and ice of
cold, without being previously acquainted with the operation
of these qualities.
PART II
BUT we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfac-
tion with regard to the question first proposed. Each
solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult as
the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When
it is asked, What is the nature of all our reasonings
concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems to be,
that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect.
When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our
reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may
be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on
our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all
conclusions from experience? this implies a new question,
which may be of more difficult solution and explication.
Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior wisdom
and sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter per-
sons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every
corner to which they retreat, and who are sure at last to
bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient
to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our preten-
sions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before
it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of
merit of our very ignorance.
I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task,
and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the
question here proposed. I say then, that, even after we
have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our
conclusions from that experience are not founded on reason-
ing, or any process of the understanding. This answer we
must endeavour both to explain and to defend.
It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us
at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded
us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of ob-
jects; while she conceals from us those powers and prin-
ciples on which the influence of those objects entirely de-
pends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and
consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever
inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourish-
ment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling con-
veys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that
wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving
body for ever in a continued change of place, and which
bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of
this we cannot form the most distant conception. But not-
withstanding this ignorance of natural powers[1] and princi-
ples, we always presume, when we see like sensible quali-
ties, that they have like secret powers, and expect that
effects, similar to those which we have experienced, will
follow from them. If a body of like colour and consistence
with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be pre-
sented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experi-
ment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and
support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought,
of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is
allowed on all hands that there is no known connexion
between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and
consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a con-
clusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction,
by anything which it knows of their nature. As to past
Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain
information of those precise objects only, and that precise
period of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why
this experience should be extended to future times, and to
other objects, which for aught we know, may be only in
appearance similar; this is the main question on which
I would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished
me; that is, a body of such sensible qualities was, at that
time, endued with such secret powers: but does it follow,
that other bread must also nourish me at another time, and
that like sensible qualities must always be attended with
like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise neces-
sary. At least, it must be acknowledged that there is here
a consequence drawn by the mind; that there is a certain
step taken; a process of thought, and an inference, which
wants to be explained. These two propositions are far
from being the same. I have found that such an object has
always been attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that
other objects, which are, in appearance, similar, will be
attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please,
that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the
other: I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you
insist that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning,
I desire you to produce that reasoning. The connexion
between these propositions is not intuitive. There is re-
quired a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such
an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argu-
ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my
comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to produce it,
who assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our
conclusions concerning matter of fact.
This negative argument must certainly, in process of
time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating
and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way
and no one be ever able to discover any connecting propo-
sition or intermediate step, which supports the understand-
ing in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new,
every reader may not trust so far to his own penetration,
as to conclude, because an argument escapes his enquiry,
that therefore it does not really exist. For this reason it
may be requisite to venture upon a more difficult task; and
enumerating all the branches of human knowledge, en-
deavour to show that none of them can afford such an
argument.
All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely,
demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of
ideas, and moral reasoning, or that concerning matter of
fact and existence. That there are no demonstrative argu-
ments in the case seems evident; since it implies no con-
tradiction that the course of nature may change, and that
an object, seemingly like those which we have experi-
enced, may be attended with different or contrary effects.
May I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body,
falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects,
resembles snow, has yet the taste of salt or feeling of
fire? Is there any more intelligible proposition than to
affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and
January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever
is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no
contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demon-
strative argument or abstract reasoning a priori.
If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust
in past experience, and make it the standard of our future
judgment, these arguments must be probable only, or such
as regard matter of fact and real existence according to the
division above mentioned. But that there is no argument
of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that species
of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We
have said that all arguments concerning existence are
founded on the relation of cause and effect; that our
knowledge of that relation is derived entirely from experi-
ence; and that all our experimental conclusions proceed
upon the supposition that the future will be conformable
to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last
supposition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding
existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and taking
that for granted, which is the very point in question.
In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on
the similarity which we discover among natural objects,
and by which we are induced to expect effects similar to
those which we have found to follow from such objects.
And though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend
to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that
great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a philoso-
pher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the
principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority
to experience, and makes us draw advantage from that
similarity which nature has placed among different objects.
From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects.
This is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now
it seems evident that, if this conclusion were formed by
reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one in-
stance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But
the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no
one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the
same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long
course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain
a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular
event. Now where is that process of reasoning which,
from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from
that which it infers from a hundred instances that are
nowise different from that single one? This question I
propose as much for the sake of information, as with an
intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot
imagine any such reasoning. But I keep my mind still
open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow
it on me.
Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experi-
ments, we infer a connexion between the sensible qualities
and the secret powers; this, I must confess, seems the
same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question
still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is
founded? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas,
which join propositions so very wide of each other? It is
confessed that the colour, consistence, and other sensible
qualities of bread appear not, of themselves, to have any
connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and sup-
port. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers
from the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without
the aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all
philosophers, and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here,
then, is our natural state of ignorance with regard to the
powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied
by experience? It only shows us a number of uniform
effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us that
those particular objects, at that particular time, were en-
dowed with such powers and forces. When a new object,
endowed with similar sensible qualities, is produced, we
expect similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect.
From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we
expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is
a step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained.
When a man says, I have found, in all past instances, such
sensible qualities conjoined with such secret powers: And
when he says, Similar sensible qualities will always be con-
joined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tau-
tology, nor are these propositions in any respect the same.
You say that the one proposition is an inference from the
other. But you must confess that the inference is not
intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it,
then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question.
For all inferences from experience suppose, as their founda-
tion, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar
powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities.
If there be any suspicion that the course of nature may
change, and that the past may be no rule for the future, all
experience becomes useless, and can give rise to no in-
ference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore, that any
arguments from experience can prove this resemblance of
the past to the future; since all these arguments are
founded on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the
course of things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that
alone, without some new argument or inference, proves
not that, for the future, it will continue so. In vain do
you pretend to have learned the nature of bodies from your
past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently
all their effects and influence, may change, without any
change in their sensible qualities. This happens some-
times, and with regard to some objects: Why may it not
happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic,
what process or argument secures you against this supposi-
tion? My practice, you say, refutes my doubts. But you
mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am
quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has
some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to
learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no
enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give
me satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do
better than propose the difficulty to the public, even though,
perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We
shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance,
if we do not augment our knowledge.
I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable
arrogance who concludes, because an argument has es-
caped his own investigation, that therefore it does not really
exist. I must also confess that, though all the learned, for
several ages, should have employed themselves in fruit-
less search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash
to conclude positively that the subject must, therefore,
pass all human comprehension. Even though we examine
all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them un-
fit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion,
that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination
not accurate. But with regard to the present subject, there
are some considerations which seem to remove all this
accusation of arrogance or suspicion of mistake.
It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants--
nay infants, nay even brute beasts--improve by experience,
and learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the
effects which result from them. When a child has felt the
sensation of pain from touching the flame of a candle, he
will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but
will expect a similar effect from a cause which is similar in
its sensible qualities and appearance. If you assert, there-
fore, that the understanding of the child is led into this
conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination,
I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor
have you any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand.
You cannot say that the argument is abstruse, and may
possibly escape your enquiry; since you confess that it is
obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you hesitate,
therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any
intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner, give up
the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which
engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and
to expect similar effects from causes which are, to appear-
ance, similar. This is the proposition which I intended to
enforce in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not
to have made any mighty discovery. And if I be wrong,
I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward
scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which,
it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was
out of my cradle.
[1] The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more
accurate explication of it would give additional evidence to this argument.
See Sect. 7.
SECTION V
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS
PART I
THE passion for philosophy, like that for religion,
seems liable to this inconvenience, that, though it
aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpation
of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent management,
to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind,
with more determined resolution, towards that side which
already draws too much, by the bias and propensity of the
natural temper. It is certain that, while we aspire to the
magnanimous firmness of the philosophic sage, and en-
deavour to confine our pleasures altogether within our own
minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like that of
Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of
selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well
as social enjoyment. While we study with attention the
vanity of human life, and turn all our thoughts towards
the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we
are, perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence,
which, hating the bustle of the world, and drudgery of
business, seeks a pretence of reason to give itself a full
and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one
species of philosophy which seems little liable to this in-
convenience, and that because it strikes in with no dis-
orderly passion of the human mind, nor can mingle it-
self with any natural affection or propensity; and that is
the Academic or Sceptical philosophy. The academics al-
ways talk of doubt and suspense of judgment, of danger
in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow bounds
the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all
speculations which lie not within the limits of common life
and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary
than such a philosophy to the supine indolence of the
mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its super-
stitious credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except
the love of truth; and that passion never is, nor can be,
carried to too high a degree. It is surprising, therefore,
that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must
be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so
much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps,
the very circumstance which renders it so innocent is
what chiefly exposes it to the public hatred and resentment.
By flattering no irregular passion, it gains few partizans:
By opposing so many vices and follies, it raises to itself
abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, pro-
fane, and irreligious.
Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours
to limit our enquiries to common life, should ever undermine
the reasonings of common life, and carry its doubts so far
as to destroy all action, as well as speculation. Nature
will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over
any abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should
conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in
all reasonings from experience, there is a step taken by the
mind which is not supported by any argument or process
of the understanding; there is no danger that these rea-
sonings, on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever
be affected by such a discovery. If the mind be not en-
gaged by argument to make this step, it must be induced
by some other principle of equal weight and authority; and
that principle will preserve its influence as long as human
nature remains the same. What that principle is may well
be worth the pains of enquiry.
Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest
faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden
into this world; he would, indeed, immediately observe
a continual succession of objects, and one event following
another; but he would not be able to discover anything
farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able
to reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular
powers, by which all natural operations are performed,
never appear to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude,
merely because one event, in one instance, precedes another,
that therefore the one is the cause, the other the effect.
Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual. There
may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the
appearance of the other. And in a word, such a person,
without more experience, could never employ his conjecture
or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured
of anything beyond what was immediately present to his
memory and senses.
Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience,
and has lived so long in the world as to have observed
familiar objects or events to be constantly conjoined to-
gether; what is the consequence of this experience? He
immediately infers the existence of one object from the
appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his ex-
perience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret
power by which the one object produces the other; nor
is it by any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw
this inference. But still he finds himself determined to
draw it: and though he should be convinced that his
understanding has no part in the operation, he would
nevertheless continue in the same course of thinking. There
is some other principle which determines him to form such
a conclusion.
This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the
repetition of any particular act or operation produces a
propensity to renew the same act or operation, without
being impelled by any reasoning or process of the under-
standing, we always say, that this propensity is the effect
of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not to
have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We
only point out a principle of human nature, which is
universally acknowledged, and which is well known by its
effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or
pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest
contented with it as the ultimate principle, which we can
assign, of all our conclusions from experience. It is suf-
ficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without repining
at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry
us no farther. And it is certain we here advance a very
intelligible proposition at least, if not a true one, when
we assert that, after the constant conjunction of two ob-
jects--heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity--
we are determined by custom alone to expect the one from
the appearance of the other. This hypothesis seems even
the only one which explains the difficulty, why we draw,
from a thousand instances, an inference which we are not
able to draw from one instance, that is, in no respect,
different from them. Reason is incapable of any such
variation. The conclusions which it draws from consider-
ing one circle are the same which it would form upon
surveying all the circles in the universe. But no man,
having seen only one body move after being impelled by
another, could infer that every other body will move after
a like impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore,
are effects of custom, not of reasoning.[1]
Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is
that principle alone which renders our experience useful
to us, and makes us expect, for the future, a similar train
of events with those which have appeared in the past.
Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely
ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately
present to the memory and senses. We should never know
how to adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural
powers in the production of any effect. There would
be an end at once of all action, as well as of the chief
part of speculation.
But here it may be proper to remark, that though our
conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memory
and senses, and assure us of matters of fact which hap-
pened in the most distant places and most remote ages,
yet some fact must always be present to the senses or
memory, from which we may first proceed in drawing these
conclusions. A man, who should find in a desert country
the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude that
the country had, in ancient times, been cultivated by civil-
ized inhabitants; but did nothing of this nature occur
to him, he could never form such an inference. We learn
the events of former ages from history; but then we must
peruse the volumes in which this instruction is contained,
and thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to
another, till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of
these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon
some fact, present to the memory or senses, our reasonings
would be merely hypothetical; and however the particular
links might be connected with each other, the whole chain
of inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could
we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real
existence. If I ask why you believe any particular matter
of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason;
and this reason will be some other fact, connected with it.
But as you cannot proceed after this manner, in infinitum,
you must at last terminate in some fact, which is present to
your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief is
entirely without foundation.
What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A
simple one; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote
from the common theories of philosophy. All belief of
matter of fact or real existence is derived merely from some
object, present to the memory or senses, and a customary
conjunction between that and some other object. Or in
other words; having found, in many instances, that any
two kinds of objects--flame and heat, snow and cold--have
always been conjoined together; if flame or snow be pre-
sented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom
to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality
does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach.
This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind in
such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul, when
we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of
love, when we receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet
with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural
instincts, which no reasoning or process of the thought and
understanding is able either to produce or to prevent.
At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop
our philosophical researches. In most questions we can
never make a single step farther; and in all questions we
must terminate here at last, after our most restless and
curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable,
perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther
researches, and make us examine more accurately the na-
ture of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence
it is derived. By this means we may meet with some ex-
plications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at least
to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be enter-
tained with speculations, which, however accurate, may
still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty. As to
readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following en-
quiries may well be understood, though it be neglected.
PART II
NOTHING is more free than the imagination of man; and
though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas fur-
nished by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited
power of mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing
these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It
can feign a train of events, with all the appearance of
reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place, conceive
them as existent, and paint them out to itself with every
circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it
believes with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore,
consists the difference between such a fiction and belief?
It lies not merely in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to
such a conception as commands our assent, and which is
wanting to every known fiction. For as the mind has
authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this
particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be able to
believe whatever it pleases; contrary to what we find by
daily experience. We can, in our conception, join the head
of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our
power to believe that such an animal has ever really
existed.
It follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction
and belief lies in some sentiment or feeling, which is
annexed to the latter, not to the former, and which depends
not on the will, nor can be commanded at pleasure. It
must be excited by nature, like all other sentiments; and
must arise from the particular situation, in which the mind
is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object
is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the
force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that
object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception
is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the
loose reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole
nature of belief. For as there is no matter of fact which
we believe so firmly that we cannot conceive the contrary,
there would be no difference between the conception as-
sented to and that which is rejected, were it not for some
sentiment which distinguishes the one from the other. If
I see a billiard-ball moving toward another, on a smooth
table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon contact. This
conception implies no contradiction; but still it feels very
differently from that conception by which I represent to
myself the impulse and the communication of motion from
one ball to another.
Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we
should, perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impossible
task; in the same manner as if we should endeavour to
define the feeling of cold or passion of anger, to a creature
who never had any experience of these sentiments. Belief
is the true and proper name of this feeling; and no one is
ever at a loss to know the meaning of that term; because
every man is every moment conscious of the sentiment
represented by it. It may not, however, be improper to
attempt a description of this sentiment; in hopes we may,
by that means, arrive at some analogies, which may afford
a more perfect explication of it. I say, then, that belief is
nothing but a more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady con-
ception of an object, than what the imagination alone is
ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may
seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that
act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken for
such, more present to us than fictions, causes them to
weigh more in the thought, and gives them a superior
influence on the passions and imagination. Provided we
agree about the thing, it is needless to dispute about the
terms. The imagination has the command over all its
ideas, and can join and mix and vary them, in all the
ways possible. It may conceive fictitious objects with all
the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in
a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as
they might have existed. But as it is impossible that this
faculty of imagination can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is
evident that belief consists not in the peculiar nature or
order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in
their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible
perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception.
We may make use of words which express something near
it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before, is
belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently under-
stands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no
farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind,
which distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the
fictions of the imagination. It gives them more weight and
influence; makes them appear of greater importance; en-
forces them in the mind; and renders them the governing
principle of our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a
person's voice, with whom I am acquainted; and the sound
comes as from the next room. This impression of my
senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, to-
gether with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out
to myself as existing at present, with the same qualities and
relations, of which I formerly knew them possessed. These
ideas take faster hold of my mind than ideas of an en-
chanted castle. They are very different to the feeling, and
have a much greater influence of every kind, either to give
pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.
Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine,
and allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a
conception more intense and steady than what attends the
mere fictions of the imagination, and that this manner of
conception arises from a customary conjunction of the
object with something present to the memory or senses:
I believe that it will not be difficult, upon these supposi-
tions, to find other operations of the mind analogous to it,
and to trace up these phenomena to principles still more
general.
We have already observed that nature has established
connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner
one idea occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its cor-
relative, and carries our attention towards it, by a gentle
and insensible movement. These principles of connexion
or association we have reduced to three, namely, Resem-
blance, Contiguity and Causation; which are the only bonds
that unite our thoughts together, and beget that regular
train of reflection or discourse, which, in a greater or less
degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here arises
a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty
will depend. Does it happen, in all these relations, that,
when one of the objects is presented to the senses or
memory, the mind is not only carried to the conception
of the correlative, but reaches a steadier and stronger
conception of it than what otherwise it would have been
able to attain? This seems to be the case with that
belief which arises from the relation of cause and effect.
And if the case be the same with the other relations
or principles of associations, this may be established as
a general law, which takes place in all the operations of
the mind.
We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment
to our present purpose, that, upon the appearance of the
picture of an absent friend, our idea of him is evidently
enlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which
that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires
new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there
concur both a relation and a present impression. Where
the picture bears him no resemblance, at least was not
intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought
to him: and where it is absent, as well as the person,
though the mind may pass from the thought of the one to
that of the other, it feels its idea to be rather weakened
than enlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure in
viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us;
but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him
directly than by reflection in an image, which is equally
distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may
be considered as instances of the same nature. The dev-
otees of that superstition usually plead in excuse for the
mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they
feel the good effect of those external motions, and pos-
tures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and quick-
ening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if
directed entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We
shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible
types and images, and render them more present to us
by the immediate presence of these types, than it is pos-
sible for us to do merely by an intellectual view and
contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater in-
fluence on the fancy than any other; and this influence
they readily convey to those ideas to which they are
related, and which they resemble. I shall only infer from
these practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resem-
blance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as in
every case a resemblance and a present impression must
concur, we are abundantly supplied with experiments to
prove the reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by others of
a different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity as
well as of resemblance. It is certain that distance dimin-
ishes the force of every idea, and that, upon our approach
to any object; though it does not discover itself to our
senses; it operates upon the mind with an influence, which
imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any
object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous;
but it is only the actual presence of an object, that trans-
ports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles
from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly
than when I am two hundred leagues distant; though even
at that distance the reflecting on any thing in the neigh-
bourhood of my friends or family naturally produces an
idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects
of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy
transition between them; that transition alone is not able to
give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of
some immediate impression.[2]
No one can doubt but causation has the same influence
as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and
holy men, for the same reason, that they seek after types
or images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them
a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary
lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that
one of the best reliques, which a devotee could procure,
would be the handywork of a saint; and if his cloaths and
furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is be-
cause they were once at his disposal, and were moved and
affected by him; in which respect they are to be considered
as imperfect effects, and as connected with him by a shorter
chain of consequences than any of those, by which we learn
the reality of his existence.
Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long
dead or absent, were presented to us; it is evident, that
this object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and
recall to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities,
in more lively colours than they would otherwise have ap-
peared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems
to prove the principle above mentioned.
We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the belief
of the correlative object is always presupposed; without
which the relation could have no effect. The influence of
the picture supposes, that we believe our friend to have
once existed. Contiguity to home can never excite our
ideas of home, unless we believe that it really exists. Now
I assert, that this belief, where it reaches beyond the
memory or senses, is of a similar nature, and arises from
similar causes, with the transition of thought and vivacity of
conception here explained. When I throw a piece of dry
wood into a fire, my mind is immediately carried to con-
ceive, that it augments, not extinguishes the flame. This
transition of thought from the cause to the effect proceeds
not from reason. It derives its origin altogether from
custom and experience. And as it first begins from an
object, present to the senses, it renders the idea or con-
ception of flame more strong and lively than any loose,
floating reverie of the imagination. That idea arises im-
mediately. The thought moves instantly towards it, and
conveys to it all that force of conception, which is derived
from the impression present to the senses. When a sword
is levelled at my breast, does not the idea of wound and
pain strike me more strongly, than when a glass of wine
is presented to me, even though by accident this idea
should occur after the appearance of the latter object?
But what is there in this whole matter to cause such a strong
conception, except only a present object and a customary
transition of the idea of another object, which we have
been accustomed to conjoin with the former? This is the
whole operation of the mind, in all our conclusions con-
cerning matter of fact and existence; and it is a satisfaction
to find some analogies, by which it may be explained.
The transition from a present object does in all cases give
strength and solidity to the related idea.
Here, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between
the course of nature and the succession of our ideas; and
though the powers and forces, by which the former is gov-
erned, be wholly unknown to us; yet our thoughts and
conceptions have still, we find, gone on in the same train
with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle,
by which this correspondence has been effected; so neces-
sary to the subsistence of our species, and the regulation of
our conduct, in every circumstance and occurrence of hu-
man life. Had not the presence of an object, instantly
excited the idea of those objects, commonly conjoined with
it, all our knowledge must have been limited to the narrow
sphere of our memory and senses; and we should never
have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ our
natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding
of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and contem-
plation of final causes, have here ample subject to employ
their wonder and admiration.
I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing
theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which we
infer like effects from like causes, and vice versa, is so
essential to the subsistence of all human creatures, it is
not probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious de-
ductions of our reason, which is slow in its operations;
appears not, in any degree, during the first years of infancy;
and at best is, in every age and period of human life, ex-
tremely liable to error and mistake. It is more conformable
to the ordinary wisdom of nature to secure so necessary an
act of the mind, by some instinct or mechanical tendency,
which may be infallible in its operations, may discover
itself at the first appearance of life and thought, and may
be independent of all the laboured deductions of the under-
standing. As nature has taught us the use of our limbs,
without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves,
by which they are actuated; so has she implanted in us
an instinct, which carries forward the thought in a corre-
spondent course to that which she has established among
external objects; though we are ignorant of those powers
and forces, on which this regular course and succession
of objects totally depends.
[1] Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or
physical subjects, to distinguish between reason and experience, and to sup-
pose, that these species of argumentation are entirely different from each
other. The former are taken for the mere result of our intellectual facul-
ties, which, by considering a priori the nature of things, and examining the
effects, that must follow from their operation, establish particular prin-
ciples of science and philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived
entirely from sense and observation, by which we learn what has actually
resulted from the operation of particular objects, and are thence able to
infer, what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the
limitations and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution, may
be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great frailty and
corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can safely be trusted
with unlimited authority; or from experience and history, which inform us
of the enormous abuses, that ambition, in every age and country, has been
found to make so imprudent a confidence.
The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in all
our deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the experienced states-
man, general, physician, or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unprac-
tised novice, with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised.
Though it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures with
regard to the consequences of such a particular conduct in such particular
circumstances; it is still supposed imperfect, without the assistance of experi-
ence, which is alone able to give stability and certainty to the maxims,
derived from study and reflection.
But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally received,
both in the active and speculative scenes of life, I shall not scruple to pro-
nounce, that it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least, superficial.
If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above
mentioned, are supposed to be mere effects of reasoning and reflection,
they will be found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or, con-
clusion, for which we can assign no reason but observation and experience.
The only difference between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly
esteemed the result of pure experience, is, that the former cannot be estab-
lished without some process of thought, and some reflection on what we
have observed, in order to distinguish its circumstances, and trace its con-
sequences: Whereas in the latter, the experienced event is exactly and fully
familiar to that which we infer as the result of any particular situation.
The history of a TIBERIUS or a NERO makes us dread a like tyranny, were
our monarchs freed from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observa-
tion of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the aid of a
little thought, to give us the same apprehension; while it serves as an
instance of the general corruption of human nature, and shows us the
danger which we must incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind.
In both cases, it is experience which is ultimately the foundation of our
inference and conclusion.
There is no man so young and inexperienced, as not to have formed,
from observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs
and the conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that, when a man comes
to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable to error, till time and
farther experience both enlarge these maxims, and teach him their proper
use and application. In every situation or incident, there are many par-
ticular and seemingly minute circumstances, which the man of greatest
talent is, at first, apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his con-
clusions, and consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely depend.
Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the general observations and
maxims occur not always on the proper occasions, nor can be immediately
applied with due calmness and distinction. The truth is, an unexperienced
reasoner could be no reasoner at all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and
when we assign that character to any one, we mean it only in a compara-
tive sense, and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more
imperfect degree.
[2] 'Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum ea
loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus multim esse
versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus
aut scriptum aliquod legamus? Velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi
Plato in mentem, quem accepimus primum hic disputare solitum; cuius
etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solum mihi afferunt, sed ipsum
videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic
eius auditor Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus. Equidem
etiam curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, quae mihi minor
esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem,
Laelium, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis
est in locis; ut non sine causa ex his memopriae deducta sit disciplina.'--
Cicero de Finibus. Lib. v.
SECTION VI
OF PROBABILITY[1]
THOUGH there be no such thing as Chance in the
world; our ignorance of the real cause of any event
has the same influence on the understanding, and be-
gets a like species of belief or opinion.
There is certainly a probability, which arises from a
superiority of chances on any side; and according as this
superiority increases, and surpasses the opposite chances,
the probability receives a proportionable increase, and be-
gets still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side,
in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were marked
with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with
another figure or number of spots on the two remaining
sides, it would be more probable, that the former would
turn up than the latter; though, if it had a thousand sides
marked in the same manner, and only one side different,
the probability would be much higher, and our belief or
expectation of the event more steady and secure. This pro-
cess of the thought or reasoning may seem trivial and
obvious; but to those who consider it more narrowly, it
may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation.
It seems evident, that, when the mind looks forward to
discover the event, which may result from the throw of
such a dye, it considers the turning up of each particular
side as alike probable; and this is the very nature of chance,
to render all the particular events, comprehended in it, en-
tirely equal. But finding a greater number of sides concur
in the one event than in the other, the mind is carried more
frequently to that event, and meets it oftener, in revolving
the various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate
result depends. This concurrence of several views in one
particular event begets immediately, by an inexplicable con-
trivance of nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that
event the advantage over its antagonist, which is supported
by a smaller number of views, and recurs less frequently to
the mind. If we allow, that belief is nothing but a firmer
and stronger conception of an object than what attends the
mere fictions of the imagination, this operation may, perhaps,
in some measure, be accounted for. The concurrence of
these several views or glimpses imprints the idea more
strongly on the imagination; gives it superior force and
vigour; renders its influence on the passions and affections
more sensible; and in a word, begets that reliance or security,
which constitutes the nature of belief and opinion.
The case is the same with the probability of causes, as
with that of chance. There are some causes, which are
entirely uniform and constant in producing a particular
effect; and no instance has ever yet been found of any
failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire has always
burned, and water suffocated every human creature: the
production of motion by impulse and gravity is an universal
law, which has hitherto admitted of no exception. But there
are other causes, which have been found more irregular and
uncertain; nor has rhubarb always proved a purge, or
opium a soporific to every one, who has taken these medi-
cines. It is true, when any cause fails of producing its
usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to any irregularity
in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes, in the
particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation.
Our reasonings, however, and conclusions concerning the
event are the same as if this principle had no place. Being
determined by custom to transfer the past to the future, in
all our inferences; where the past has been entirely regular
and uniform, we expect the event with the greatest assur-
ance, and leave no room for any contrary supposition. But
where different effects have been found to follow from
causes, which are to appearance exactly similar, all these
various effects must occur to the mind in transferring the
past to the future, and enter into our consideration, when we
determine the probability of the event. Though we give the
preference to that which has been found most usual, and be-
lieve that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the
other effects, but must assign to each of them a particular
weight and authority, in proportion as we have found it to
be more or less frequent. It is more probable, in almost
every country of Europe, that there will be frost sometime
in January, than that the weather will continue open through
out that whole month; though this probability varies accord-
ing to the different climates, and approaches to a certainty
in the more northern kingdoms. Here then it seems evident,
that, when we transfer the past to the future, in order to
determine the effect, which will result from any cause, we
transfer all the different events, in the same proportion as
they have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have
existed a hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and
another once. As a great number of views do here concur
in one event, they fortify and confirm it to the imagination,
beget that sentiment which we call belief, and give its object
the preference above the contrary event, which is not sup-
ported by an equal number of experiments, and recurs not so
frequently to the thought in transferring the past to the
future. Let any one try to account for this operation of the
mind upon any of the received systems of philosophy, and
he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I shall
think it sufficient, if the present hints excite the curiosity of
philosophers, and make them sensible how defective all com-
mon theories are in treating of such curious and such
sublime subjects.
[1] Mr. Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In
this view, we must say, that it is only probable that all men must die, or that
the sun will rise to-morrow. But to conform our language more to common
use, we ought to divide arguments into demonstrations, proofs, and proba-
bilities. By proofs meaning such arguments from experience as leave no
room for doubt or opposition.
SECTION VII
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION
PART I
THE great advantage of the mathematical sciences
above the moral consists in this, that the ideas of the
former, being sensible, are always clear and determin-
ate, the smallest distinction between them is immediately per-
ceptible, and the same terms are still expressive of the same
ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mis-
taken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isos-
celes and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more ex-
act than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be
defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on
all occasions, the definition for the term defined: or even when
no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented
to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly
apprehended. But the finer sentiments of the mind, the
operations of the understanding, the various agitations of
the passions, though really in themselves distinct, easily
escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in our
power to recall the original object, as often as we have oc-
casion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is
gradually introduced into our reasonings: similar objects are
readily taken to be the same: and the conclusion becomes at
last very wide of the premises.
One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these
sciences in a proper light, their advantages and disadvan-
tages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both of them
to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility, re-
tains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must
carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reason-
ing, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to
reach the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral
ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into obscurity and
confusion, the inferences are always much shorter in these
disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to the
conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of
quantity and number. In reality, there is scarcely a proposi-
tion in Euclid so simple, as not to consist of more parts, than
are to be found in any moral reasoning which runs not into
chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles of the
human mind through a few steps, we may be very well satis-
fied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws
a bar to all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces
us to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief ob-
stacle, therefore, to our improvement in the moral or meta-
physical sciences is the obscurity of the ideas, and ambiguity
of the terms. The principal difficulty in the mathematics is
the length of inferences and compass of thought, requisite
to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our prog-
ress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of
proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often dis-
covered by chance, and cannot always be found, when
requisite, even by the most diligent and prudent enquiry.
As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have received less im-
provement than either geometry or physics, we may con-
clude, that, if there be any difference in this respect among
these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of
the former, require superior care and capacity to be sur-
mounted.
There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more
obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or
necessary connexion, of which it is every moment necessary
for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore,
endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise
meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of
that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this
species of philosophy.
It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dis-
pute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our im-
pressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to
think of anything, which we have not antecedently felt, either
by our external or internal senses. I have endeavoured[1] to
explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed my
hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach
a greater clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings,
than what they have hitherto been able to attain. Complex
ideas, may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is
nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas,
that compose them. But when we have pushed up defini-
tions to the most simple ideas, and find still more ambiguity
and obscurity; what resource are we then possessed of? By
what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and
render them altogether precise and determinate to our intel-
lectual view? Produce the impressions or original senti-
ments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions
are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity.
They are not only placed in a full light themselves, but may
throw light on their correspondent ideas, which lie in ob-
scurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new
microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral
sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so
enlarged as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be
equally known with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that
can be the object of our enquiry.
To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power
or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression; and
in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us
search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly
be derived.
When we look about us towards external objects, and
consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in
a single instance, to discover any power or necessary con-
nexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause,
and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other.
We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the
other. The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with
motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to
the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward
impression from this succession of objects: consequently,
there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and
effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or
necessary connexion.
From the first appearance of an object, we never can
conjecture what effect will result from it. But were the
power or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we
could foresee the effect, even without experience; and might,
at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by mere dint
of thought and reasoning.
In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by
its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give
us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or
be followed by any other object, which we could denominate
its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these qualities are
all complete in themselves, and never point out any other
event which may result from them. The scenes of the uni-
verse are continually shifting, and one object follows another
in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force,
which actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed
from us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible
qualities of body. We know that, in fact, heat is a constant
attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them,
we have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine.
It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be
derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances
of their operation; because no bodies ever discover any
power, which can be the original of this idea.[2]
Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the
senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by
their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether
this idea be derived from reflection on the operations of our
own minds, and be copied from any internal impression.
It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of
internal power; while we feel, that, by the simple command
of our will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct
the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces
motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination.
This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence
we acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain,
that we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are pos-
sessed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection,
since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own
mind, and on the command which is exercised by will, both
over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul.
We shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first
with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of
the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which,
like all other natural events, can be known only by experi-
ence, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy
or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and
renders the one an infallible consequence of the other.
The motion of our body follows upon the command of our
will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the
means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which the
will performs so extraordinary an operation; of this we are
so far from being immediately conscious, that it must for
ever escape our most diligent enquiry.
For first: Is there any principle in all nature more
mysterious than the union of soul with body; by which a
supposed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over
a material one, that the most refined thought is able to
actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a
secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in
their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more
extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But
if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the
will, we must know this power; we must know its connexion
with the effect; we must know the secret union of soul and
body, and the nature of both these substances; by which
the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the
other.
Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the
body with a like authority; though we cannot assign any
reason besides experience, for so remarkable a difference
between one and the other. Why has the will an influence
over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver?
This question would never embarrass us, were we conscious
of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should
then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority
of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed within
such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted
with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also
know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries,
and no farther.
A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or
who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours,
at first to move them, and employ them, in their usual offices.
Here he is as much conscious of power to command such
limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of power to
actuate any member which remains in its natural state and
condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently,
neither in the one case nor in the other, are we ever
conscious of any power. We learn the influence of our will
from experience alone. And experience only teaches us,
how one event constantly follows another; without in-
structing us in the secret connexion, which binds them
together, and renders them inseparable.
Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate
object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member
itself which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and
animal spirits, and, perhaps, something still more minute
and more unknown, through which the motion is successively
propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is
the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more
certain proof, that the power, by which this whole operation
is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by
an inward sentiment or consciousness is, to the last degree,
mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain
event. Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves,
and totally different from the one intended, is produced:
This event produces another, equally unknown: till at last,
through a long succession, the desired event is produced.
But if the original power were felt, it must be known: were
it known, its effect also must be known; since all power is
relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not
known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed
can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when
we have no such power; but only that to move certain
animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion
of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly
beyond our comprehension?
We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope,
without any temerity, though with assurance; that our idea
of power is not copied from any sentiment or consciousness
of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal
motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use and office.
That their motion follows the command of the will is a
matter of common experience, like other natural events:
But the power or energy by which this is effected, like that
in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable.[3]
Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or
energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of
our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the con-
templation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it
for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed it
with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same arguments will
prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real
idea of force or energy.
First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power,
we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is
enabled to produce the effect: for these are supposed to be
synonymous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and
effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend
to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the
nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the
other? This is a real creation; a production of something
out of nothing: which implies a power so great, that it may
seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than
infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a power is
not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind.
We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea,
consequent to a command of the will: but the manner, in
which this operation is performed, the power by which it is
produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.
Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited,
as well as its command over the body; and these limits are
not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature
of cause and effect, but only by experience and observation,
as in all other natural events and in the operation of external
objects. Our authority over our sentiments and passions is
much weaker than that over our ideas; and even the latter
authority is circumscribed within very narrow boundaries.
Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate reason of these
boundaries, or show why the power is deficient in one case,
not in another.
Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different
times. A man in health possesses more of it than one
languishing with sickness. We are more master of our
thoughts in the morning than in the evening: fasting, than
after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these varia-
tions, except experience? Where then is the power, of which
we pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in
a spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mech-
anism or structure of parts, upon which the effect de-
pends, and which, being entirely unknown to us, renders
the power or energy of the will equally unknown and
incomprehensible?
Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are
sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on
all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power,
by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind
of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be
allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the
various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of
this energy in the will, it requires as certain experience as
that of which we are possessed, to convince us that such ex-
traordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of
volition.
The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in
accounting for the more common and familiar operations of
nature--such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth
of plants, the generation of animals, or the nourishment of
bodies by food: but suppose that, in all these cases, they
perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is
connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its
operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of
mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immedi-
ately expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly
conceive it possible that any other event could result from
it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena,
such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind,
that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause,
and to explain the manner in which the effect is produced
by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have re-
course to some invisible intelligent principle[4] as the imme-
diate cause of that event which surprises them, and which,
they think, cannot be accounted for from the common
powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny
a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most
familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible
as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience
the frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able
to comprehend anything like Connexion between them.
Here, then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by
reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same
principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases
that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge
mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and
original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause
of every event which appears in nature. They pretend
that those objects which are commonly denominated causes,
are in reality nothing but occasions; and that the true and
direct principle of every effect is not any power or force in
nature, but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills that
such particular objects should for ever be conjoined with
each other. Instead of saying that one billiard-ball moves
another by a force which it has derived from the author of
nature, it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular
volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this
operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence
of those general laws which he has laid down to himself in
the government of the universe. But philosophers advanc-
ing still in their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally
ignorant of the power on which depends the mutual opera-
tion of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power on
which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body
on mind, nor are we able, either from our senses or con-
sciousness, to assign the ultimate principle in one case more
than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore, reduces
them to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity
is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body;
and that they are not the organs of sense, which, being
agitated by external objects, produce sensations in the mind;
but that it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker,
which excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a
motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy
in the will that produces local motion in our members: it
is God himself, who is pleased to second our will, in itself
impotent, and to command that motion which we erro-
neously attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do
philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend
the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal opera-
tions. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is noth-
ing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When
we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raise up
its image in the fancy, it is not the will which creates that
idea: it is the universal Creator, who discovers it to the
mind, and renders it present to us.
Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full
of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists
but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his
concession: they rob nature, and all created beings, of
every power, in order to render their dependence on the
Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider
not that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magni-
fying, the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so
much to celebrate. It argues surely more power in the
Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior
creatures than to produce every thing by his own im-
mediate volition. It argues more wisdom to contrive at
first the fabric of the world with such perfect foresight
that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve all
the purposes of providence, than if the great Creator were
obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by
his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.
But if we would have a more philosophical confutation
of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may
suffice:
First, it seems to me that this theory of the universal
energy and operation of the Supreme Being is too bold
ever to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently ap-
prized of the weakness of human reason, and the narrow
limits to which it is confined in all its operations. Though
the chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so
logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if not an
absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond the
reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so
extraordinary, and so remote from common life and ex-
perience. We are got into fairy land, long ere we have
reached the last steps of our theory; and there we have no
reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to
think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any
authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense
abysses. And however we may flatter ourselves that we
are guided, in every step which we take, by a kind of ver-
isimilitude and experience, we may be assured that this
fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply
it to subjects that lie entirely out of the sphere of ex-
perience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch
afterwards.[5]
Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the arguments
on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is
true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other:
their force or energy is entirely incomprehensible: but are
we not equally ignorant of the manner or force by which
a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on itself or
on body? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea
of it? We have no sentiment or consciousness of this power
in ourselves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but
what we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were
our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any
thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all
energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest
matter. We surely comprehend as little the operations of
one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive that
motion may arise from impulse than that it may arise from
volition? All we know is our profound ignorance in both
cases.[6]
PART II
BUT to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is
already drawn out to too great a length: we have sought
in vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion in all
the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived.
It appears that, in single instances of the operation of bodies,
we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing
but one event following another, without being able to com-
prehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or
any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same
difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on
body--where we observe the motion of the latter to follow
upon the volition of the former, but are not able to observe
or conceive the tie which binds together the motion and
volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this
effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and
ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: so that, upon the
whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one in-
stance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All events
seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows an-
other; but we never can observe any tie between them. They
seem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have
no idea of any thing which never appeared to our outward
sense or inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to
be that we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and
that these words are absolutely, without any meaning, when
employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.
But there still remains one method of avoiding this con-
clusion, and one source which we have not yet examined.
When any natural object or event is presented, it is im-
possible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover,
or even conjecture, without experience, what event will
result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object
which is immediately present to the memory and senses.
Even after one instance or experiment where we have ob-
served a particular event to follow upon another, we are not
entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will happen
in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable
temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one
single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when
one particular species of event has always, in all instances,
been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple
of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of
employing that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any
matter of fact or existence. We then call the one object,
Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose that there is some
connexion between them; some power in the one, by which
it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the great-
est certainty and strongest necessity.
It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion
among events arises from a number of similar instances
which occur of the constant conjunction of these events;
nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one of these
instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But
there is nothing in a number of instances, different from
every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly
similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar in-
stances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance
of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe
that it will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel
in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination
from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or
impression from which we form the idea of power or neces-
sary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case. Contem-
plate the subject on all sides; you will never find any other
origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between one
instance, from which we can never receive the idea of con-
nexion, and a number of similar instances, by which it is
suggested. The first time a man saw the communication of
motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard balls, he
could not pronounce that the one event was connected: but
only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has ob-
served several instances of this nature, he then pronounces
them to be connected. What alteration has happened to give
rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he
now feels these events to be connected in his imagination, and
can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance
of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is
connected with another, we mean only that they have ac-
quired a connexion in our thought, and give rise to this
inference, by which they become proofs of each other's ex-
istence: A conclusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but
which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its
evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of the un-
derstanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every con-
clusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions
can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make dis-
coveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of
human reason and capacity.
And what stronger instance can be produced of the sur-
prising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than
the present. For surely, if there be any relation among
objects which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that of
cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings
concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it
alone we attain any assurance concerning objects which are
removed from the present testimony of our memory and
senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to
teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their
causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every
moment, employed about this relation: yet so imperfect are
the ideas which we form concerning it, that it is impossible
to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn
from something extraneous and foreign to it. Similar ob-
jects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have
experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may
define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and
where all the objects similar to the first are followed by
objects similar to the second. Or in other words where, if
the first object had not been, the second never had existed.
The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a
customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also
we have experience. We may, therefore, suitably to this
experience, form another definition of cause, and call it,
an object followed by another, and whose appearance always
conveys the thought to that other. But though both these
definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the
cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any
more perfect definition, which may point out that circum-
stance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its
effect. We have no idea of this connexion, nor even any
distant notion what it is we desire to know, when we en-
deavour at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that
the vibration of this string is the cause of this particular
sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We
either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and
that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar
sounds; or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and
that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the
senses, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We
may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of
these two lights; but beyond these, we have no idea of it.[7]
To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section:
Every idea is copied from some preceding impression or
sentiment; and where we cannot find any impression, we
may be certain that there is no idea. In all single instances
of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing that
produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any
idea of power or necessary connexion. But when many
uniform instances appear, and the same object is always
followed by the same event; we then begin to entertain
the notion of cause and connexion. We then feel a new
sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary connexion in
the thought or imagination between one object and its
usual attendant; and this sentiment is the original of that
idea which we seek for. For as this idea arises from
a number of similar instances, and not from any single
instance, it must arise from that circumstance, in which
the number of instances differ from every individual in-
stance. But this customary connexion or transition of the
imagination is the only circumstance in which they dif-
fer. In every other particular they are alike. The first
instance which we saw of motion communicated by the
shock of two billiard balls (to return to this obvious illustra-
tion) is exactly similar to any instance that may, at present,
occur to us; except only, that we could not, at first, infer
one event from the other; which we are enabled to do
at present, after so long a course of uniform experience.
I know not whether the reader will readily apprehend this
reasoning. I am afraid that, should I multiply words about
it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it would only
become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract reason-
ings there is one point of view which, if we can happily
hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the subject
than by all the eloquence and copious expression in the
world. This point of view we should endeavour to reach,
and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects which are
more adapted to them.
[1] Section II.
[2] Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding from experience,
that there are several new productions in matter, and concluding that there
must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we arrive at last
by this reasoning at the idea of power. But no reasoning can ever give us
a new, original, simple idea; as this philosopher himself confesses. This,
therefore, can never be the origin of that idea.
[3] It may be pretended, that the resistance which we meet with in bodies,
obliging us frequently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this
gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong endeavour,
of which we are conscious, that is the original impression from which this
idea is copied. But, first, we attribute power to a vast number of objects,
where we never can suppose this resistance or exertion of force to take
place; to the Supreme Being, who never meets with any resistance; to
the mind in its command over its ideas and limbs, in common thinking
and motion, where the effect follows immediately upon the will, without
any exertion or summoning up of force; to inanimate matter, which is not
capable of this sentiment. Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavour to
overcome resistance has no known connexion with any event: What follows
it, we know by experience; but could not know it a priori. It must, how-
ever, be confessed, that the animal nisus, which we experience, though it
can afford no accurate precise idea of power, enters very much into that
vulgar, inaccurate idea, which is formed by it.
[4] [three greek words]
[5] Section XII.
[6] I need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much talked
of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter. We find by
experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues for ever in its present
state, till put from it by some new cause; and that a body impelled takes
as much motion from the impelling body as it acquires itself. These are
facts. When we call this a vis inertiae, we only mark these facts, without
pretending to have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as,
when we talk of gravity, we mean certain effects, without comprehending
that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir ISAAC NEWTON to rob
second causes of all force or energy; though some of his followers have
endeavoured to establish that theory upon his authority. On the contrary,
that great philosopher had recourse to an etherial active fluid to explain
his universal attraction; though he was so cautious and modest as to allow,
that it was a mere hypothesis, no to be insisted on, without more experi-
ments. I must confess, that there is something in the fate of opinions a
little extraordinary. DES CARTES insinuated that doctrine of the universal
and sole efficacy of the Deity, without insisting on it. MALEBRANCHE and other
CARTESIANS made it the foundation of all their philosophy. It had, however,
no authority in England. LOCKE, CLARKE, and CUDWORTH, never so much
as notice of it, but suppose all along, that matter has a real, though
subordinate and derived power. By what means has it become so prevalent
among our modern metaphysicians?
[7] According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power is
relative as much as that of cause; and both have a reference to an effect, or
some other event constantly conjoined with the former. When we consider
the unknown circumstance of an object, by which the degree or quantity
of its effect is fixed and determined, we call that its power: and accordingly,
it is allowed by all philosophers, that the effect is the measure of the power.
But if they had any idea of power, as it is in itself, why could not they
Measure it in itself? The dispute whether the force of a body in motion
be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity; this dispute, I say, need not
be decided by comparing its effects in equal or unequal times; but by a
direct mensuration and comparison.
As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c., which
every where occur in common conversation, as well as in philosophy; that is
no proof, that we are acquainted, in any instance, with the connecting
principle between cause and effect, or can account ultimately for the pro-
duction of one thing to another. These words, as commonly used, have
very loose meanings annexed to them; and their ideas are very uncertain
and confused. No animal can put external bodies in motion without the
sentiment of a nisus or endeavour; and every animal has a sentiment or
feeling from the stroke or blow of an external object, that is in motion.
These sensations, which are merely animal, and from which we can a priori
draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate objects, and to sup-
pose, that they have some such feelings, whenever they transfer or receive
motion. With regard to energies, which are exerted, without our annexing
to them any idea of communicated motion, we consider only the constant
experienced conjunction of the events; and as we feel a customary con-
nexion between the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing
is more usual than to apply to external bodies every internal sensation,
which they occasion.
SECTION VIII
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY
PART I
IT might reasonably be expected in questions which have
been canvassed and disputed with great eagerness, since
the first origin of science, and philosophy, that the
meaning of all the terms, at least, should have been agreed
upon among the disputants; and our enquiries, in the course
of two thousand years, been able to pass from words to
the true and real subject of the controversy. For how
easy may it seem to give exact definitions of the terms
employed in reasoning, and make these definitions, not the
mere sound of words, the object of future scrutiny and
examination? But if we consider the matter more narrowly,
we shall be apt to draw a quite opposite conclusion. From
this circumstance alone, that a controversy has been long
kept on foot, and remains still undecided, we may presume
that there is some ambiguity in the expression, and that the
disputants affix different ideas to the terms employed in the
controversy. For as the faculties of the mind are supposed
to be naturally alike in every individual; otherwise nothing
could be more fruitless than to reason or dispute together;
it were impossible, if men affix the same ideas to their
terms, that they could so long form different opinions of
the same subject; especially when they communicate their
views, and each party turn themselves on all sides, in search
of arguments which may give them the victory over their
antagonists. It is true, if men attempt the discussion of
questions which lie entirely beyond the reach of human
capacity, such as those concerning the origin of worlds, or
the economy of the intellectual system or region of spirits,
they may long beat the air in their fruitless contests, and
never arrive at any determinate conclusion. But if the
question regard any subject of common life and experience,
nothing, one would think, could preserve the dispute so
long undecided but some ambiguous expressions, which
keep the antagonists still at a distance, and hinder them
from grappling with each other.
This has been the case in the long disputed question
concerning liberty and necessity; and to so remarkable
a degree that, if I be not much mistaken, we shall find,
that all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have always
been of the same opinion with regard to this subject, and
that a few intelligible definitions would immediately have
put an end to the whole controversy. I own that this
dispute has been so much canvassed on all hands, and has
led philosophers into such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry,
that it is no wonder, if a sensible reader indulge his ease so
far as to turn a deaf ear to the proposal of such a question,
from which he can expect neither instruction or entertain-
ment. But the state of the argument here proposed may,
perhaps, serve to renew his attention; as it has more
novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy,
and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or
obscure reasoning.
I hope, therefore, to make it appear that all men have
ever agreed in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty,
according to any reasonable sense, which can be put on
these terms; and that the whole controversy, has hitherto
turned merely upon words. We shall begin with examining
the doctrine of necessity.
It is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations,
is actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural
effect is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause
that no other effect, in such particular circumstances, could
possibly have resulted from it. The degree and direction
of every motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with
such exactness that a living creature may as soon arise
from the shock of two bodies as motion in any other de-
gree or direction than what is actually produced by it.
Would we, therefore, form a just and precise idea of neces-
sity, we must consider whence that idea arises when we apply
it to the operation of bodies.
It seems evident that, if all the scenes of nature were
continually shifted in such a manner that no two events
bore any resemblance to each other, but every object was
entirely new, without any similitude to whatever had been
seen before, we should never, in that case, have attained
the least idea of necessity, or of a connexion among these
objects. We might say, upon such a supposition, that one
object or event has followed another; not that one was
produced by the other. The relation of cause and effect
must be utterly unknown to mankind. Inference and rea-
soning concerning the operations of nature would, from
that moment, be at an end; and the memory and senses
remain the only canals, by which the knowledge of any
real existence could possibly have access to the mind. Our
idea, therefore, of necessity and causation arises entirely
from the uniformity observable in the operations of nature,
where similar objects are constantly conjoined together,
and the mind is determined by custom to infer the one
from the appearance of the other. These two circum-
stances form the whole of that necessity, which we ascribe
to matter. Beyond the constant conjunction of similar
objects, and the consequent inference from one to the other,
we have no notion of any necessity or connexion.
If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed,
without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circum-
stances take place in the voluntary actions of men, and in
the operations of mind; it must follow, that all mankind
have ever agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they
have hitherto disputed, merely for not understanding each
other.
As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular con-
junction of similar events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves
by the following considerations: It is universally acknowl-
edged that there is a great uniformity among the actions of
men, in all nations and ages, and that human nature remains
still the same, in its principles and operations. The same
motives always produce the same actions: the same events
follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice, self-love,
vanity, friendship, generosity, public spirit: these passions,
mixed in various degrees, and distributed through society,
have been, from the beginning of the world, and still are,
the source of all the actions and enterprises, which have
ever been observed among mankind. Would you know the
sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the Greeks
and Romans? Study well the temper and actions of the
French and English: You cannot be much mistaken in trans-
ferring to the former most of the observations which you
have made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so much
the same, in all times and places, that history informs us of
nothing new or strange in this particular. Its chief use is
only to discover the constant and universal principles of
human nature, by showing men in all varieties of circum-
stances and situations, and furnishing us with materials
from which we may form our observations and become ac-
quainted with the regular springs of human action and be-
haviour. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and
revolutions, are so many collections of experiments, by
which the politician or moral philosopher fixes the prin-
ciples of his science, in the same manner as the physician
or natural philosopher becomes acquainted with the nature
of plants, minerals, and other external objects, by the ex-
periments which he forms concerning them. Nor are the
earth, water, and other elements, examined by Aristotle, and
Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under
our observation than the men described by Polybius and
Tacitus are to those who now govern the world.
Should a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us
an account of men, wholly different from any with whom
we were ever acquainted; men, who were entirely divested
of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who knew no pleasure but
friendship, generosity, and public spirit; we should immedi-
ately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and
prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed
his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles
and prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in
history, we cannot make use of a more convincing argu-
ment, than to prove, that the actions ascribed to any person
are directly contrary to the course of nature, and that no
human motives, in such circumstances, could ever induce
him to such a conduct. The veracity of Quintus Curtius
is as much to be suspected, when he describes the super-
natural courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried on
singly to attack multitudes, as when he describes his super-
natural force and activity, by which he was able to resist
them. So readily and universally do we acknowledge a uni-
formity in human motives and actions as well as in the
operations of body.
Hence likewise the benefit of that experience, acquired
by long life and a variety of business and company, in order
to instruct us in the principles of human nature, and regu-
late our future conduct, as well as speculation. By means
of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge of men's in-
clinations and motives, from their actions, expressions, and
even gestures; and again descend to the interpretation of
their actions from our knowledge of their motives and in-
clinations. The general observations treasured up by a
course of experience, give us the clue of human nature, and
teach us to unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts and appear-
ances no longer deceive us. Public declarations pass for the
specious colouring of a cause. And though virtue and
honour be allowed their proper weight and authority, that
perfect disinterestedness, so often pretended to, is never ex-
pected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their leaders;
and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station. But
were there no uniformity in human actions, and were every
experiment which we could form of this kind irregular and
anomalous, it were impossible to collect any general observa-
tions concerning mankind; and no experience, however ac-
curately digested by reflection, would ever serve to any
purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more skilful in his
calling than the young beginner but because there is a
certain uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and
earth towards the production of vegetables; and experience
teaches the old practitioner the rules by which this operation
is governed and directed.
We must not, however, expect that this uniformity of
human actions should be carried to such a length as that all
men, in the same circumstances, will always act precisely in
the same manner, without making any allowance for the
diversity of characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a
uniformity in every particular, is found in no part of nature.
On the contrary, from observing the variety of conduct in
different men, we are enabled to form a greater variety of
maxims, which still suppose a degree of uniformity and
regularity.
Are the manners of men different in different ages and
countries? We learn thence the great force of custom and
education, which mould the human mind from its infancy
and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the
behaviour and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of
the other? Is it thence we become acquainted with the
different characters which nature has impressed upon the
sexes, and which she preserves with constancy and regu-
larity? Are the actions of the same person much diversified
in the different periods of his life, from infancy to old age?
This affords room for many general observations concerning
the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and
the different maxims which prevail in the different ages of
human creatures. Even the characters, which are peculiar
to each individual, have a uniformity in their influence;
otherwise our acquaintance with the persons and our obser-
vation of their conduct could never teach us their disposi-
tions, or serve to direct our behaviour with regard to them.
I grant it possible to find some actions, which seem to
have no regular connexion with any known motives, and
are exceptions to all the measures of conduct which have
ever been established for the government of men. But
if we would willingly know what judgment should be formed
of such irregular and extraordinary actions, we may con-
sider the sentiments commonly entertained with regard to
those irregular events which appear in the course of nature,
and the operations of external objects. All causes are not
conjoined to their usual effects with like uniformity. An
artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be disappointed
of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct
of sensible and intelligent agents.
The vulgar, who take things according to their first ap-
pearance, attribute the uncertainty of events to such an
uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter often fail
of their usual influence; though they meet with no impedi-
ment in their operation. But philosophers, observing that,
almost in every part of nature, there is contained a vast
variety of springs and principles, which are hid, by reason
of their minuteness or remoteness, find, that it is at least
possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any
contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of
contrary causes. This possibility is converted into cer-
tainty by farther observation, when they remark that, upon
an exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects always betrays
a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their mutual
opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the
stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it does not
commonly go right: But an artist easily perceives that the
same force in the spring or pendulum has always the same
influence on the wheels; but fails of its usual effects, perhaps
by reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the
whole movement. From the observation of several parallel
instances, philosophers form a maxim that the connexion
between all causes and effects is equally necessary, and
that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds
from the secret opposition of contrary causes.
Thus, for instance, in the human body, when the usual
symptoms of health or sickness disappoint our expectation;
when medicines operate not with their wonted powers;
when irregular events follow from any particular cause; the
philosopher and physician are not surprised at the matter,
nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity and
uniformity of those principles by which the animal economy
is conducted. They know that a human body is a mighty
complicated machine: That many secret powers lurk in it,
which are altogether beyond our comprehension: That to
us it must often appear very uncertain in its operations: And
that therefore the irregular events, which outwardly discover
themselves, can be no proof that the laws of nature are
not observed with the greatest regularity in its internal
operations and government.
The philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same
reasoning to the actions and volitions of intelligent agents.
The most irregular and unexpected resolutions of men may
frequently be accounted for by those who know every par-
ticular circumstance of their character and situation. A
person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer:
But he has the toothache, or has not dined. A stupid fellow
discovers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But he
has met with a sudden piece of good fortune. Or even when
an action, as sometimes happens, cannot be particularly ac-
counted for, either by the person himself or by others; we
know, in general, that the characters of men are, to a certain
degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the
constant character of human nature; though it be appli-
cable, in a more particular manner, to some persons who
have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a con-
tinued course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal
principles and motives may operate in a uniform manner,
notwithstanding these seeming irregularities; in the same
manner as the winds, rain, cloud, and other variations of
the weather are supposed to be governed by steady prin-
ciples; though not easily discoverable by human sagacity
and enquiry.
Thus it appears, not only that the conjunction between
motives and voluntary actions is as regular and uniform
as that between the cause and effect in any part of nature;
but also that this regular conjunction has been universally
acknowledged among mankind, and has never been the
subject of dispute, either in philosophy or common life.
Now, as it is from past experience that we draw all infer-
ences concerning the future, and as we conclude that objects
will always be conjoined together which we find to have
always been conjoined; it may seem superfluous to prove
that this experienced uniformity in human actions is a source
whence we draw inferences concerning them. But in order
to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights we
shall also insist, though briefly, on this latter topic.
The mutual dependence of men is so great in all societies
that scarce any human action is entirely complete in itself,
or is performed without some reference to the actions of
others, which are requisite to make it answer fully the in-
tention of the agent. The poorest artificer, who labours
alone, expects at least the protection of the magistrate, to
ensure him the enjoyment of the fruits of his labour. He
also expects that, when he carries his goods to market, and
offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers,
and shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others
to supply him with those commodities which are requisite
for his subsistence. In proportion as men extend their deal-
ings, and render their intercourse with others more com-
plicated, they always comprehend, in their schemes of life,
a greater variety of voluntary actions, which they expect,
from the proper motives, to co-operate with their own. In
all these conclusions they take their measures from past ex-
perience, in the same manner as in their reasonings con-
cerning external objects; and firmly believe that men, as
well as all the elements, are to continue, in their operations,
the same that they have ever found them. A manufacturer
reckons upon the labour of his servants for the execution of
any work as much as upon the tools which he employs,
and would be equally surprised were his expectations dis-
appointed. In short, this experimental inference and rea-
soning concerning the actions of others enters so much into
human life that no man, while awake, is ever a moment
without employing it. Have we not reason, therefore, to
affirm that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine
of necessity according to the foregoing definition and ex-
plication of it?
Nor have philosophers even entertained a different
opinion from the people in this particular. For, not to men-
tion that almost every action of their life supposes that
opinion, there are even few of the speculative parts of learn-
ing to which it is not essential. What would become of
history, had we not a dependence on the veracity of the
historian according to the experience which we have had of
mankind? How could politics be a science, if laws and
forms of government had not a uniform influence upon
society? Where would be the foundation of morals, if par-
ticular characters had no certain or determinate power to
produce particular sentiments, and if these sentiments had
no constant operation on actions? And with what pretence
could we employ our criticism upon any poet or polite author,
if we could not pronounce the conduct and sentiments of
his actors either natural or unnatural to such characters,
and in such circumstances? It seems almost impossible,
therefore, to engage either in science or action of any kind
without acknowledging the doctrine of necessity, and this
inference from motive to voluntary actions, from characters
to conduct.
And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and
moral evidence link together, and form only one chain of
argument, we shall make no scruple to allow that they are
of the same nature, and derived from the same principles.
A prisoner who has neither money nor interest, discovers
the impossibility of his escape, as well when he considers
the obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars with
which he is surrounded; and, in all attempts for his freedom,
chooses rather to work upon the stone and iron of the one,
than upon the inflexible nature of the other. The same
prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, foresees his death
as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards, as
from the operation of the axe or wheel. His mind runs
along a certain train of ideas: the refusal of the soldiers
to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner;
the separation of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive
motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural
causes and voluntary actions; but the mind feels no differ-
ence between them in passing from one link to another:
Nor is it less certain of the future event than if it were con-
nected with the objects present to the memory or senses, by
a train of causes, cemented together by what we are pleased
to call a physical necessity. The same experienced union
has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects
be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We
may change the name of things; but their nature and their
operation on the understanding never change.
Were a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent,
and with whom I live in intimate friendship, to come into
my house, where I am surrounded with my servants, I rest
assured that he is not to stab me before he leaves it in
order to rob me of my silver standish; and I no more
suspect this event than the falling of the house itself, which
is new, and solidly built and founded.--But he may have
been seized with a sudden and unknown frenzy.--So may
a sudden earthquake arise, and shake and tumble my house
about my ears. I shall therefore change the suppositions.
I shall say that I know with certainty that he is not to put
his hand into the fire and hold it there till it be consumed:
and this event, I think I can foretell with the same assurance,
as that, if he throw himself out at the window, and meet
with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended
in the air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give
the least possibility to the former event, which is so con-
trary to all the known principles of human nature. A man
who at noon leaves his purse full of gold on the pavement
at Charing-Cross, may as well expect that it will fly away
like a feather, as that he will find it untouched an hour after.
Above one half of human reasonings contain inferences of
a similar nature, attended with more or less degrees of cer-
tainty proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct
of mankind in such particular situations.
I have frequently considered, what could possibly be the
reason why all mankind, though they have ever, without
hesitation, acknowledged the doctrine of necessity in their
whole practice and reasoning, have yet discovered such
a reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have rather
shown a propensity, in all ages, to profess the contrary
opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for after
the following manner. If we examine the operations of
body, and the production of effects from their causes, we
shall find that all our faculties can never carry us farther in
our knowledge of this relation than barely to observe that
particular objects are constantly conjoined together, and
that the mind is carried, by a customary transition, from the
appearance of one to the belief of the other. But though
this conclusion concerning human ignorance be the result
of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still entertain
a strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther
into the powers of nature, and perceive something like
a necessary connexion between the cause and the effect.
When again they turn their reflections towards the opera-
tions of their own minds, and feel no such connexion of the
motive and the action; they are thence apt to suppose, that
there is a difference between the effects which result from
material force, and those which arise from thought and
intelligence. But being once convinced that we know
nothing farther of causation of any kind than merely the
constant conjunction of objects, and the consequent inference
of the mind from one to another, and finding that these
two circumstances are universally allowed to have place in
voluntary actions; we may be more easily led to own the
same necessity common to all causes. And though this
reasoning may contradict the systems of many philosophers,
in ascribing necessity to the determinations of the will, we
shall find, upon reflection, that they dissent from it in words
only, not in their real sentiment. Necessity, according to the
sense in which it is here taken, has never yet been rejected,
nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philosopher. It
may only, perhaps, be pretended that the mind can per-
ceive, in the operations of matter, some farther connexion
between the cause and effect; and connexion that has not
place in voluntary actions of intelligent beings. Now
whether it be so or not, can only appear upon examination;
and it is incumbent on these philosophers to make good
their assertion, by defining or describing that necessity, and
pointing it out to us in the operations of material causes.
It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end
of this question concerning liberty and necessity, when
they enter upon it by examining the faculties of the soul,
the influence of the understanding, and the operations of
the will. Let them first discuss a more simple question,
namely, the operations of body and of brute unintelligent
matter; and try whether they can there form any idea of
causation and necessity, except that of a constant conjunc-
tion of objects, and subsequent inference of the mind from
one to another. If these circumstances form, in reality, the
whole of that necessity, which we conceive in matter, and
if these circumstances be also universally acknowledged to
take place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at
an end; at least, must be owned to be thenceforth merely
verbal. But as long as we will rashly suppose, that we have
some farther idea of necessity and causation in the opera-
tions of external objects; at the same time, that we can find
nothing farther in the voluntary actions of the mind; there
is no possibility of bringing the question to any determinate
issue, while we proceed upon so erroneous a supposition.
The only method of undeceiving us is to mount up higher;
to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to
material causes; and to convince ourselves that all we
know of them is the constant conjunction and inference
above mentioned. We may, perhaps, find that it is with dif-
ficulty we are induced to fix such narrow limits to human
understanding: but we can afterwards find no difficulty
when we come to apply this doctrine to the actions of the
will. For as it is evident that these have a regular con-
junction with motives and circumstances and characters, and
as we always draw inferences from one to the other, we
must be obliged to acknowledge in words that necessity,
which we have already avowed, in every deliberation of our
lives, and in every step of our conduct and behaviour.[1]
But to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to
the question of liberty and necessity; the most contentious
question of metaphysics, the most contentious science; it
will not require many words to prove, that all mankind
have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that
of necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also,
has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by
liberty, when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot
surely mean that actions have so little connexion with
motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not
follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other,
and that one affords no inference by which we can conclude
the existence of the other. For these are plain and acknowl-
edged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean
a power of acting or not acting, according to the determin-
ations of the will; this is, if we choose to remain at rest,
we may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now this
hypothetical liberty is universally allowed to belong to every
one who is not a prisoner and in chains. Here, then, is no
subject of dispute.
Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we should be
careful to observe two requisite circumstances; First, that
it be consistent with plain matter of fact; secondly, that
it be consistent with itself. If we observe these circum-
stances, and render our definition intelligible, I am per-
suaded that all mankind will be found of one opinion with
regard to it.
It is universally allowed that nothing exists without a
cause of its existence, and that chance, when strictly ex-
amined, is a mere negative word, and means not any real
power which has anywhere a being in nature. But it is
pretended that some causes are necessary, some not neces-
sary. Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let any
one define a cause, without comprehending, as a part of the
definition, a necessary connexion with its effect; and let him
show distinctly the origin of the idea, expressed by the
definition; and I shall readily give up the whole con-
troversy. But if the foregoing explication of the matter
be received, this must be absolutely impracticable. Had
not objects a regular conjunction with each other, we
should never have entertained any notion of cause and
effect; and this regular conjunction produces that inference
of the understanding, which is the only connexion, that we
can have any comprehension of. Whoever attempts a defi-
nition of cause, exclusive of these circumstances, will be
obliged either to employ unintelligible terms or such as
are synonymous to the term which he endeavours to define.[2]
And if the definition above mentioned be admitted; liberty,
when opposed to necessity, not to constraint, is the same
thing with chance; which is universally allowed to have no
existence.
PART II
THERE is no method of reasoning more common, and
yet none more blameable, than, in philosophical disputes,
to endeavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pre-
tence of its dangerous consequences to religion and mor-
ality. When any opinion leads to absurdities, it is cer-
tainly false; but it is not certain that an opinion is false,
because it is of dangerous consequence. Such topics, there-
fore, ought entirely to be forborne; as serving nothing to
the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an
antagonist odious. This I observe in general, without pre-
tending to draw any advantage from it. I frankly submit
to an examination of this kind, and shall venture to affirm
that the doctrines, both of necessity and of liberty, as above
explained, are not only consistent with morality, but are
absolutely essential to its support.
Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably to the
two definitions of cause, of which it makes an essential part.
It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects,
or in the inference of the understanding from one object
to another. Now necessity, in both these senses, (which,
indeed, are at bottom the same) has universally, though
tacitly, in the schools, in the pulpit, and in common life,
been allowed to belong to the will of man; and no one
has ever pretended to deny that we can draw inferences
concerning human actions, and that those inferences are
founded on the experienced union of like actions, with like
motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only par-
ticular in which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps,
he will refuse to give the name of necessity to this property
of human actions: but as long as the meaning is understood,
I hope the word can do no harm: or that he will maintain
it possible to discover something farther in the operations
of matter. But this, it must be acknowledged, can be of
no consequence to morality or religion, whatever it may be
to natural philosophy or metaphysics. We may here be
mistaken in asserting that there is no idea of any other
necessity or connexion in the actions of body: But surely
we ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but what
everyone does, and must readily allow of. We change no
circumstance in the received orthodox system with regard
to the will, but only in that with regard to material objects
and causes. Nothing, therefore, can be more innocent, at
least, than this doctrine.
All laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it
is supposed as a fundamental principle, that these motives
have a regular and uniform influence on the mind, and
both produce the good and prevent the evil actions. We
may give to this influence what name we please; but, as it
is usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed
a cause, and be looked upon as an instance of that necessity,
which we would here establish.
The only proper object of hatred or vengeance is a
person or creature, endowed with thought and conscious-
ness; and when any criminal or injurious actions excite
that passion, it is only by their relation to the person, or
connexion with him. Actions are, by their very nature,
temporary and perishing; and where they proceed not
from some cause in the character and disposition of the
person who performed them, they can neither redound to
his honour, if good; nor infamy, if evil. The actions
themselves may be blameable; they may be contrary to all
the rules of morality and religion: but the person is not
answerable for them; and as they proceeded from nothing
in him that is durable and constant, and leave nothing of
that nature behind them, it is impossible he can, upon their
account, become the object of punishment or vengeance.
According to the principle, therefore, which denies necessity,
and consequently causes, a man is as pure and untainted,
after having committed the most horrid crime, as at the
first moment of his birth, nor is his character anywise
concerned in his actions, since they are not derived from
it, and the wickedness of the one can never be used as
a proof of the depravity of the other.
Men are not blamed for such actions as they perform
ignorantly and casually, whatever may be the consequences.
Why? but because the principles of these actions are only
momentary, and terminate in them alone. Men are less
blamed for such actions as they perform hastily and unpre-
meditatedly than for such as proceed from deliberation. For
what reason? but because a hasty temper, though a constant
cause or principle in the mind, operates only by intervals,
and infects not the whole character. Again, repentance
wipes off every crime, if attended with a reformation of life
and manners. How is this to be accounted for? but by
asserting that actions render a person criminal merely as
they are proofs of criminal principles in the mind; and
when, by an alteration of these principles, they cease to
be just proofs, they likewise cease to be criminal. But,
except upon the doctrine of necessity, they never were just
proofs, and consequently never were criminal.
It will be equally easy to prove, and from the same
arguments, that liberty, according to that definition above
mentioned, in which all men agree, is also essential to
morality, and that no human actions, where it is wanting,
are susceptible of any moral qualities, or can be the objects
either of approbation or dislike. For as actions are objects
of our moral sentiment, so far only as they are indications
of the internal character, passions, and affections; it is
impossible that they can give rise either to praise or blame,
where they proceed not from these principles, but are
derived altogether from external violence.
I pretend not to have obviated or removed all objections
to this theory, with regard to necessity and liberty. I can
foresee other objections, derived from topics which have
not here been treated of. It may be said, for instance,
that, if voluntary actions be subjected to the same laws of
necessity with the operations of matter, there is a continued
chain of necessary causes, pre-ordained and pre-determined,
reaching from the original cause of all to every single
volition of every human creature. No contingency any-
where in the universe; no indifference; no liberty. While
we act, we are, at the same time, acted upon. The ulti-
mate Author of all our volitions is the Creator of the
world, who first bestowed motion on this immense machine,
and placed all beings in that particular position, whence
every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must
result. Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral
turpitude at all, as proceeding from so good a cause; or
if they have any turpitude, they must involve our Creator
in the same guilt, while he is acknowledged to be their
ultimate cause and author. For as a man, who fired a mine,
is answerable for all the consequences whether the train he
employed be long or short; so wherever a continued chain
of necessary causes is fixed, that Being, either finite or
infinite, who produces the first, is likewise the author of all
the rest, and must both bear the blame and acquire the
praise which belong to them. Our clear and unalterable
ideas of morality establish this rule, upon unquestionable
reasons, when we examine the consequences of any human
action; and these reasons must still have greater force
when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being
infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may
be pleaded for so limited a creature as man; but those
imperfections have no place in our Creator. He foresaw,
he ordained, he intended all those actions of men, which
we so rashly pronounce criminal. And we must there-
fore conclude, either that they are not criminal, or that
the Deity, not man, is accountable for them. But as either
of these positions is absurd and impious, it follows, that
the doctrine from which they are deduced cannot possibly
be true, as being liable to all the same objections. An absurd
consequence, if necessary, proves the original doctrine to be
absurd; in the same manner as criminal actions render crimi-
nal the original cause, if the connexion between them be
necessary and inevitable.
This objection consists of two parts, which we shall
examine separately; First, that, if human actions can be
traced up, by a necessary chain, to the Deity, they can never
be criminal; on account of the infinite perfection of that
Being from whom they are derived, and who can intend
nothing but what is altogether good and laudable. Or,
Secondly, if they be criminal, we must retract the attribute
of perfection, which we ascribe to the Deity, and must
acknowledge him to be the ultimate author of guilt and
moral turpitude in all his creatures.
The answer to the first objection seems obvious and con-
vincing. There are many philosophers who, after an exact
scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature, conclude, that
the WHOLE, considered as one system, is, in every period of
its existence, ordered with perfect benevolence; and that
the utmost possible happiness will, in the end, result to all
created beings, without any mixture of positive or absolute
ill or misery. Every physical ill, say they, makes an essen-
tial part of this benevolent system, and could not possibly
be removed, even by the Deity himself, considered as a
wise agent, without giving entrance to greater ill, or ex-
cluding greater good, which will result from it. From this
theory, some philosophers, and the ancient Stoics among
the rest, derived a topic of consolation under all afflictions,
while they taught their pupils that those ills under which
they laboured were, in reality, goods to the universe; and
that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the
whole system of nature, every event became an object of
joy and exultation. But though this topic be specious and
sublime, it was soon found in practice weak and inef-
fectual. You would surely more irritate than appease a
man lying under the racking pains of the gout by preaching
up to him the rectitude of those general laws, which pro-
duced the malignant humours in his body, and led them
through the proper canals, to the sinews and nerves, where
they now excite such acute torments. These enlarged
views may, for a moment, please the imagination of a
speculative man, who is placed in ease and security; but
neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind, even
though undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion;
much less can they maintain their ground when attacked
by such powerful antagonists. The affections take a nar-
rower and more natural survey of their object; and by an
economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human minds,
regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by
such events as appear good or ill to the private system.
The case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It
cannot reasonably be supposed, that those remote consid-
erations, which are found of so little efficacy with regard
to one, will have a more powerful influence with regard
to the other. The mind of man is so formed by nature
that, upon the appearance of certain characters, dispositions,
and actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of appro-
bation or blame; nor are there any emotions more essential
to its frame and constitution. The characters which engage
our approbation are chiefly such as contribute to the peace
and security of human society; as the characters which
excite blame are chiefly such as tend to public detriment
and disturbance: whence it may reasonably be presumed,
that the moral sentiments arise, either mediately or im-
mediately, from a reflection of these opposite interests.
What though philosophical meditations establish a different
opinion or conjecture; that everything is right with regard
to the WHOLE, and that the qualities, which disturb society,
are, in the main, as beneficial, and are as suitable to the
primary intention of nature as those which more directly
promote its happiness and welfare? Are such remote and
uncertain speculations able to counterbalance the senti-
ments which arise from the natural and immediate view of
the objects? A man who is robbed of a considerable sum;
does he find his vexation for the loss anywise diminished
by these sublime reflections? Why then should his moral
resentment against the crime be supposed incompatible
with them? Or why should not the acknowledgment of
a real distinction between vice and virtue be reconcileable
to all speculative systems of philosophy, as well as that of
a real distinction between personal beauty and deformity?
Both these distinctions are founded in the natural senti-
ments of the human mind: And these sentiments are not
to be controuled or altered by any philosophical theory or
speculation whatsoever.
The second objection admits not of so easy and satis-
factory an answer; nor is it possible to explain distinctly,
how the Deity can be the mediate cause of all the actions
of men, without being the author of sin and moral turpitude.
These are mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted
reason is very unfit to handle; and whatever system she
embraces, she must find herself involved in inextricable
difficulties, and even contradictions, at every step which she
takes with regard to such subjects. To reconcile the in-
difference and contingency of human actions with prescience;
or to defend absolute decrees, and yet free the Deity from
being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to exceed
all the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence
sensible of her temerity, when she pries into these sublime
mysteries; and leaving a scene so full of obscurities and
perplexities, return, with suitable modesty, to her true and
proper province, the examination of common life; where
she will find difficulties enough to employ her enquiries,
without launching into so boundless an ocean of doubt,
uncertainty, and contradiction!
[1] The prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may be accounted for, from
another cause, viz. a false sensation of seeming experience which we have,
or may have, of liberty or indifference, in many of our actions. The necessity
of any action, whether of matter or of mind, is not, properly speaking, a
quality in the agent, but in any thinking or intelligent being, who may con-
sider the action; and it consists chiefly in the determination of his thoughts
to infer the existence of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty,
when opposed to necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination,
and a certain looseness or indifference, which we feel, in passing, or not
passing, from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding one. Now
we may observe, that, though, in reflecting on human actions, we seldom
feel such a looseness, or indifference, but are commonly able to infer them
with considerable certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions
of the agent; yet it frequently happens, that, in performing the actions
themselves, we are sensible of something like it: And as all resembling
objects are readily taken for each other, this has been employed as a
demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel, that
our actions are subject to our will, on most occasions; and imagine we
feel, that the will itself is subject to nothing, because, when by a denial
of it we are provoked to try, we feel, that it moves easily every way, and
produces an image of itself (or a Velleity, as it is called in the schools)
even on that side, on which it did not settle. This image, or faint motion,
we persuade ourselves, could, at that time, have been compleated into the
thing itself; because, should that be denied, we find, upon a second trial,
that, at present, it can. We consider not, that the fantastical desire of
shewing liberty, is here the motive of our actions. And it seems certain,
that, however we may imagine we feel a liberty within ourselves, a spec-
tator can commonly infer our actions from our motives and character; and
even where he cannot, he concludes in general, that he might, were he
perfectly acquainted with every circumstance of our situation and temper,
and the most secret springs of our complexion and disposition. Now this
is the very essence of necessity, according to the foregoing doctrine.
[2] Thus, if a cause be defined, that which produces any thing, it is easy
to observe, that producing is synonymous to causing. In like manner, if a
cause be defined, that by which any thing exists, this is liable to the same
objection. For what is meant by these words, by which? Had it been
said, that a cause is that after which any thing constantly exists; we should
have understood the terms. For this is, indeed, all we know of the mat-
ter. And this constantly forms the very essence of necessity, nor have we
any other idea of it.
SECTION IX
OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS
ALL our reasonings concerning matter of fact are
founded on a species of Analogy, which leads us
to expect from any cause the same events, which
we have observed to result from similar causes. Where
the causes are entirely similar, the analogy is perfect,
and the inference, drawn from it, is regarded as cer-
tain and conclusive: nor does any man ever entertain a
doubt, where he sees a piece of iron, that it will have
weight and cohesion of parts; as in all other instances,
which have ever fallen under his observation. But where
the objects have not so exact a similarity, the analogy is
less perfect, and the inference is less conclusive; though
still it has some force, in proportion to the degree of similar-
ity and resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed
upon one animal, are, by this species of reasoning, extended
to all animals; and it is certain, that when the circulation of
the blood, for instance, is clearly proved to have place in
one creature, as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong presump-
tion, that the same principle has place in all. These ana-
logical observations may be carried farther, even to this
science, of which we are now treating; and any theory, by
which we explain the operations of the understanding, or
the origin and connexion of the passions in man, will
acquire additional authority, if we find, that the same theory
is requisite to explain the same phenomena in all other
animals. We shall make trial of this, with regard to the
hypothesis, by which we have, in the foregoing discourse,
endeavoured to account for all experimental reasonings;
and it is hoped, that this new point of view will serve to
confirm all our former observations.
First, It seems evident, that animals as well as men learn
many things from experience, and infer, that the same events
will always follow from the same causes. By this principle
they become acquainted with the more obvious properties
of external objects, and gradually, from their birth, treasure
up a knowledge of the nature of fire, water, earth, stones,
heights, depths, &c., and of the effects which result from
their operation. The ignorance and inexperience of the
young are here plainly distinguishable from the cunning and
sagacity of the old, who have learned, by long observation,
to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue what gave ease or
pleasure. A horse, that has been accustomed to the field,
becomes acquainted with the proper height which he can
leap, and will never attempt what exceeds his force and
ability. An old greyhound will trust the more fatiguing
part of the chace to the younger, and will place himself so
as to meet the hare in her doubles; nor are the conjectures,
which he forms on this occasion, founded in any thing but
his observation and experience.
This is still more evident from the effects of discipline
and education on animals, who, by the proper application
of rewards and punishments, may be taught any course of
action, and most contrary to their natural instincts and
propensities. Is it not experience, which renders a dog
apprehensive of pain, when you menace him, or lift up the
whip to beat him? Is it not even experience, which makes
him answer to his name, and infer, from such an arbitrary
sound, that you mean him rather than any of his fellows, and
intend to call him, when you pronounce it in a certain
manner, and with a certain tone and accent?
In all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers
some fact beyond what immediately strikes his senses; and
that this inference is altogether founded on past experience,
while the creature expects from the present object the same
consequences, which it has always found in its observation
to result from similar objects.
Secondly, It is impossible, that this inference of the animal
can be founded on any process of argument or reasoning,
by which he concludes, that like events must follow like
objects, and that the course of nature will always be regular
in its operations. For if there be in reality any arguments
of this nature, they surely lie too abstruse for the observation
of such imperfect understandings; since it may well employ
the utmost care and attention of a philosophic genius to
discover and observe them. Animals, therefore are not
guided in these inferences by reasoning: neither are chil-
dren; neither are the generality of mankind, in their ordi-
nary actions and conclusions: neither are philosophers them-
selves, who, in all the active parts of life, are, in the
main, the same with the vulgar, and are governed by the
same maxims. Nature must have provided some other
principle, of more ready, and more general use and applica-
tion; nor can an operation of such immense consequence in
life, as that of inferring effects from causes, be trusted to
the uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation.
Were this doubtful with regard to men, it seems to admit
of no question with regard to the brute creation; and the
conclusion being once firmly established in the one, we have
a strong presumption, from all the rules of analogy, that
it ought to be universally admitted, without any exception
or reserve. It is custom alone, which engages animals,
from every object, that strikes their senses, to infer its
usual attendant, and carries their imagination, from the
appearance of the one, to conceive the other, in that partic-
ular manner, which we denominate belief. No other ex-
plication can be given of this operation, in all the higher,
as well as lower classes of sensitive beings, which fall under
our notice and observation.[1]
But though animals learn many parts of their knowledge
from observation, there are also many parts of it, which
they derive from the original hand of nature; which much
exceed the share of capacity they possess on ordinary occa-
sions; and in which they improve, little or nothing, by the
longest practice and experience. These we denominate
Instincts, and are so apt to admire as something very extraor-
dinary, and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human
understanding. But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or
diminish, when we consider, that the experimental reason-
ing itself, which we possess in common with beasts, and on
which the whole conduct of life depends, is nothing but
a species of instinct or mechanical power, that acts in us
unknown to ourselves; and in its chief operations, is not
directed by any such relations or comparisons of ideas, as
are the proper objects of our intellectual faculties. Though
the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct, which
teaches a man to avoid the fire; as much as that, which
teaches a bird, with such exactness, the art of incubation, and
the whole economy and order of its nursery.
[1] Since all reasoning concerning facts or causes is derived merely from
custom, it may be asked how it happens, that men so much surpass animals
in reasoning, and one man so much surpasses another? Has not the same
custom the same influence on all?
We shall here endeavour briefly to explain the great difference in human
understandings: After which the reason of the difference between men and
animals will easily be comprehended.
1. When we have lived any time, and have been accustomed to the uni-
formity of nature, we acquire a general habit, by which we always transfer
the known to the unknown, and conceive the latter to resemble the former.
By means of this general habitual principle, we regard even one experi-
ment as the foundation of reasoning, and expect a similar event with some
degree of certainty, where the experiment has been made accurately, and
free from all foreign circumstances. It is therefore considered as a matter
of great importance to observe the consequences of things; and as one man
may very much surpass another in attention and memory and observation,
this will make a very great difference in their reasoning.
2. Where there is a complication of causes to produce any effect, one
mind may be much larger than another, and better able to comprehend the
whole system of objects, and to infer justly their consequences.
3. One man is able to carry on a chain of consequences to a greater
length than another.
4. Few men can think long without running into a confusion of ideas, and
mistaking one for another; and there are various degrees of this infirmity.
5. The circumstance, on which the effect depends, is frequently involved
in other circumstances, which are foreign and extrinsic. The separation of
it often requires great attention, accuracy, and subtility.
6. The forming of general maxims from particular observation is a very
nice operation; and nothing is more usual, from haste or a narrowness of
mind, which sees not on all sides, than to commit mistakes in this particular.
7. When we reason from analogies, the man, who has the greater experi-
ence or the greater promptitude of suggesting analogies, will be the better
reasoner.
8. Biases from prejudice, education, passion, party, &c. hang more upon
one mind than another.
9. After we have acquired a confidence in human testimony, books and
conversation enlarge much more the sphere of one man's experience and
thought than those of another.
It would be easy to discover many other circumstances that make a
difference in the understandings of men.
SECTION X
OF MIRACLES
PART I
THERE is, in Dr. Tillotson's writings, an argument
against the real presence, which is as concise, and
elegant, and strong as any argument can possibly be
supposed against a doctrine, so little worthy of a serious
refutation. It is acknowledged on all hands, says that
learned prelate, that the authority, either of the scripture
or of tradition, is founded merely in the testimony of the
Apostles, who were eye-witnesses to those miracles of our
Saviour, by which he proved his divine mission. Our evi-
dence, then, for, the truth of the Christian religion is
less than the evidence for the truth of our senses; because,
even in the first authors of our religion, it was no greater;
and it is evident it must diminish in passing from them to
their disciples; nor can any one rest such confidence in their
testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. But a
weaker evidence can never destroy a stronger; and therefore,
were the doctrine of the real presence ever so clearly re-
vealed in scripture, it were directly contrary to the rules
of just reasoning to give our assent to it. It contradicts
sense, though both the scripture and tradition, on which
it is supposed to be built, carry not such evidence with them
as sense; when they are considered merely as external
evidences, and are not brought home to every one's breast,
by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit.
Nothing is so convenient as a decisive argument of this
kind, which must at least silence the most arrogant big-
otry and superstition, and free us from their impertinent
solicitations. I flatter myself, that I have discovered an
argument of a like nature, which, if just, will, with the wise
and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of super-
stitious delusion, and consequently, will be useful as long as
the world endures. For so long, I presume, will the accounts
of miracles and prodigies be found in all history, sacred and
profane.
Though experience be our only guide in reasoning con-
cerning matters of fact; it must be acknowledged, that
this guide is not altogether infallible, but in some cases
is apt to lead us into errors. One, who in our climate,
should expect better weather in any week of June than in
one of December, would reason justly, and conformably to
experience; but it is certain, that he may happen, in the
event, to find himself mistaken. However, we may observe,
that, in such a case, he would have no cause to complain of
experience; because it commonly informs us beforehand of
the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may
learn from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with
like certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are
found, in all countries and all ages, to have been con-
stantly conjoined together: Others are found to have been
more variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expecta-
tions; so that, in our reasonings concerning matter of fact,
there are all imaginable degrees of assurance, from the
highest certainty to the lowest species of moral evidence.
A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the
evidence. In such conclusions as are founded on an infal-
lible experience, he expects the event with the last degree
of assurance, and regards his past experience as a full
proof of the future existence of that event. In other
cases, he proceeds with more caution: he weighs the
opposite experiments: he considers which side is sup-
ported by the greater number of experiments: to that side
he inclines, with doubt and hesitation; and when at last
he fixes his judgement, the evidence exceeds not what we
properly call probability. All probability, then, supposes
an opposition of experiments and observations, where the
one side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce
a degree of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A
hundred instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on
another, afford a doubtful expectation of any event; though
a hundred uniform experiments, with only one that is con-
tradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong degree of as-
surance. In all cases, we must balance the opposite experi-
ments, where they are opposite, and deduct the smaller
number from the greater, in order to know the exact force
of the superior evidence.
To apply these principles to a particular instance; we may
observe, that there is no species of reasoning more common,
more useful, and even necessary to human life, than that
which is derived from the testimony of men, and the reports
of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning,
perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause
and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be
sufficient to observe that our assurance in any argument
of this kind is derived from no other principle than our
observation of the veracity of human testimony, and of the
usual conformity of facts to the reports of witnesses. It
being a general maxim, that no objects have any dis-
coverable connexion together, and that all the inferences,
which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely
on our experience of their constant and regular conjunction;
it is evident, that we ought not to make an exception to this
maxim in favour of human testimony, whose connexion
with any event seems, in itself, as little necessary as any
other. Were not the memory tenacious to a certain degree;
had not men commonly an inclination to truth and a prin-
ciple of probity; were they not sensible to shame, when
detected in a falsehood: were not these, I say, discovered by
experience to be qualities, inherent in human nature, we
should never repose the least confidence in human testi-
mony. A man delirious, or noted for falsehood and villainy,
has no manner of authority with us.
And as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human
testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies with
the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a
probability, according as the conjunction between any par-
ticular kind of report and any kind of object has been found
to be constant or variable. There are a number of circum-
stances to be taken into consideration in all judgements of this
kind; and the ultimate standard, by which we determine all
disputes, that may arise concerning them, is always derived
from experience and observation. Where this experience
is not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended with an
unavoidable contrariety in our judgements, and with the
same opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in
every other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate con-
cerning the reports of others. We balance the opposite
circumstances, which cause any doubt or uncertainty; and
when we discover a superiority on any side, we incline to it;
but still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the
force of its antagonist.
This contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be
derived from several different causes; from the opposition
of contrary testimony; from the character or number of the
witnesses; from the manner of their delivering their testi-
mony; or from the union of all these circumstances. We
entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when
the witnesses contradict each other; when they are but
few, or of a doubtful character; when they have an interest
in what they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with
hesitation, or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations.
There are many other particulars of the same kind, which
may diminish or destroy the force of any argument, derived
from human testimony.
Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony
endeavours to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and
the marvellous; in that case, the evidence, resulting from
the testimony, admits of a diminution, greater or less, in
proportion as the fact is more or less unusual. The reason
why we place any credit in witnesses and historians, is
not derived from any connexion, which we perceive a
priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are
accustomed to find a conformity between them. But when
the fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under
our observation, here is a contest of two opposite experi-
ences; of which the one destroys the other, as far as its
force goes, and the superior can only operate on the mind
by the force, which remains. The very same principle of
experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance in
the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case,
another degree of assurance against the fact, which they
endeavour to establish; from which contradiction there
necessarily arises a counterpoize, and mutual destruction of
belief and authority.
I should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato,
was a proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime
of that philosophical patriot.[1] The incredibility of a fact,
it was allowed, might invalidate so great an authority.
The Indian prince, who refused to believe the first re-
lations concerning the effects of frost, reasoned justly;
and it naturally required very strong testimony to engage
his assent to facts, that arose from a state of nature,
with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little
analogy to those events, of which he had had constant and
uniform experience. Though they were not contrary to his
experience, they were not conformable to it.[2]
But in order to encrease the probability against the
testimony of witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact, which
they affirm, instead of being only marvellous, is really
miraculous; and suppose also, that the testimony considered
apart and in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that
case, there is proof against proof, of which the strongest
must prevail, but still with a diminution of its force, in pro-
portion to that of its antagonist.
A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature; and as
a firm and unalterable experience has established these laws,
the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the fact,
is as entire as any argument from experience can possibly
be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men
must die; that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in
the air; that fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by
water; unless it be, that these events are found agreeable
to the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of
these laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them?
Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the
common course of nature. It is no miracle that a man,
seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: because
such a kind of death, though more unusual than any other,
has yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is
a miracle, that a dead man should come to life; because
that has never been observed in any age or country. There
must, therefore, be a uniform experience against every
miraculous event, otherwise the event would not merit that
appellation. And as a uniform experience amounts to a
proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature
of the fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can
such a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible,
but by an opposite proof, which is superior.[3]
The plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim
worthy of our attention), 'that no testimony is sufficient
to establish a miracle, unless the testimony be of such
a kind, that its falsehood would be more miraculous, than
the fact, which it endeavors to establish; and even in
that case there is a mutual destruction of arguments, and
the superior only gives us an assurance suitable to that
degree of force, which remains, after deducting the inferior.'
When anyone tells me, that he saw a dead man restored
to life, I immediately consider with myself, whether it be
more probable, that this person should either deceive or be
deceived, or that the fact, which he relates, should really
have happened. I weigh the one miracle against the other;
and according to the superiority, which I discover, I pro-
nounce my decision, and always reject the greater miracle.
If the falsehood of his testimony would be more miraculous,
than the event which he relates; then, and not till then,
can he pretend to command my belief or opinion.
PART II
IN the foregoing reasoning we have supposed, that the
testimony, upon which a miracle is founded, may possibly
amount to an entire proof, and that the falsehood of that
testimony would be a real prodigy: but it is easy to shew,
that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession,
and that there never was a miraculous event established on
so full an evidence.
For first, there is not to be found, in all history, any
miracle attested by a sufficient number of men, of such
unquestioned good-sense, education, and learning, as to
secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such un-
doubted integrity, as to place them beyond all suspicion of
any design to deceive others; of such credit and reputation
in the eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to lose in
case of their being detected in any falsehood; and at the
same time, attesting facts performed in such a public manner
and in so celebrated a part of the world, as to render the
detection unavoidable: all which circumstances are re-
quisite to give us a full assurance in the testimony of men.
Secondly. We may observe in human nature a principle
which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish
extremely the assurance, which we might, from human
testimony, have in any kind of prodigy. The maxim, by
which we commonly conduct ourselves in our reasonings,
is, that the objects, of which we have no experience, re-
sembles those, of which we have; that what we have found
to be most usual is always most probable; and that where
there is an opposition of arguments, we ought to give the
preference to such as are founded on the greatest number
of past observations. But though, in proceeding by this rule,
we readily reject any fact which is unusual and incredible
in an ordinary degree; yet in advancing farther, the mind
observes not always the same rule; but when anything is
affirmed utterly absurd and miraculous, it rather the more
readily admits of such a fact, upon account of that very
circumstance, which ought to destroy all its authority. The
passion of surprise and wonder, arising from miracles, being
an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the
belief of those events, from which it is derived. And this
goes so far, that even those who cannot enjoy this pleasure
immediately, nor can believe those miraculous events, of
which they are informed, yet love to partake of the satisfac-
tion at second-hand or by rebound, and place a pride and
delight in exciting the admiration of others.
With what greediness are the miraculous accounts of
travellers received, their descriptions of sea and land mon-
sters, their relations of wonderful adventures, strange men,
and uncouth manners? But if the spirit of religion join
itself to the love of wonder, there is an end of common
sense; and human testimony, in these circumstances, loses
all pretensions to authority. A religionist may be an en-
thusiast, and imagine he sees what has no reality: he may
know his narrative to be false, and yet persevere in it, with
the best intentions in the world, for the sake of promoting
so holy a cause: or even where this delusion has not place,
vanity, excited by so strong a temptation, operates on
him more powerfully than on the rest of mankind in any
other circumstances; and self-interest with equal force.
His auditors may not have, and commonly have not, suf-
ficient judgement to canvass his evidence: what judgement
they have, they renounce by principle, in these sublime
and mysterious subjects: or if they were ever so willing
to employ it, passion and a heated imagination disturb the
regularity of its operations. their credulity increases his
impudence: and his impudence overpowers their credulity.
Eloquence, when at its highest pitch, leaves little room
for reason or reflection; but addressing itself entirely to the
fancy or the affections, captivates the willing hearers, and
subdues their understanding. Happily, this pitch it seldom
attains. But what a Tully or a Demosthenes could scarcely
effect over a Roman or Athenian audience, every Capuchin,
every itinerant or stationary teacher can perform over the
generality of mankind, and in a higher degree, by touching
such gross and vulgar passions.
The many instances of forged miracles, and prophecies,
and supernatural events, which, in all ages, have either been
detected by contrary evidence, or which detect themselves
by their absurdity, prove sufficiently the strong propensity
of mankind to the extraordinary and the marvellous, and
ought reasonably to beget a suspicion against all relations
of this kind. This is our natural way of thinking, even
with regard to the most common and most credible events.
For instance: There is no kind of report which rises so
easily, and spreads so quickly, especially in country places
and provincial towns, as those concerning marriages; inso-
much that two young persons of equal condition never see
each other twice, but the whole neighbourhood immediately
join them together. The pleasure of telling a piece of
news so interesting, of propagating it, and of being the first
reporters of it, spreads the intelligence. And this is so well
known, that no man of sense gives attention to these reports,
till he find them confirmed by some greater evidence. Do
not the same passions, and others still stronger, incline the
generality of mankind to believe and report, with the
greatest vehemence and assurance, all religious miracles?
Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption against all super-
natural and miraculous relations, that they are observed
chiefly to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations;
or if a civilized people has ever given admission to any
of them, that people will be found to have received them
from ignorant and barbarous ancestors, who transmitted
them with that inviolable sanction and authority, which
always attend received opinions. When we peruse the
first histories of all nations, we are apt to imagine our-
selves transported into some new world; where the whole
frame of nature is disjointed, and every element performs
its operations in a different manner, from what it does at
present. Battles, revolutions, pestilence, famine and death,
are never the effect of those natural causes, which we
experience. Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgements, quite
obscure the few natural events, that are intermingled with
them. But as the former grow thinner every page, in
proportion as we advance nearer the enlightened ages, we
soon learn, that there is nothing mysterious or supernatural
in the case, but that all proceeds from the usual propensity
of mankind towards the marvellous, and that, though this
inclination may at intervals receive a check from sense and
learning, it can never be thoroughly extirpated from human
nature.
It is strange, a judicious reader is apt to say, upon the
perusal of these wonderful historians, that such prodigious
events never happen in our days. But it is nothing strange,
I hope, that men should lie in all ages. You must surely
have seen instances enough of that frailty. You have your-
self heard many such marvellous relations started, which,
being treated with scorn by all the wise and judicious,
have at last been abandoned even by the vulgar. Be as-
sured, that those renowned lies, which have spread and
flourished to such a monstrous height, arose from like
beginnings; but being sown in a more proper soil, shot
up at last into prodigies almost equal to those which they
relate.
It was a wise policy in that false prophet, Alexander, who
though now forgotten, was once so famous, to lay the first
scene of his impostures in Paphlagonia, where, as Lucian
tells us, the people were extremely ignorant and stupid, and
ready to swallow even the grossest delusion. People at
a distance, who are weak enough to think the matter at all
worth enquiry, have no opportunity of receiving better in-
formation. The stories come magnified to them by a hundred
circumstances. Fools are industrious in propagating the
imposture; while the wise and learned are contented, in
general, to deride its absurdity, without informing themselves
of the particular facts, by which it may be distinctly refuted.
And thus the impostor above mentioned was enabled to
proceed, from his ignorant Paphlagonians, to the enlisting
of votaries, even among the Grecian philosophers, and men
of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome; nay,
could engage the attention of that sage emperor Marcus
Aurelius; so far as to make him trust the success of
a military expedition to his delusive prophecies.
The advantages are so great, of starting an imposture
among an ignorant people, that, even though the delusion
should be too gross to impose on the generality of them
(which, though seldom, is sometimes the case) it has a much
better chance for succeeding in remote countries, than if
the first scene had been laid in a city renowned for arts and
knowledge. The most ignorant and barbarous of these
barbarians carry the report abroad. None of their country-
men have a large correspondence, or sufficient credit and
authority to contradict and beat down the delusion. Men's
inclination to the marvellous has full opportunity to display
itself. And thus a story, which is universally exploded in
the place where it was first started, shall pass for certain at
a thousand miles distance. But had Alexander fixed his
residence at Athens, the philosophers of that renowned
mart of learning had immediately spread, throughout the
whole Roman empire, their sense of the matter; which,
being supported by so great authority, and displayed by all
the force of reason and eloquence, had entirely opened the
eyes of mankind. It is true; Lucian, passing by chance
through Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of performing
this good office. But, though much to be wished, it does
not always happen, that every Alexander meets with a
Lucian, ready to expose and detect his impostures.
I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes the
authority of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any,
even those which have not been expressly detected, that
is not opposed by an infinite number of witnesses; so that
not only the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but
the testimony destroys itself. To make this the better
understood, let us consider, that, in matters of religion,
whatever is different is contrary; and that it is impossible
the religions of ancient Rome, of Turkey, of Siam, and of
China should, all of them, be established on any solid
foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have
been wrought in any of these religions (and all of them
abound in miracles), as its direct scope is to establish the
particular system to which it is attributed; so has it the
same force, though more indirectly, to overthrow every
other system. In destroying a rival system, it likewise
destroys the credit of those miracles, on which that system
was established; so that all the prodigies of different re-
ligions are to be regarded as contrary facts, and the evi-
dences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong, as
opposite to each other. According to this method of rea-
soning, when we believe any miracle of Mahomet or his
successors, we have for our warrant the testimony of a
few barbarous Arabians: and on the other hand, we are
to regard the authority of Titus Livius, Plutarch, Tacitus,
and, in short, of all the authors and witnesses, Grecian,
Chinese, and Roman Catholic, who have related any mira-
cle in their particular religion; I say, we are to regard
their testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned
that Mahometan miracle, and had in express terms con-
tradicted it, with the same certainty as they have for the
miracle they relate. This argument may appear over sub-
tile and refined; but is not in reality different from the
reasoning of a judge, who supposes, that the credit of
two witnesses, maintaining a crime against any one, is
destroyed by the testimony of two others, who affirm him
to have been two hundred leagues distant, at the same in-
stant when the crime is said to have been committed.
One of the best attested miracles in all profane history,
is that which Tacitus reports of Vespasian, who cured
a blind man in Alexandria, by means of his spittle, and
a lame man by the mere touch of his foot; in obedience
to a vision of the god Serapis, who had enjoined them to
have recourse to the Emperor, for these miraculous cures.
The story may be seen in that fine historian[4]; where every
circumstance seems to add weight to the testimony, and
might be displayed at large with all the force of argument
and eloquence, if any one were now concerned to enforce
the evidence of that exploded and idolatrous superstition.
The gravity, solidity, age, and probity of so great an
emperor, who, through the whole course of his life, con-
versed in a familiar manner with his friends and courtiers,
and never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity
assumed by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, a
contemporary writer, noted for candour and veracity, and
withal, the greatest and most penetrating genius, perhaps,
of all antiquity; and so free from any tendency to credulity,
that he even lies under the contrary imputation, of atheism
and profaneness: The persons, from whose authority he
related the miracle, of established character for judgement
and veracity, as we may well presume; eye-witnesses of the
fact, and confirming their testimony, after the Flavian
family was despoiled of the empire, and could no longer
give any reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui
interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, postquam nullum men-
dacio pretium. To which if we add the public nature of
the facts, as related, it will appear, that no evidence can
well be supposed stronger for so gross and so palpable a
falsehood.
There is also a memorable story related by Cardinal de
Retz, which may well deserve our consideration. When
that intriguing politician fled into Spain, to avoid the
persecution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa,
the capital of Arragon, where he was shewn, in the cathe-
dral, a man, who had served seven years as a doorkeeper,
and was well known to every body in town, that had
ever paid his devotions at that church. He had been
seen, for so long a time, wanting a leg; but recovered that
limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the stump; and the
cardinal assures us that he saw him with two legs. This
miracle was vouched by all the canons of the church; and
the whole company in town were appealed to for a con-
firmation of the fact; whom the cardinal found, by their
zealous devotion, to be thorough believers of the miracle.
Here the relater was also contemporary to the supposed
prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine character, as well
as of great genius; the miracle of so singular a nature as
could scarcely admit of a counterfeit, and the witnesses
very numerous, and all of them, in a manner, spectators of
the fact, to which they gave their testimony. And what
adds mightily to the force of the evidence, and may double
our surprise on this occasion, is, that the cardinal himself,
who relates the story, seems not to give any credit to it, and
consequently cannot be suspected of any concurrence in
the holy fraud. He considered justly, that it was not
requisite, in order to reject a fact of this nature, to be
able accurately to disprove the testimony, and to trace its
falsehood, through all the circumstances of knavery and
credulity which produced it. He knew, that, as this was
commonly altogether impossible at any small distance of
time and place; so was it extremely difficult, even where
one was immediately present, by reason of the bigotry,
ignorance, cunning, and roguery of a great part of man-
kind. He therefore concluded, like a just reasoner, that
such an evidence carried falsehood upon the very face
of it, and that a miracle, supported by any human testi-
mony, was more properly a subject of derision than of
argument.
There surely never was a greater number of miracles
ascribed to one person, than those, which were lately said
to have been wrought in France upon the tomb of Abbe
Paris, the famous Jansenist, with whose sanctity the people
were so long deluded. The curing of the sick, giving
hearing to the deaf, and sight to the blind, were every
where talked of as the usual effects of that holy sepulchre.
But what is more extraordinary; many of the miracles were
immediately proved upon the spot, before judges of un-
questioned integrity, attested by witnesses of credit and
distinction, in a learned age, and on the most eminent
theatre that is now in the world. Nor is this all: a relation
of them was published and dispersed everywhere; nor were
the Jesuits, though a learned body supported by the civil
magistrate, and determined enemies to those opinions, in
whose favour the miracles were said to have been wrought,
ever able distinctly to refute or detect them.[5] Where shall
we find such a number of circumstances, agreeing to the
corroboration of one fact? And what have we to oppose
to such a cloud of witnesses, but the absolute impossibility
or miraculous nature of the events, which they relate? And
this surely, in the eyes of all reasonable people, will alone
be regarded as a sufficient refutation.
Is the consequence just, because some human testimony
has the utmost force and authority in some cases, when it
relates the battle of Philippi or Pharsalia for instance; that
therefore all kinds of testimony must, in all cases, have
equal force and authority? Suppose that the Caesarean
and Pompeian factions had, each of them, claimed the
victory in these battles, and that the historians of each
party had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their own
side; how could mankind, at this distance, have been able
to determine between them? The contrariety is equally
strong between the miracles related by Herodotus or
Plutarch, and those delivered by Mariana, Bede, or any
monkish historian.
The wise lend a very academic faith to every report
which favours the passion of the reporter; whether it
magnifies his country, his family, or himself, or in any
other way strikes in with his natural inclinations and pro-
pensities. But what greater temptation than to appear
a missionary, a prophet, an ambassador from heaven? Who
would not encounter many dangers and difficulties, in
order to attain so sublime a character? Or if, by the help
of vanity and a heated imagination, a man has first made a
convert of himself, and entered seriously into the delusion;
who ever scruples to make use of pious frauds, in support
of so holy and meritorious a cause?
The smallest spark may here kindle into the greatest
flame; because the materials are always prepared for it.
The avidum genus auricularum[6], the gazing populace, re-
ceive greedily, without examination, whatever sooths super-
stition, and promotes wonder.
How many stories of this nature have, in all ages, been
detected and exploded in their infancy? How many more
have been celebrated for a time, and have afterwards sunk
into neglect and oblivion? Where such reports, therefore,
fly about, the solution of the phenomenon is obvious; and
we judge in conformity to regular experience and observa-
tion, when we account for it by the known and natural
principles of credulity and delusion. And shall we, rather
than have a recourse to so natural a solution, allow of a
miraculous violation of the most established laws of nature?
I need not mention the difficulty of detecting a falsehood
in any private or even public history, at the place, where it
is said to happen; much more when the scene is removed
to ever so small a distance. Even a court of judicature,
with all the authority, accuracy, and judgement, which they
can employ, find themselves often at a loss to distinguish
between truth and falsehood in the most recent actions.
But the matter never comes to any issue, if trusted to the
common method of altercations and debate and flying
rumours; especially when men's passions have taken part
on either side.
In the infancy of new religions, the wise and learned
commonly esteem the matter too inconsiderable to deserve
their attention or regard. And when afterwards they would
willingly detect the cheat in order to undeceive the deluded
multitude, the season is now past, and the records and
witnesses, which might clear up the matter, have perished
beyond recovery.
No means of detection remain, but those which must be
drawn from the very testimony itself of the reporters: and
these, though always sufficient with the judicious and know-
ing, are commonly too fine to fall under the comprehension
of the vulgar.
Upon the whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for
any kind of miracle has ever amounted to a probability,
much less to a proof; and that, even supposing it amounted
to a proof, it would be opposed by another proof; derived
from the very nature of the fact, which it would endeavour
to establish. It is experience only, which gives authority
to human testimony; and it is the same experience, which
assures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, these
two kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to
do but subtract the one from the other, and embrace an
opinion, either on one side or the other, with that assurance
which arises from the remainder. But according to the
principle here explained, this subtraction, with regard to
all popular religions, amounts to an entire annihilation; and
therefore we may establish it as a maxim, that no human
testimony can have such force as to prove a miracle, and
make it a just foundation for any such system of religion.
I beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when
I say, that a miracle can never be proved, so as to be the
foundation of a system of religion. For I own, that other-
wise, there may possibly be miracles, or violations of the
usual course of nature, of such a kind as to admit of proof
from human testimony; though, perhaps, it will be im-
possible to find any such in all the records of history.
Thus, suppose, all authors, in all languages, agree, that,
from the first of January, 1600, there was a total darkness
over the whole earth for eight days: suppose that the
tradition of this extraordinary event is still strong and
lively among the people: that all travellers, who return
from foreign countries, bring us accounts of the same
tradition, without the least variation or contradiction: it is
evident, that our present philosophers, instead of doubting
the fact, ought to receive it as certain, and ought to search
for the causes whence it might be derived. The decay,
corruption, and dissolution of nature, is an event rendered
probable by so many analogies, that any phenomenon,
which seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe,
comes within the reach of human testimony, if that testi-
mony be very extensive and uniform.
But suppose, that all the historians who treat of England,
should agree, that, on the first of January, 1600, Queen
Elizabeth died; that both before and after her death she
was seen by her physicians and the whole court, as is usual
with persons of her rank; that her successor was acknowl-
edged and proclaimed by the parliament; and that, after
being interred a month, she again appeared, resumed the
throne, and governed England for three years: I must
confess that I should be surprised at the concurrence of so
many odd circumstances, but should not have the least
inclination to believe so miraculous an event. I should not
doubt of her pretended death, and of those other public
circumstances that followed it: I should only assert it to have
been pretended, and that it neither was, nor possibly could
be real. You would in vain object to me the difficulty,
and almost impossibility of deceiving the world in an affair
of such consequence; the wisdom and solid judgment of
that renowned queen; with the little or no advantage which
she could reap from so poor an artifice: all this might
astonish me; but I would still reply, that the knavery and
folly of men are such common phenomena, that I should
rather believe the most extraordinary events to arise from
their concurrence, than admit of so signal a violation of
the laws of nature.
But should this miracle be ascribed to any new system of
religion; men, in all ages, have been so much imposed on
by ridiculous stories of that kind, that this very circumstance
would be a full proof of a cheat, and sufficient, with all men
of sense, not only to make them reject the fact, but even
reject it without farther examination. Though the Being to
whom the miracle is ascribed, be, in this case, Almighty, it
does not, upon that account, become a whit more probable;
since it is impossible for us to know the attributes or actions
of such a Being, otherwise than from the experience which
we have of his productions, in the usual course of nature.
This still reduces us to past observation, and obliges us to
compare the instances of the violation of truth in the testi-
mony of men, with those of the violation of the laws of
nature by miracles, in order to judge which of them is
most likely and probable. As the violations of truth are
more common in the testimony concerning religious mir-
acles, than in that concerning any other matter of fact;
this must diminish very much the authority of the former
testimony, and make us form a general resolution, never to
lend any attention to it, with whatever specious pretence it
may be covered.
Lord Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles
of reasoning. 'We ought,' says he, 'to make a collection or
particular history of all monsters and prodigious births or
productions, and in a word of every thing new, rare, and
extraordinary in nature. But this must be done with the
most severe scrutiny, lest we depart from truth. Above all,
every relation must be considered as suspicious, which
depends in any degree upon religion, as the prodigies of
Livy: and no less so, everything that is to be found in the
writers of natural magic or alchimy, or such authors, who
seem, all of them, to have an unconquerable appetite for
falsehood and fable.[7]
I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning
here delivered, as I think it may serve to confound those
dangerous friends or disguised enemies to the Christian
Religion, who have undertaken to defend it by the principles
of human reason. Our most holy religion is founded on
Faith, not on reason; and it is a sure method of exposing
it to put it to such a trial as it is, by no means, fitted to
endure. To make this more evident, let us examine those
miracles, related in scripture; and not to lose ourselves in
too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we find
in the Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the
principles of these pretended Christians, not as the word or
testimony of God himself, but as the production of a mere
human writer and historian. Here then we are first to
consider a book, presented to us by a barbarous and ignorant
people, written in an age when they were still more bar-
barous, and in all probability long after the facts which
it relates, corroborated by no concurring testimony, and
resembling those fabulous accounts, which every nation gives
of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it full of
prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state of
the world and of human nature entirely different from the
present: of our fall from that state: of the age of man,
extended to near a thousand years: of the destruction of
the world by a deluge: of the arbitrary choice of one
people, as the favourites of heaven; and that people the
countrymen of the author: of their deliverance from bond-
age by prodigies the most astonishing imaginable: I desire
any one to lay his hand upon his heart, and after a serious
consideration declare, whether he thinks that the falsehood
of such a book, supported by such a testimony, would be
more extraordinary and miraculous than all the miracles it
relates; which is, however, necessary to make it be received,
according to the measures of probability above established.
What we have said of miracles may be applied, without
any variation, to prophecies; and indeed, all prophecies are
real miracles, and as such only, can be admitted as proofs of
any revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity of human
nature to foretell future events, it would be absurd to employ
any prophecy as an argument for a divine mission or
authority from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may
conclude, that the Christian Religion not only was at first
attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be
believed by any reasonable person without one. Mere reason
is insufficient to convince us of its veracity: and whoever
is moved by Faith to assent to it, is conscious of a con-
tinued miracle in his own person, which subverts all the
principles of his understanding, and gives him a determina-
tion to believe what is most contrary to custom and ex-
perience.
[1] Plutarch, in vita Catonis.
[2] No Indian, it is evident, could have experience that water did not freeze
in cold climates. This is placing nature in a situation quite unknown to
him; and it is impossible for him to tell a priori what will result from it.
It is making a new experiment, the consequence of which is always uncer-
tain. One may sometimes conjecture from analogy what will follow; but
still this is but conjecture. And it must be confessed, that, in the present
case of freezing, the event follows contrary to the rules of analogy, and
is such as a rational Indian would not look for. The operations of cold
upon water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but when-
ever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a moment, from
the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event, therefore, may be
denominated extraordinary, and requires a pretty strong testimony, to ren-
der it credible to people in a warm climate: But still it is not miraculous,
nor contrary to uniform experience of the course of nature in cases where
all the circumstances are the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra have always
seen water fluid in their own climate, and the freezing of their rivers ought
to be deemed a prodigy: But they never saw water in Muscovy during
the winter; and therefore they cannot reasonably be positive what would
there be the consequence.
[3] Sometimes an event may not, in itself, seem to be contrary to the laws
of nature, and yet, if it were real, it might, by reason of some circum-
stances, be denominated a miracle; because, in fact, it is contrary to these
laws. Thus if a person, claiming a divine authority, should command a
sick person to be well, a healthful man to fall down dead, the clouds to
pour rain, the winds to blow, in short, should order many natural events,
which immediately follow upon his command; these might justly be esteemed
miracles, because they are really, in this case, contrary to the laws of
nature. For if any suspicion remain, that the event and command con-
curred by accident there is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of
nature. If this suspicion be removed, there is evidently a miracle, and a
transgression of these laws; because nothing can be more contrary to nature
than that the voice or command of a man should have such an influence.
A miracle may be accurately defined, a transgression of a law of nature by
a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of some invisible
agent. A miracle may either be discoverable by men or not. This alters
not its nature and essence. The raising of a house or ship into the air is
a visible miracle. The raising of a feather, when the wind wants ever so
little of a force requisite for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not
so sensible with regard to us.
[4] Hist. lib. v. cap. 8, Suetonius gives nearly the same account in vita Vesp.
[5] By Mons. Montgeron, counsellor or judge of the Parliament of Paris.
[6] Lucret.
[7] Nov. Org. lib. ii. aph. 29.
SECTION XI
OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE
I WAS lately engaged in conversation with a friend
who loves sceptical paradoxes; where, though he ad-
vanced many principles, of which I can by no means
approve, yet as they seem to be curious, and to bear some
relation to the chain of reasoning carried on throughout
this enquiry, I shall here copy them from my memory as
accurately as I can, in order to submit them to the judge-
ment of the reader.
Our conversation began with my admiring the singular
good fortune of philosophy, which, as it requires entire
liberty above all other privileges, and chiefly flourishes
from the free opposition of sentiments and argumentation,
received its first birth in an age and country of freedom and
toleration, and was never cramped, even in its most extrav-
agant principles, by any creeds, concessions, or penal
statutes. For, except the banishment of Protagoras, and
the death of Socrates, which last event proceeded partly
from other motives, there are scarcely any instances to be
met with, in ancient history, of this bigoted jealousy, with
which the present age is so much infested. Epicurus lived
at Athens to an advanced age, in peace and tranquillity:
Epicureans[1] were even admitted to receive the sacerdotal
character, and to officiate at the altar, in the most sacred
rites of the established religion: and the public encourage-
ment[2] of pensions and salaries was afforded equally, by the
wisest of all the Roman emperors[3], to the professors of
every sect of philosophy. How requisite such kind of treat-
ment was to philosophy, in her early youth, will easily be
conceived, if we reflect, that, even at present, when she
may be supposed more hardy and robust, she bears with
much difficulty the inclemency of the seasons, and those
harsh winds of calumny and persecution, which blow upon
her.
You admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune
of philosophy, what seems to result from the natural course
of things, and to be unavoidable in every age and nation.
This pertinacious bigotry, of which you complain, as so fatal
to philosophy, is really her offspring, who, after allying with
superstition, separates himself entirely from the interest of
his parent, and becomes her most inveterate enemy and
persecutor. Speculative dogmas of religion, the present
occasions of such furious dispute, could not possibly be con-
ceived or admitted in the early ages of the world; when
mankind, being wholly illiterate, formed an idea of religion
more suitable to their weak apprehension, and composed
their sacred tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects
of traditional belief, more than of argument or disputation.
After the first alarm, therefore, was over, which arose from
the new paradoxes and principles of the philosophers; these
teachers seem ever after, during the ages of antiquity, to
have lived in great harmony with the established supersti-
tion, and to have made a fair partition of mankind between
them; the former claiming all the learned and wise, the
latter possessing all the vulgar and illiterate.
It seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of
the question, and never suppose, that a wise magistrate can
justly be jealous of certain tenets of philosophy, such as those
of Epicurus, which, denying a divine existence, and conse-
quently a providence and a future state, seem to loosen, in a
great measure the ties of morality, and may be supposed,
for that reason, pernicious to the peace of civil society.
I know, replied he, that in fact these persecutions never,
in any age, proceeded from calm reason, or from experience
of the pernicious consequences of philosophy; but arose
entirely from passion and prejudice. But what if I should
advance farther, and assert, that if Epicurus had been ac-
cused before the people, by any of the sycophants or inform-
ers of those days, he could easily have defended his cause,
and proved his principles of philosophy to be as salutary as
those of his adversaries, who endeavoured, with such zeal, to
expose him to the public hatred and jealousy?
I wish, said I, you would try your eloquence upon so
extraordinary a topic, and make a speech for Epicurus,
which might satisfy, not the mob of Athens, if you will
allow that ancient and polite city to have contained any mob,
but the more philosophical part of his audience, such as
might be supposed capable of comprehending his arguments.
The matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions,
replied he: and if you please, I shall suppose myself Epi-
curus for a moment, and make you stand for the Athenian
people, and shall deliver you such an harangue as will fill
all the urn with white beans, and leave not a black one to
gratify the malice of my adversaries.
Very well: pray proceed upon these suppositions.
I come hither, O ye Athenians, to justify in your assembly
what I maintain in my school, and I find myself impeached
by furious antagonists, instead of reasoning with calm and
dispassionate enquirers. Your deliberations, which of right
should be directed to questions of public good, and the
interest of the commonwealth, are diverted to the disquisi-
tions of speculative philosophy; and these magnificent, but
perhaps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more familiar
but more useful occupations. But so far as in me lies,
I will prevent this abuse. We shall not here dispute con-
cerning the origin and government of worlds. We shall only
enquire how far such questions concern the public interest.
And if I can persuade you, that they are entirely indifferent
to the peace of society and security of government, I hope
that you will presently send us back to our schools, there to
examine, at leisure, the question the most sublime, but, at the
same time, the most speculative of all philosophy.
The religious philosophers, not satisfied with the tradition
of your forefathers, and doctrine of your priests (in which
I willingly acquiesce), indulge a rash curiosity, in trying how
far they can establish religion upon the principles of reason;
and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying, the doubts,
which naturally arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry.
They paint, in the most magnificent colours, the order,
beauty, and wise arrangement of the universe; and then
ask, if such a glorious display of intelligence could proceed
from the fortuitous concourse of atoms, or if chance could
produce what the greatest genius can never sufficiently
admire. I shall not examine the justness of this argument.
I shall allow it to be as solid as my antagonists and accusers
can desire. It is sufficient, if I can prove, from this very
reasoning, that the question is entirely speculative, and
that, when, in my philosophical disquisitions, I deny a
providence and a future state, I undermine not the founda-
tions of society, but advance principles, which they them-
selves, upon their own topics, if they argue consistently,
must allow to be solid and satisfactory.
You then, who are my accusers, have acknowledged, that
the chief or sole argument for a divine existence (which I
never questioned) is derived from the order of nature;
where there appear such marks of intelligence and design,
that you think it extravagant to assign for its cause, either
chance, or the blind and unguided force of matter. You
allow, that this is an argument drawn from effects to causes.
From the order of the work, you infer, that there must have
been project and forethought in the workman. If you can-
not make out this point, you allow, that your conclusion
fails; and you pretend not to establish the conclusion in a
greater latitude than the phenomena of nature will justify.
These are your concessions. I desire you to mark the con-
sequences.
When we infer any particular cause from an effect, we
must proportion the one to the other, and can never be
allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what are
exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of ten
ounces raised in any scale may serve as a proof, that the
counterbalancing weight exceeds ten ounces; but can never
afford a reason that it exceeds a hundred. If the cause,
assigned for any effect, be not sufficient to produce it, we
must either reject that cause, or add to it such qualities as
will give it a just proportion to the effect. But if we ascribe
to it farther qualities, or affirm it capable of producing other
effects, we can only indulge the licence of conjecture, and
arbitrarily suppose the existence of qualities and energies,
without reason or authority.
The same rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute
unconscious matter, or a rational intelligent being. If the
cause be known only by the effect, we never ought to ascribe
to it any qualities, beyond what are precisely requisite to
produce the effect: nor can we, by any rules of just reason-
ing, return back from the cause, and infer other effects from
it, beyond those by which alone it is known to us. No one,
merely from the sight of one of Zeuxis's pictures, could
know, that he was also a statuary or architect, and was an
artist no less skilful in stone and marble than in colours.
The talents and taste, displayed in the particular work before
us; these we may safely conclude the workman to be pos-
sessed of. The cause must be proportioned to the effect;
and if we exactly and precisely proportion it, we shall
never find in it any qualities, that point farther, or afford an
inference concerning any other design or performance.
Such qualities must be somewhat beyond what is merely
requisite for producing the effect, which we examine.
Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of the
existence or order of the universe; it follows, that they
possess that precise degree of power, intelligence, and
benevolence, which appears in their workmanship; but
nothing farther can ever be proved, except we call in the
assistance of exaggeration and flattery to supply the defects
of argument and reasoning. So far as the traces of any
attributes, at present, appear, so far may we conclude these
attributes to exist. The supposition of farther attributes
is mere hypothesis; much more the supposition, that, in
distant regions of space or periods of time, there has been,
or will be, a more magnificent display of these attributes, and
a scheme of administration more suitable to such imaginary
virtues. We can never be allowed to mount up from the
universe, the effect, to Jupiter, the cause; and then descend
downwards, to infer any new effect from that cause; as if
the present effects alone were not entirely worthy of the
glorious attributes, which we ascribe to that deity. The
knowledge of the cause being derived solely from the effect,
they must be exactly adjusted to each other; and the one
can never refer to anything farther, or be the foundation of
any new inference and conclusion.
You find certain phenomena in nature. You seek a
cause or author. You imagine that you have found him.
You afterwards become so enamoured of this offspring of
your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he must
produce something greater and more perfect than the
present scene of things, which is so full of ill and disorder.
You forget, that this superlative intelligence and benevo-
lence are entirely imaginary, or, at least, without any foun-
dation in reason; and that you have no ground to ascribe
to him any qualities, but what you see he has actually
exerted and displayed in his productions. Let your gods,
therefore, O philosophers, be suited to the present appear-
ances of nature: and presume not to alter these appearances
by arbitrary suppositions, in order to suit them to the at-
tributes, which you so fondly ascribe to your deities.
When priests and poets, supported by your authority, O
Athenians, talk of a golden or silver age, which preceded
the present state of vice and misery, I hear them with at-
tention and with reverence. But when philosophers, who
pretend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold
the same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the same ob-
sequious submission and pious deference. I ask; who carried
them into the celestial regions, who admitted them into
the councils of the gods, who opened to them the book of
fate, that they thus rashly affirm, that their deities have
executed, or will execute, any purpose beyond what has
actually appeared? If they tell me, that they have mounted
on the steps or by the gradual ascent of reason, and by
drawing inferences from effects to causes, I still insist, that
they have aided the ascent of reason by the wings of
imagination; otherwise they could not thus change their
manner of inference, and argue from causes to effects;
presuming, that a more perfect production than the present
world would be more suitable to such perfect beings as the
gods, and forgetting that they have no reason to ascribe
to these celestial beings any perfection or any attribute, but
what can be found in the present world.
Hence all the fruitless industry to account for the ill
appearances of nature, and save the honour of the gods;
while we must acknowledge the reality of that evil and
disorder, with which the world so much abounds. The
obstinate and intractable qualities of matter, we are told,
or the observance of general laws, or some such reason,
is the sole cause, which controlled the power and benevo-
lence of Jupiter, and obliged him to create mankind and
every sensible creature so imperfect and so unhappy. These
attributes then, are, it seems, beforehand, taken for granted,
in their greatest latitude. And upon that supposition, I
own that such conjectures may, perhaps, be admitted as
plausible solutions of the ill phenomena. But still I ask;
Why take these attributes for granted, or why ascribe to
the cause any qualities but what actually appear in the
effect? Why torture your brain to justify the course of
nature upon suppositions, which, for aught you know, may
be entirely imaginary, and of which there are to be found no
traces in the course of nature?
The religious hypothesis, therefore, must be considered
only as a particular method of accounting for the visible
phenomena of the universe: but no just reasoner will ever
presume to infer from it any single fact, and alter or add
to the phenomena, in any single particular. If you think,
that the appearances of things prove such causes, it is al-
lowable for you to draw an inference concerning the exist-
ence of these causes. In such complicated and sublime
subjects, every one should be indulged in the liberty of
conjecture and argument. But here you ought to rest.
If you come backward, and arguing from your inferred
causes, conclude, that any other fact has existed, or will
exist, in the course of nature, which may serve as a fuller
display of particular attributes; I must admonish you, that
you have departed from the method of reasoning, attached
to the present subject, and have certainly added something
to the attributes of the cause, beyond what appears in the
effect; otherwise you could never, with tolerable sense or
propriety, add anything to the effect, in order to render it
more worthy of the cause.
Where, then, is the odiousness of that doctrine, which
I teach in my school, or rather, which I examine in my
gardens? Or what do you find in this whole question,
wherein the security of good morals, or the peace and order
of society, is in the least concerned?
I deny a providence, you say, and supreme governor
of the world, who guides the course of events, and punishes
the vicious with infamy and disappointment, and rewards
the virtuous with honour and success, in all their under-
takings. But surely, I deny not the course itself of events,
which lies open to every one's inquiry and examination.
I acknowledge, that, in the present order of things, virtue
is attended with more peace of mind than vice, and meets
with a more favourable reception from the world. I am
sensible, that, according to the past experience of mankind,
friendship is the chief joy of human life, and moderation
the only source of tranquillity and happiness. I never
balance between the virtuous and the vicious course of life;
but am sensible, that, to a well-disposed mind, every ad-
vantage is on the side of the former. And what can you say
more, allowing all your suppositions and reasonings? You
tell me, indeed, that this disposition of things proceeds from
intelligence and design. But whatever it proceeds from, the
disposition itself, on which depends our happiness or
misery, and consequently our conduct and deportment in
life is still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you,
to regulate my behaviour, by my experience of past events.
And if you affirm, that, while a divine providence is allowed
and a supreme distributive justice in the universe, I ought
to expect some more particular reward of the good, and
punishment of the bad, beyond the ordinary course of
events; I here find the same fallacy, which I have before
endeavoured to detect. You persist in imagining, that, if
we grant that divine existence, for which you so earnestly
contend, you may safely infer consequences from it, and add
something to the experienced order of nature, by arguing
from the attributes which you ascribe to your gods. You
seem not to remember, that all your reasonings on this
subJect can only be drawn from effects to causes; and that
every argument, deducted from causes to effects, must of
necessity be a gross sophism; since it is impossible for
you to know anything of the cause, but what you have
antecedently, not inferred, but discovered to the full, in
the effect.
But what must a philosopher think of those vain rea-
soners, who instead of regarding the present scene of things
as the sole object of their contemplation, so far reverse the
whole course of nature, as to render this life merely a
passage to something farther; a porch, which leads to a
greater, and vastly different building; a prologue, which
serves only to introduce the piece, and give it more grace
and propriety? Whence, do you think, can such philoso-
phers derive their idea of the gods? From their own con-
ceit and imagination surely. For if they derived it from the
present phenomena, it would never point to anything farther,
but must be exactly adjusted to them. That the divinity may
possibly be endowed with attributes, which we have never
seen exerted; may be governed by principles of action,
which we cannot discover to be satisfied: all this will freely
be allowed. But still this is mere possibility and hypothesis.
We never can have reason to infer any attributes, or any
principles of action in him, but so far as we know them to
have been exerted and satisfied.
Are there any marks of a distributive justice in the world?
If you answer in the affirmative, I conclude, that, since
justice here exerts itself, it is satisfied. If you reply in
the negative, I conclude, that you have then no reason
to ascribe justice, in our sense of it, to the gods. If
you hold a medium between affirmation and negation, by
saying, that the justice of the gods, at present, exerts
itself in part, but not in its full extent; I answer, that
you have no reason to give it any particular extent, but
only so far as you see it, at present, exert itself.
Thus I bring the dispute, O Athenians, to a short issue
with my antagonists. The course of nature lies open
to my contemplation as well as to theirs. The experi-
enced train of events is the great standard, by which we
all regulate our conduct. Nothing else can be appealed
to in the field, or in the senate. Nothing else ought ever
to be heard of in the school, or in the closet. In vain
would our limited understanding break through those
boundaries, which are too narrow for our fond imagination.
While we argue from the course of nature, and infer a
particular intelligent cause, which first bestowed, and still
preserves order in the universe, we embrace a principle,
which is both uncertain and useless. It is uncertain; be-
cause the subject lies entirely beyond the reach of human
experience. It is useless; because our knowledge of this
cause being derived entirely from the course of nature,
we can never, according to the rules of just reasoning,
return back from the cause with any new inference, or
making additions to the common and experienced course
of nature, establish any new principles of conduct and be-
haviour.
I observe (said I, finding he had finished his harangue)
that you neglect not the artifice of the demagogues of
old; and as you were pleased to make me stand for the
people, you insinuate yourself into my favour by embracing
those principles, to which, you know, I have always ex-
pressed a particular attachment. But allowing you to
make experience (as indeed I think you ought) the only
standard of our judgement concerning this, and all other
questions of fact; I doubt not but, from the very same
experience, to which you appeal, it may be possible to
refute this reasoning, which you have put into the mouth of
Epicurus. If you saw, for instance, a half-finished building,
surrounded with heaps of brick and stone and mortar,
and all the instruments of masonry; could you not infer
from the effect, that it was a work of design and con-
trivance? And could you not return again, from this in-
ferred cause, to infer new additions to the effect, and
conclude, that the building would soon be finished, and
receive all the further improvements, which art could be-
stow upon it? If you saw upon the sea-shore the print
of one human foot, you would conclude, that a man had
passed that way, and that he had also left the traces
of the other foot, though effaced by the rolling of the
sands or inundation of the waters. Why then do you
refuse to admit the same method of reasoning with regard
to the order of nature? Consider the world and the present
life only as an imperfect building, from which you can
infer a superior intelligence; and arguing from that superior
intelligence, which can leave nothing imperfect; why may
you not infer a more finished scheme or plan, which will
receive its completion in some distant point of space or
time? Are not these methods of reasoning exactly similar?
And under what pretence can you embrace the one, while
you reject the other?
The infinite difference of the subjects, replied he, is
a sufficient foundation for this difference in my conclusions.
In works of human art and contrivance, it is allowable to
advance from the effect to the cause, and returning back
from the cause, to form new inferences concerning the
effect, and examine the alterations, which it has probably
undergone, or may still undergo. But what is the founda-
tion of this method of reasoning? Plainly this; that man
is a being, whom we know by experience, whose motives
and designs we are acquainted with, and whose projects
and inclinations have a certain connexion and coherence,
according to the laws which nature has established for
the government of such a creature. When, therefore,
we find, that any work has proceeded from the skill and
industry of man; as we are otherwise acquainted with
the nature of the animal, we can draw a hundred infer-
ences concerning what may be expected from him; and
these inferences will all be founded in experience and
observation. But did we know man only from the single
work or production which we examine, it were impossible
for us to argue in this manner; because our knowledge
of all the qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in that
case derived from the production, it is impossible they
could point to anything farther, or be the foundation of
any new inference. The print of a foot in the sand can
only prove, when considered alone, that there was some
figure adapted to it, by which it was produced: but the
print of a human foot proves likewise, from our other
experience, that there was probably another foot, which
also left its impression, though effaced by time or other
accidents. Here we mount from the effect to the cause;
and descending again from the cause, infer alterations in
the effect; but this is not a continuation of the same
simple chain of reasoning. We comprehend in this case
a hundred other experiences and observations, concerning
the usual figure and members of that species of animal,
without which this method of argument must be considered
as fallacious and sophistical.
The case is not the same with our reasonings from the
works of nature. The Deity is known to us only by his
productions, and is a single being in the universe, not
comprehended under any species or genus, from whose
experienced attributes or qualities, we can, by analogy,
infer any attribute or quality in him. As the universe
shews wisdom and goodness, we infer wisdom and good-
ness. As it shews a particular degree of these perfections,
we infer a particular degree of them, precisely adapted to
the effect which we examine. But farther attributes or
farther degrees of the same attributes, we can never be
authorised to infer or suppose, by any rules of just rea-
soning. Now, without some such licence of supposition,
it is impossible for us to argue from the cause, or infer
any alteration in the effect, beyond what has immediately
fallen under our observation. Greater good produced by
this Being must still prove a greater degree of goodness:
a more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments
must proceed from a greater regard to justice and equity.
Every supposed addition to the works of nature makes an
addition to the attributes of the Author of nature; and
consequently, being entirely unsupported by any reason or
argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture
and hypothesis.[4]
The great source of our mistake in this subject, and of
the unbounded licence of conjecture, which we indulge,
is, that we tacitly consider ourselves, as in the place of
the Supreme Being, and conclude, that he will, on every
occasion, observe the same conduct, which we ourselves,
in his situation, would have embraced as reasonable and
eligible. But, besides that the ordinary course of nature
may convince us, that almost everything is regulated by
principles and maxims very different from ours; besides
this, I say, it must evidently appear contrary to all rules
of analogy to reason, from the intentions and projects
of men, to those of a Being so different, and so much su-
perior. In human nature, there is a certain experienced
coherence of designs and inclinations; so that when, from
any fact, we have discovered one intention of any man, it
may often be reasonable, from experience, to infer an-
other, and draw a long chain of conclusions concerning his
past or future conduct. But this method of reasoning can
never have place with regard to a Being, so remote and in-
comprehensible, who bears much less analogy to any other
being in the universe than the sun to a waxen taper, and
who discovers himself only by some faint traces or outlines,
beyond which we have no authority to ascribe to him any
attribute or perfection. What we imagine to be a superior
perfection, may really be a defect. Or were it ever so
much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the Supreme Being,
where it appears not to have been really exerted, to the
full, in his works, savours more of flattery and panegyric,
than of just reasoning and sound philosophy. All the philo-
sophy, therefore, in the world, and all the religion, which
is nothing but a species of philosophy, will never be able to
carry us beyond the usual course of experience, or give us
measures of conduct and behaviour different from those
which are furnished by reflections on common life. No new
fact can ever be inferred from the religious hypothesis; no
event foreseen or foretold; no reward or punishment ex-
pected or dreaded, beyond what is already known by practice
and observation. So that my apology for Epicurus will still
appear solid and satisfactory; nor have the political inter-
ests of society any connexion with the philosophical dis-
putes concerning metaphysics and religion.
There is still one circumstance, replied I, which you
seem to have overlooked. Though I should allow your
premises, I must deny your conclusion. You conclude, that
religious doctrines and reasonings can have no influence on
life, because they ought to have no influence; never con-
sidering, that men reason not in the same manner you do,
but draw many consequences from the belief of a divine
Existence, and suppose that the Deity will inflict punish-
ments on vice, and bestow rewards on virtue, beyond what
appear in the ordinary course of nature. Whether this
reasoning of theirs be just or not, is no matter. Its influence
on their life and conduct must still be the same. And
those, who attempt to disabuse them of such prejudices,
may, for aught I know, be good reasoners, but I cannot
allow them to be good citizens and politicians; since they
free men from one restraint upon their passions, and make
the infringement of the laws of society, in one respect, more
easy and secure.
After all, I may, perhaps, agree to your general conclusion
in favour of liberty, though upon different premises from
those, on which you endeavour to found it. I think, that
the state ought to tolerate every principle of philosophy;
nor is there an instance, that any government has suffered
in its political interests by such indulgence. There is no
enthusiasm among philosophers; their doctrines are not
very alluring to the people; and no restraint can be put
upon their reasonings, but what must be of dangerous con-
sequence to the sciences, and even to the state, by paving
the way for persecution and oppression in points, where
the generality of mankind are more deeply interested and
concerned.
But there occurs to me (continued I) with regard to your
main topic, a difficulty, which I shall just propose to you
without insisting on it; lest it lead into reasonings of too
nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much doubt
whether it be possible for a cause to be known only by its
effect (as you have all along supposed) or to be of so
singular and particular a nature as to have no parallel and
no similarity with any other cause or object, that has ever
fallen under our observation. It is only when two species of
objects are found to be constantly conjoined, that we can
infer the one from the other; and were an effect presented,
which was entirely singular, and could not be comprehended
under any known species, I do not see, that we could form
any conjecture or inference at all concerning its cause. If
experience and observation and analogy be, indeed, the
only guides which we can reasonably follow in inferences of
this nature; both the effect and cause must bear a similarity
and resemblance to other effects and causes, which we know,
and which we have found, in many instances, to be con-
joined with each other. I leave it to your own reflection to
pursue the consequences of this principle. I shall just
observe, that, as the antagonists of Epicurus always sup-
pose the universe, an effect quite singular and unparalleled,
to be the proof of a Deity, a cause no less singular and un-
paralleled; your reasonings, upon that supposition, seem,
at least, to merit our attention. There is, I own, some dif-
ficulty, how we can ever return from the cause to the
effect, and, reasoning from our ideas of the former, infer
any alteration on the latter, or any, addition to it.
[1] Luciani, [3 greek words].
[2] Luciani, [greek word].
[3] Luciani and Dio.
[4] In general, it may, I think, Be established as a maxim, that where any
cause is known only by its particular effects, it must be impossible to infer
any new effects from that cause; since the qualities, which are requisite to
produce these new effects along with the former, must either be different,
or superior, or of more extensive operation, than those which simply pro-
duced the effect, whence alone the cause is supposed to be known to us.
We can never, therefore, have any reason to suppose the existence of these
qualities. To say, that the new effects proceed only from a continuation
of the same energy, which is already known from the first effects, will not
remove the difficulty. For even granting this to be the case (which can
seldom be supposed), the very continuation and exertion of a like energy
(for it is impossible it can be absolutely the same), I say, this exertion
of a like energy, in a different period of space and time, is a very arbitrary
supposition, and what there cannot possibly be any traces of it in the effects,
from which all our knowledge of the cause is originally derived. Let the
inferred cause be exactly proportioned (as it should be) to the known
effect; and it is impossible that it can possess any qualities, from which new
or different effects can be inferred.
SECTION XII
OF THE ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY
PART I
THERE is not a greater number of philosophical reason-
ings, displayed upon any subject, than those, which
prove the existence of a Deity, and refute the falla-
cies of Atheists; and yet the most religious philosophers
still dispute whether any man can be so blinded as to be a
speculative atheist. How shall we reconcile these contra-
dictions? The knights errant, who wandered about to
clear the world of dragons and giants, never entertained
the least doubt with regard to the existence of these
monsters.
The Sceptic is another enemy of religion, who naturally
provokes the indignation of all divines and graver philoso-
phers; though it is certain, that no man ever met with any
such absurd creature, or conversed with a man, who had no
opinion or principle concerning any subject, either of action
or speculation. This begets a very natural question; What
is meant by a sceptic? And how far it is possible to push
these philosophical principles of doubt and uncertainty?
There is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study
and philosophy, which is much inculcated by Des Cartes
and others, as a sovereign preservative against error and
precipitate judgement. It recommends an universal doubt,
not only of all our former opinions and principles, but also
of our very faculties; of whose veracity, say they, we must
assure ourselves, by a chain of reasoning, deduced from some
original principle, which cannot possibly be fallacious or
deceitful. But neither is there any such original principle,
which has a prerogative above others, that are self-evident
and convincing: or if there were, could we advance a step
beyond it, but by the use of those very faculties, of which
we are supposed to be already diffident. The Cartesian
doubt, therefore, were it ever possible to be attained by any
human creature (as it plainly is not) would be entirely in-
curable; and no reasoning could ever bring us to a state
of assurance and conviction upon any subject.
It must, however, be confessed, that this species of scep-
ticism, when more moderate, may be understood in a very
reasonable sense, and is a necessary preparative to the study
of philosophy, by preserving a proper impartiality in our
judgements, and weaning our mind from all those preju-
dices, which we may have imbibed from education or rash
opinion. To begin with clear and self-evident principles, to
advance by timorous and sure steps, to review frequently
our conclusions, and examine accurately all their conse-
quences; though by these means we shall make both a slow
and a short progress in our systems; are the only methods,
by which we can ever hope to reach truth, and attain a
proper stability and certainty in our determinations.
There is another species of scepticism, consequent to
science and enquiry, when men are supposed to have dis-
covered, either the absolute fallaciousness of their mental
faculties, or their unfitness to reach any fixed determination
in all those curious subjects of speculation, about which
they are commonly employed. Even our very senses are
brought into dispute, by a certain species of philosophers;
and the maxims of common life are subjected to the same
doubt as the most profound principles or conclusions of
metaphysics and theology. As these paradoxical tenets
(if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in some
philosophers, and the refutation of them in several, they
naturally excite our curiosity, and make us enquire into the
arguments, on which they may be founded.
I need not insist upon the more trite topics, employed by
the sceptics in all ages, against the evidence of sense; such
as those which are derived from the imperfection and
fallaciousness of our organs, on numberless occasions; the
crooked appearance of an oar in water; the various aspects
of objects, according to their different distances; the double
images which arise from the pressing one eye; with many
other appearances of a like nature. These sceptical topics,
indeed, are only sufficient to prove, that the senses alone
are not implicitly to be depended on; but that we must
correct their evidence by reason, and by considerations,
derived from the nature of the medium, the distance of the
object, and the disposition of the organ, in order to render
them, within their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and
falsehood. There are other more profound arguments
against the senses, which admit not of so easy a solution.
It seems evident, that men are carried, by a natural
instinct or prepossession, to repose faith in their senses;
and that, without any reasoning, or even almost before the
use of reason, we always suppose an external universe,
which depends not on our perception, but would exist,
though we and every sensible creature were absent or an-
nihilated. Even the animal creation are governed by a
like opinion, and preserve this belief of external objects,
in all their thoughts, designs, and actions.
It seems also evident, that, when men follow this blind
and powerful instinct of nature, they always suppose the
very images, presented by the senses, to be the external
objects, and never entertain any suspicion, that the one are
nothing but representations of the other. This very table,
which we see white, and which we feel hard, is believed to
exist, independent of our perception, and to be something
external to our mind, which perceives it. Our presence
bestows not being on it: our absence does not annihilate
it. It preserves its existence uniform and entire, independ-
ent of the situation of intelligent beings, who perceive
or contemplate it.
But this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon
destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches us, that
nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image or
perception, and that the senses are only the inlets, through
which these images are conveyed, without being able to
produce any immediate intercourse between the mind and
the object. The table, which we see, seems to diminish,
as we remove farther from it: but the real table, which
exists independent of us, suffers no alteration: it was, there-
fore, nothing but its image, which was present to the mind.
These are the obvious dictates of reason; and no man,
who reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which we
consider, when we say, this house and that tree, are nothing
but perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies or represen-
tations of other existences, which remain uniform and inde-
pendent.
So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to con-
tradict or depart from the primary instincts of nature, and
to embrace a new system with regard to the evidence of our
senses. But here philosophy finds herself extremely em-
barrassed, when she would justify this new system, and
obviate the cavils and objections of the sceptics. She can
no longer plead the infallible and irresistible instinct of
nature: for that led us to a quite different system, which is
acknowledged fallible and even erroneous. And to justify
this pretended philosophical system, by a chain of clear
and convincing argument, or even any appearance of argu-
ment, exceeds the power of all human capacity.
By what argument can it be proved, that the perceptions
of the mind must be caused by external objects, entirely
different from them, though resembling them (if that be
possible) and could not arise either from the energy of the
mind itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and
unknown spirit, or from some other cause still more un-
known to us? It is acknowledged, that, in fact, many of
these perceptions arise not from anything external, as in
dreams, madness, and other diseases. And nothing can be
more inexplicable than the manner, in which body should
so operate upon mind as ever to convey an image of itself
to a substance, supposed of so different, and even contrary
a nature.
It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of the
senses be produced by external objects, resembling them:
how shall this question be determined? By experience
surely; as all other questions of a like nature. But here
experience is, and must be entirely silent. The mind has
never anything present to it but the perceptions, and cannot
possibly reach any experience of their connexion with ob-
jects. The supposition of such a connexion is, therefore,
without any foundation in reasoning.
To have recourse to the veracity of the supreme Being,
in order to prove the veracity of our senses, is surely
making a very unexpected circuit. If his veracity were at
all concerned in this matter, our senses would be entirely
infallible; because it is not possible that he can ever
deceive. Not to mention, that, if the external world be
once called in question, we shall be at a loss to find argu-
ments, by which we may prove the existence of that Being
or any of his attributes.
This is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder and
more philosophical sceptics will always triumph, when they
endeavour to introduce an universal doubt into all subjects
of human knowledge and enquiry. Do you follow the in-
stincts and propensities of nature, may they say, in assenting
to the veracity of sense? But these lead you to believe
that the very perception or sensible image is the external
object. Do you disclaim this principle, in order to embrace
a more rational opinion, that the perceptions are only
representations of something external? You here depart
from your natural propensities and more obvious senti-
ments; and yet are not able to satisfy your reason, which
can never find any convincing argument from experience to
prove, that the perceptions are connected with any external
objects.
There is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived
from the most profound philosophy; which might merit
our attention, were it requisite to dive so deep, in order
to discover arguments and reasonings, which can so little
serve to any serious purpose. It is universally allowed
by modern enquirers, that all the sensible qualities of ob-
jects, such as hard, soft, hot, cold, white, black, &c. are
merely secondary, and exist not in the objects themselves,
but are perceptions of the mind, without any external
archetype or model, which they represent. If this be al-
lowed, with regard to secondary qualities, it must also
follow, with regard to the supposed primary qualities of
extension and solidity; nor can the latter be any more
entitled to that denomination than the former. The idea
of extension is entirely acquired from the senses of sight
and feeling; and if all the qualities, perceived by the
senses, be in the mind, not in the object, the same con-
clusion must reach the idea of extension, which is wholly
dependent on the sensible ideas or the ideas of secondary
qualities. Nothing can save us from this conclusion, but
the asserting, that the ideas of those primary qualities are
attained by Abstraction, an opinion, which, if we examine it
accurately, we shall find to be unintelligible, and even absurd.
An extension, that is neither tangible nor visible, cannot
possibly be conceived: and a tangible or visible extension,
which is neither hard nor soft, black nor white, is equally
beyond the reach of human conception. Let any man try
to conceive a triangle in general, which is neither Isosceles
nor Scalenum, nor has any particular length or proportion
of sides; and he will soon perceive the absurdity of all the
scholastic notions with regard to abstraction and general
ideas.[1]
Thus the first philosophical objection to the evidence of
sense or to the opinion of external existence consists in
this, that such an opinion, if rested on natural instinct, is
contrary to reason, and if referred to reason, is contrary to
natural instinct, and at the same time carries no rational
evidence with it, to convince an impartial enquirer. The
second objection goes farther, and represents this opinion
as contrary to reason: at least, if it be a principle of reason,
that all sensible qualities are in the mind, not in the object.
Bereave matter of all its intelligible qualities, both primary
and secondary, you in a manner annihilate it, and leave
only a certain unknown, inexplicable something, as the cause
of our perceptions; a notion so imperfect, that no sceptic
will think it worth while to contend against it.
PART II
IT may seem a very extravagant attempt of the sceptics
to destroy reason by argument and ratiocination; yet is
this the grand scope of all their enquiries and disputes.
They endeavour to find objections, both to our abstract
reasonings, and to those which regard matter of fact and
existence.
The chief objection against all abstract reasonings is
derived from the ideas of space and time; ideas, which, in
common life and to a careless view, are very clear and
intelligible, but when they pass through the scrutiny of the
profound sciences (and they are the chief object of these
sciences) afford principles, which seem full of absurdity and
contradiction. No priestly dogmas, invented on purpose to
tame and subdue the rebellious reason of mankind, ever
shocked common sense more than the doctrine of the
infinitive divisibility of extension, with its consequences;
as they are pompously displayed by all geometricians and
metaphysicians, with a kind of triumph and exultation. A
real quantity, infinitely less than any finite quantity, con-
taining quantities infinitely less than itself, and so on in
infinitum; this is an edifice so bold and prodigious, that it
is too weighty for any pretended demonstration to support,
because it shocks the clearest and most natural principles
of human reason.[2] But what renders the matter more
extraordinary, is, that these seemingly absurd opinions are
supported by a chain of reasoning, the clearest and most
natural; nor is it possible for us to allow the premises
without admitting the consequences. Nothing can be more
convincing and satisfactory than all the conclusions con-
cerning the properties of circles and triangles; and yet,
when these are once received, how can we deny, that the
angle of contact between a circle and its tangent is infinitely
less than any rectilineal angle, that as you may increase the
diameter of the circle in infinitum, this angle of contact
becomes still less, even in infinitum, and that the angle
of contact between other curves and their tangents may be
infinitely less than those between any circle and its tangent,
and so on, in infinitum? The demonstration of these prin-
ciples seems as unexceptionable as that which proves the
three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right ones,
though the latter opinion be natural and easy, and the
former big with contradiction and absurdity. Reason here
seems to be thrown into a kind of amazement and sus-
pence, which, without the suggestions of any sceptic, gives
her a diffidence of herself, and of the ground on which
she treads. She sees a full light, which illuminates certain
places; but that light borders upon the most profound
darkness. And between these she is so dazzled and con-
founded, that she scarcely can pronounce with certainty and
assurance concerning any one object.
The absurdity of these bold determinations of the ab-
stract sciences seems to become, if possible, still more
palpable with regard to time than extension. An infinite
number of real parts of time, passing in succession, and
exhausted one after another, appears so evident a contra-
diction, that no man, one should think, whose judgement
is not corrupted, instead of being improved, by the sciences,
would ever be able to admit of it.
Yet still reason must remain restless, and unquiet, even
with regard to that scepticism, to which she is driven by
these seeming absurdities and contradictions. How any
clear, distinct idea can contain circumstances, contradictory
to itself, or to any other clear, distinct idea, is absolutely
incomprehensible; and is, perhaps, as absurd as any propo-
sition, which can be formed. So that nothing can be
more sceptical, or more full of doubt and hesitation,
than this scepticism itself, which arises from some of the
paradoxical conclusions of geometry or the science of
quantity.[3]
The sceptical objections to moral evidence, or to the
reasonings concerning matter of fact, are either popular or
philosophical. The popular objections are derived from the
natural weakness of human understanding; the contra-
dictory opinions, which have been entertained in different
ages and nations; the variations of our judgement in sick-
ness and health, youth and old age, prosperity and adver-
sity; the perpetual contradiction of each particular man's
opinions and sentiments; with many other topics of that
kind. It is needless to insist farther on this head. These
objections are but weak. For as, in common life, we reason
every moment concerning fact and existence, and cannot
possibly subsist, without continually employing this species
of argument, any popular objections, derived from thence,
must be insufficient to destroy that evidence. The great
subverter of Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of
scepticism is action, and employment, and the occupations
of common life. These principles may flourish and triumph
in the schools; where it is, indeed, difficult, if not impossible,
to refute them. But as soon as they leave the shade, and
by the presence of the real objects, which actuate our
passions and sentiments, are put in opposition to the more
powerful principles of our nature, they vanish like smoke,
and leave the most determined sceptic in the same condition
as other mortals.
The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within his proper
sphere, and display those philosophical objections, which
arise from more profound researches. Here he seems to
have ample matter of triumph; while he justly insists, that
all our evidence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond the
testimony of sense or memory, is derived entirely from the
relation of cause and effect; that we have no other idea
of this relation than that of two objects, which have been
frequently conjoined together; that we have no argument to
convince us, that objects, which have, in our experience,
been frequently conjoined, will likewise, in other instances,
be conjoined in the same manner; and that nothing leads
us to this inference but custom or a certain instinct of our
nature; which it is indeed difficult to resist, but which,
like other instincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While
the sceptic insists upon these topics, he shows his force, or
rather, indeed, his own and our weakness; and seems, for
the time at least, to destroy all assurance and conviction.
These arguments might be displayed at greater length,
if any durable good or benefit to society could ever be
expected to result from them.
For here is the chief and most confounding objection to
excessive scepticism, that no durable good can ever result
from it; while it remains in its full force and vigour. We
need only ask such a sceptic, What his meaning is? And
what he proposes by all these curious researches? He is
immediately at a loss, and knows not what to answer.
A Copernican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his different
system of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction,
which will remain constant and durable, with his audience.
A Stoic or Epicurean displays principles, which may not
be durable, but which have an effect on conduct and be-
haviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot expect, that his philos-
ophy will have any constant influence on the mind: or if
it had, that its influence would be beneficial to society. On
the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge
anything, that all human life must perish, were his principles
universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action
would immediately cease; and men remain in a total lethargy,
till the necessities of nature, unsatisfied, put an end to their
miserable existence. It is true; so fatal an event is very little
to be dreaded. Nature is always too strong for principle.
And though a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into
a momentary amazement and confusion by his profound
reasonings; the first and most trivial event in life will
put to flight all his doubts and scruples, and leave him the
same, in every point of action and speculation, with the
philosophers of every other sect, or with those who never
concerned themselves in any philosophical researches.
When he awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join
in the laugh against himself, and to confess, that all his
objections are mere amusement, and can have no other
tendency than to show the whimsical condition of mankind,
who must act and reason and believe; though they are not
able, by their most diligent enquiry, to satisfy themselves
concerning the foundation of these operations, or to remove
the objections, which may be raised against them.
PART III
THERE is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academ-
ical philosophy, which may be both durable and useful, and
which may, in part, be the result of this Pyrrhonism, or
excessive scepticism, when its undistinguished doubts are,
in some measure, corrected by common sense and reflection.
The greater part of mankind are naturally apt to be affirm-
ative and dogmatical in their opinions; and while they see
objects only on one side, and have no idea of any counter-
poising argument, they throw themselves precipitately into
the principles, to which they are inclined; nor have they
any indulgence for those who entertain opposite sentiments.
To hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding, checks
their passion, and suspends their action. They are, there-
fore, impatient till they escape from a state, which to them
is so uneasy: and they think, that they could never remove
themselves far enough from it, by the violence of their
affirmations and obstinacy of their belief. But could such
dogmatical reasoners become sensible of the strange in-
firmities of human understanding, even in its most perfect
state, and when most accurate and cautious in its determina-
tions; such a reflection would naturally inspire them with
more modesty and reserve, and diminish their fond opinion
of themselves, and their prejudice against antagonists. The
illiterate may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who,
amidst all the advantages of study and reflection, are com-
monly still diffident in their determinations: and if any
of the learned be inclined, from their natural temper, to
haughtiness and obstinacy, a small tincture of Pyrrhonism
might abate their pride, by showing them, that the few ad-
vantages, which they may have attained over their fellows,
are but inconsiderable, if compared with the universal per-
plexity and confusion, which is inherent in human nature.
In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and
modesty, which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought
for ever to accompany a just reasoner.
Another species of mitigated scepticism which may be
of advantage to mankind, and which may be the natural
result of the Pyrrhonian doubts and scruples, is the limita-
tion of our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to
the narrow capacity of human understanding. The imagina-
tion of man is naturally sublime, delighted with whatever is
remote and extraordinary, and running, without control,
into the most distant parts of space and time in order to
avoid the objects, which custom has rendered too familiar
to it. A correct Judgement observes a contrary method, and
avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to
common life, and to such subjects as fall under daily prac-
tice and experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the
embellishment of poets and orators, or to the arts of priests
and politicians. To bring us to so salutary a determination,
nothing can be more serviceable, than to be once thoroughly
convinced of the force of the Pyrrhonian doubt, and of the
impossibility, that anything, but the strong power of natural
instinct, could free us from it. Those who have a propensity
to philosophy, will still continue their researches; because
they reflect, that, besides the immediate pleasure attending
such an occupation, philosophical decisions are nothing but
the reflections of common life, methodized and corrected.
But they will never be tempted to go beyond common life,
so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties
which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate
operations. While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why
we believe, after a thousand experiments, that a stone will
fall, or fire burn; can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning
any determination, which we may form, with regard to the
origin of worlds, and the situation of nature, from, and to
eternity?
This narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in
every respect, so reasonable, that it suffices to make the
slightest examination into the natural powers of the human
mind and to compare them with their objects, in order to
recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper
subjects of science and enquiry.
It seems to me, that the only objects of the abstract
science or of demonstration are quantity and number, and
that all attempts to extend this more perfect species of
knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and
illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number
are entirely similar, their relations become intricate and
involved; and nothing can be more curious, as well as
useful, than to trace, by a variety of mediums, their equality
or inequality, through their different appearances. But as
all other ideas are clearly distinct and different from each
other, we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny,
than to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection,
pronounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any
difficulty in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the
undeterminate meaning of words, which is corrected by
juster definitions. That the square of the hypothenuse is
equal to the squares of the other two sides, cannot be known,
let the terms be ever so exactly defined, without a train of
reasoning and enquiry. But to convince us of this propo-
sition, that where there is no property, there can be no in-
justice, it is only necessary to define the terms, and explain
injustice to be a violation of property. This proposition is,
indeed, nothing but a more imperfect definition. It is the
same case with all those pretended syllogistical reasonings,
which may be found in every other branch of learning,
except the sciences of quantity and number; and these may
safely, I think, be pronounced the only proper objects of
knowledge and demonstration.
All other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and
existence; and these are evidently incapable of demon-
stration. Whatever is may not be. No negation of a fact
can involve a contradiction. The non-existence of any
being, without exception, is as clear and distinct an idea
as its existence. The proposition, which affirms it not
to be, however false, is no less conceivable and intelligible,
than that which affirms it to be. The case is different
with the sciences, properly so called. Every proposition,
which is not true, is there confused and unintelligible. That
the cube root of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a false
proposition, and can never be distinctly conceived. But
that Caesar, or the angel Gabriel, or any being never ex-
isted, may be a false proposition, but still is perfectly con-
ceivable, and implies no contradiction.
The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved
by arguments from its cause or its effect; and these argu-
ments are founded entirely on experience. If we reason
a priori, anything may appear able to produce anything.
The falling of a pebble may, for aught we know, extinguish
the sun; or the wish of a man control the planets in their
orbits. It is only experience, which teaches us the nature
and bounds of cause and effect, and enables us to infer the
existence of one object from that of another.[4] Such is the
foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the greater part
of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action
and behaviour.
Moral reasonings are either concerning particular or gen-
eral facts. All deliberations in life regard the former;
as also all disquisitions in history, chronology, geography,
and astronomy.
The sciences, which treat of general facts, are politics,
natural philosophy, physic, chemistry, &c. where the quali-
ties, causes and effects of a whole species of objects are
enquired into.
Divinity or Theology, as it proves the existence of a
Deity, and the immortality of souls, is composed partly
of reasonings concerning particular, partly concerning gen-
eral facts. It has a foundation in reason, so far as it is
supported by experience. But its best and most solid
foundation is faith and divine revelation.
Morals and criticism are not so properly objects of the
understanding as of taste and sentiment. Beauty, whether
moral or natural, is felt, more properly than perceived.
Or if we reason concerning it, and endeavour to fix its
standard, we regard a new fact, to wit, the general tastes of
mankind, or some such fact, which may be the object of
reasoning and enquiry.
When we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles,
what havoc must we make? If we take in our hand any
volume; of divinity or school metaphysics, for instance;
let us ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning concern-
ing quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experi-
mental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence?
No. Commit it then to the flames: for it can contain
nothing but sophistry and illusion.
[1] This argument is drawn from Dr. Berkeley; and indeed most of the
writings of that very ingenious author form the best lessons of scepticism,
which are to be found either among the ancient or modern philosophers,
Bayle not excepted. He professes, however, in his title-page (and undoubt-
edly with great truth) to have composed his book against the sceptics as
well as against the atheists and free-thinkers. But that all his arguments,
though otherwise intended, are, in reality, merely sceptical, appears from
this, that they admit of no answer and produce no conviction. Their only
effect is to cause that momentary amazement and irresolution and confu-
sion, which is the result of scepticism.
[2] Whatever disputes there may be about the mathematical points, we must
allow that there are physical points; that is, parts of extension, which can-
not be divided or lessened, either by the eye or imagination. These images,
then, which are present to the fancy or senses, are absolutely indivisible,
and consequently must be allowed by mathematicians to be infinitely less
than any real part of extension; and yet nothing appears more certain to
reason, than that an infinite number of them composes an infinite extension.
How much more an infinite number of those infinitely small parts of exten-
sion, which are still supposed infinitely divisible.
[3] It seems to be not impossible to avoid these absurdities and contradic-
tions, if it be admitted, that there is no such thing as abstract or general
ideas, properly speaking; but that all general ideas are, in reality, particular
ones, attached to a general term, which recalls, upon occasion, other par-
ticular ones, that resemble, in certain circumstances, the idea, present to
the mind. Thus when the term Horse is pronounced, we immediately figure
to ourselves the idea of a black or a white animal, of a particular size or
figure: But as that term is also usually applied to animals of other colours,
figures and sizes, these ideas, though not actually present to the imagina-
tion, are easily recalled; and our reasoning and conclusion proceed in the
same way, as if they were actually present. If this be admitted (as seems
reasonable) it follows that all the ideas of quantity, upon which mathema-
ticians reason, are nothing but particular, and such as are suggested by the
senses and imagination, and consequently, cannot be infinitely divisible. It
is sufficient to have dropped this hint at present, without prosecuting it
any farther. It certainly concerns all lovers of science not to expose them-
selves to the ridicule and contempt of the ignorant by their conclusions;
and this seems the readiest solution of these difficulties.
[4] That impious maxim of the ancient philosophy, Ex nihilo, nihil fit, by
which the creation of matter was excluded, ceases to be a maxim, accord-
ing to this philosophy. Not only the will of the supreme Being may create
matter; but, for aught, we know a priori, the will of any other being might
create it, or any other cause, that the most whimsical imagination can assign.
[End]