
    The Internet Wiretap online edition of

            AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING
             HUMAN UNDERSTANDING

                     by
                 DAVID HUME

          Harvard Classics Volume 37
      Copyright 1910 P.F. Collier & Son

     Prepared by <dell@wiretap.spies.com>


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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 mankind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action; and as
influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing one
object, and avoiding another, according to the value which these
objects seem to possess, and according to the light in which they
present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the
most valuable, this species of philosophers paint her in the most
amiable colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and
treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and such as is
best fitted to please the imagination, and engage the affections.
They select the most striking observations and instances from common
life; place opposite characters in a proper contrast; and alluring us
into the paths of virtue by the views of glory and happiness, direct
our steps in these paths by the soundest precepts and most
illustrious examples. They make us feel the difference between vice
and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and so they can
but bend our hearts to the love of probity and true honour, they
think, that they have fully attained the end of all their labours.

  The other species of philosophers consider man in the light of a
reasonable rather than an active being, and endeavour to form his
understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human
nature as a subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny
examine it, in order to find those principles, which regulate our
understanding, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame
any particular object, action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach
to all literature, that philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond
controversy, the foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism; and
should for ever talk of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty
and deformity, without being able to determine the source of these
distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task, they are deterred
by no difficulties; but proceeding from particular instances to
general principles, they still push on their enquiries to principles
more general, and rest not satisfied till they arrive at those
original principles, by which, in every science, all human curiosity
must be bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and even
unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the approbation of the
learned and the wise; and think themselves sufficiently compensated
for the labour of their whole lives, if they can discover some hidden
truths, which may contribute to the instruction of posterity.

  It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always,
with the generality of mankind, have the preference above the
accurate and abstruse; and by many will be recommended, not only as
more agreeable, but more useful than the other. It enters more into
common life; moulds the heart and affections; and, by touching those
principles which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them
nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On the
contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind,
which cannot enter into business and action, vanishes when the
philosopher leaves the shade, and comes into open day; nor can its
principles easily retain any influence over our conduct and
behaviour. The feelings of our heart, the agitation of our passions,
the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and
reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.

  This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well as
justest fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that
abstract reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed only a momentary
reputation, from the caprice or ignorance of their own age, but have
not been able to support their renown with more equitable posterity.
It is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake in his
subtile reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary parent of
another, while he pushes on his consequences, and is not deterred
from embracing any conclusion, by its unusual appearance, or its
contradiction to popular opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes
only to represent the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and
more engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no
farther; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the natural
sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path, and secures
himself from any dangerous illusions. The fame of Cicero flourishes
at present; but that of Aristotle is utterly decayed. La Bruyere
passes the seas, and still maintains his reputation: but the glory of
Malebranche is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And
Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke shall be
entirely forgotten.

  The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little
acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute nothing
either to the advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives remote
from communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and
notions equally remote from their comprehension. On the other hand,
the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing deemed a
surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation where the
sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish for
those noble entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to
lie between those extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for
books, company, and business; preserving in conversation that
discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters; and in
business, that probity and accuracy which are the natural result of a
just philosophy. In order to diffuse and cultivate so accomplished a
character, nothing can be more useful than compositions of the easy
style and manner, which draw not too much from life, require no deep
application or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the student
among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable
to every exigence of human life. By means of such compositions,
virtue becomes amiable, science agreeable, company instructive, and
retirement entertaining.

  Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science his
proper food and nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds of human
understanding, that little satisfaction can be hoped for in this
particular, either from the extent of security or his acquisitions.
Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable being: but neither can
he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the proper
relish for them. Man is also an active being; and from that
disposition, as well as from the various necessities of human life,
must submit to business and occupation: but the mind requires some
relaxation, and cannot always support its bent to care and industry.
It seems, then, that nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as
most suitable to the human race, and secretly admonished them to
allow none of these 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 profound
reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics, we shall now
proceed to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf.

  We may begin with observing, that one considerable advantage, which
results from the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its
subserviency to the easy and humane; which, without the former, can
never attain a sufficient degree of exactness in its sentiments,
precepts, or reasonings.  All polite letters are nothing but pictures
of human life in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us
with different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or
ridicule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set
before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this
undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick apprehension,
possesses an accurate knowledge of the internal fabric, the
operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions, and
the various species of sentiment which discriminate vice and virtue.
How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it
becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe with
success the obvious and outward appearances of life and manners. The
anatomist presents to the eye the most hideous and disagreeable
objects; but his science is useful to the painter in delineating even
a Venus or an Helen.  While the latter employs all the richest
colours of his art, and gives his figures the most graceful and
engaging airs; he must still carry his attention to the inward
structure of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric
of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ.
Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just
reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt the one by
depreciating the other.

  Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even those
which most concern life or action, that a spirit of accuracy, however
acquired, carries all of them nearer their perfection, and renders
them more subservient to the interests of society. And though a
philosopher may live remote from business, the genius of philosophy,
if carefully cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself
throughout the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on
every art and calling. The politician will acquire greater foresight
and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing of power; the lawyer
more method and finer principles in his reasonings; and the general
more regularity in his discipline, and more caution in his plans and
operations.  The stability of modern governments above the ancient,
and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably
will still improve, by similar gradations.

  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
burdensome and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the mind
as well as to the eye; but to bring light from obscurity, by whatever
labour, must needs be delightful and rejoicing.

  But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philosophy, is
objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable
source of uncertainty and error. Here indeed lies the justest and
most plausible objection against a considerable part of metaphysics,
that they are not properly a science; but arise either from the
fruitless efforts of human vanity, which would penetrate into
subjects utterly inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft
of popular superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves on
fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to cover and protect
their weakness. 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, however unsuccessful former
attempts may have proved, there is still room to hope, that the
industry, good fortune, or improved sagacity of succeeding
generations may reach discoveries unknown to former ages. Each
adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find
himself stimulated, rather 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 philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by
curiosity; and despair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give
place afterwards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and
just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all persons
and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert that abstruse
philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which being mixed up with popular
superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable to careless
reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom.

  Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate enquiry, the
most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are many
positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny into the
powers and faculties of human nature. It is remarkable concerning the
operations of the mind, that, though most intimately present to us,
yet, whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem involved
in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those lines and
boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish them. The objects are
too fine to remain long in the same aspect or situation; and must be
apprehended in an instant, by a superior penetration, derived from
nature, and improved by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore,
no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different
operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to class
them under their proper heads, and to correct all that seeming
disorder, in which they lie involved, when made the object of
reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering and distinguishing,
which has no merit, when performed with regard to external bodies,
the objects of our senses, rises in its value, when directed towards
the operations of the mind, in proportion to the difficulty and
labour, which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no
farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the distinct
parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satisfaction to go so
far; and the more obvious this science may appear (and it is by no
means obvious) the more contemptible still must the ignorance of it
be esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and philosophy.

  Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science is uncertain
and chimerical; unless we should entertain such a scepticism as is
entirely subversive of all speculation, and even action. It cannot be
doubted, that the mind is endowed with several powers and faculties,
that these powers are distinct from each other, that what is really
distinct to the immediate perception may be distinguished by
reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and falsehood in
all propositions on this subject, and a truth and falsehood, which
lie not beyond the compass of human understanding. There are many
obvious distinctions of this kind, such as those between the will and
understanding, the imagination and passions, which fall within the
comprehension of every human creature; and the finer and more
philosophical distinctions are no less real and certain, though more
difficult to be comprehended. Some instances, especially late ones,
of success in these enquiries, may give us a juster notion of the
certainty and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we
esteem it worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system
of the planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote
bodies; while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much success,
delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so intimately
concerned?

  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 determined the laws and forces,
by which the revolutions of the planets are governed and directed.
The like has been performed with regard to other parts of nature. And
there is no reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries
concerning the mental powers and economy, if prosecuted with equal
capacity and caution. It is probable, that one operation and
principle of the mind depends on another; which, again, may be
resolved into one more general and universal: and how far these
researches may possibly be carried, it will be difficult for us,
before, or even after, a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is
certain, that attempts of this kind are every day made even by those
who philosophize the most negligently: and nothing can be more
requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with thorough care and
attention; that, if it lie within the compass of human understanding,
it may at last be happily achieved; if not, it may, however, be
rejected with some confidence and security. This last conclusion,
surely, is not desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For
how much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this species
of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto been
accustomed, when they considered the vast multitude and diversity of
those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search for
some common principle, on which this variety of sentiments might
depend.  And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far,
by their passion for some one general principle; it must, however, be
confessed, that they are excusable in expecting to find some general
principles, into which all the vices and virtues were justly to be
resolved. The like has been the endeavour of critics, logicians, and
even politicians: nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful;
though perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent
application may bring these sciences still nearer their perfection.
To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind may justly be deemed
more rash, precipitate, and dogmatical, than even the boldest and
most affirmative philosophy, that has ever attempted to impose its
crude dictates and principles on mankind.

  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 considerable
difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the
pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when
he afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it
by his imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions
of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the force and
vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even
when they operate with greatest vigour, is, that they represent their
object in so lively a manner, that we could almost say we feel or see
it: But, except the mind be disordered by disease or madness, they
never can arrive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these
perceptions altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry,
however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such a manner as
to make the description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively
thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation.

  We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other
perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a
very different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If
you tell me, that any person is in love, I easily understand your
meaning, and 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 perceptions 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 distant regions of the universe;
or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded chaos, where nature
is supposed to lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard
of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond the power of
thought, except what implies an absolute contradiction.

  But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded liberty, we
shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is really confined
within very narrow limits, and that all this creative power of the
mind amounts to no more than the faculty of compounding, transposing,
augmenting, or diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses
and experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we only join two
consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which we were formerly
acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive; because, from our own
feeling, we can conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure
and shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In short,
all the materials of thinking are derived either from our outward or
inward sentiment: the mixture and composition of these belongs alone
to the mind and will. Or, to express myself in philosophical
language, all our ideas or more feeble perceptions are copies of our
impressions or more lively ones.

  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 correspondent ideas. A blind man can
form no notion of colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of
them that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new inlet
for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas; and he
finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The case is the
same, if the object, proper for exciting any sensation, has never
been applied to the organ. A Laplander or Negro has no notion of the
relish of wine.  And though there are few or no instances of a like
deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly
incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species; yet
we find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man of
mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor
can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and
generosity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess many
senses of which we can have no conception; because the ideas of them
have never been introduced to us in the only manner by which an idea
can have access to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and
sensation.

  There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove
that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to arise, independent
of their correspondent impressions.  I believe it will readily be
allowed, that the several distinct ideas of colour, which enter by
the eye, or those of sound, which are conveyed by the ear, are really
different from each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now
if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of the
different shades of the same colour; and each shade produces a
distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied,
it is possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a colour
insensibly into what is most remote from it; and if you will not
allow any of the means to be different, you cannot, without
absurdity, deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a
person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become
perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds except one particular
shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to
meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that
single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the
deepest to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank,
where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there is a
greater distance in that place between the contiguous 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
without a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a
determinate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions,
that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and
vivid: the limits between them are more exactly determined: nor is it
easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them. When we
entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a philosophical term is
employed without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent), we
need but enquire, from what impression is that supposed idea derived?
And if it be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our
suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may reasonably
hope to remove all dispute, which may arise, concerning their nature
and reality.[1]

[1] It is probable that no more was meant by 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 opposition to what is uncommon,
artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant, contemporary to our
birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth while to
enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at, or after
our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly taken in a very
loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing for any of our
perceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in
this sense, I should desire to know, what can be meant by asserting,
that self-love, or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the
sexes is not innate?

But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above
explained, and understanding by innate, what is original or copied
from no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our
impressions are innate, and our ideas not innate.

To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was
betrayed into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of
undefined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without
ever touching the point in question. A like ambiguity and
circumlocution seem to run through that philosopher's reasonings on
this as well as most other subjects.


SECTION III
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS

  IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion between the
different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that in their appearance
to the memory or imagination, they introduce each other with a
certain degree of method and regularity. In our more serious thinking
or discourse this is so observable that any particular thought, which
breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is immediately
remarked and rejected. And even in our wildest and most wandering
reveries, nay in our very dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that
the imagination ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was
still a connexion upheld among the different ideas, which succeeded
each other. Were the loosest and freest conversation to be
transcribed, there would immediately be observed something which
connected it in all its transitions. Or where this is wanting, the
person who broke the thread of discourse might still inform you, that
there had secretly revolved in his mind a succession of thought,
which had gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among
different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least connexion
or communication, it is found, that the words, expressive of ideas,
the most compounded, do yet nearly correspond to each other: a
certain proof that the simple ideas, comprehended in the compound
ones, were bound together by some universal principle, which had an
equal influence on all mankind.

  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
complete 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 Resemblance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the
other; that is, the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the
annihilation of an object, implies the idea of its former existence.


SECTION IV
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF THE UNDERSTANDING

PART I

  ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally be divided
into two kinds, to wit, Relations of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of
the first kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic;
and in short, every affirmation which is either intuitively or
demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse is equal
to the square of the two sides, is a proposition which expresses a
relation between these figures. That three times five is equal to the
half of thirty, expresses a relation between these numbers.
Propositions of this kind are discoverable by the mere operation of
thought, without dependence on what is anywhere existent in the
universe.  Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature,
the truths demonstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their
certainty and evidence.

  Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human reason, are
not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our evidence of their
truth, however great, of a like nature with the foregoing. The
contrary of every matter of fact is still possible; because it can
never imply a contradiction, and is conceived by the mind with the
same facility and distinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality.
That the sun will not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible a
proposition, and implies no more contradiction than the affirmation,
that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt to
demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false, it would
imply a contradiction, and could never be distinctly conceived by the
mind.

  It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire
what is the nature of that evidence which assures us of any real
existence and matter of fact, beyond the present testimony of our
senses, or the records of our memory. This part of philosophy, it is
observable, has been little cultivated, either by the ancients or
moderns; and therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of
so important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while we march
through such difficult paths without any guide or direction. They may
even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and destroying that
implicit faith and security, which is the bane of all reasoning and
free enquiry. The discovery of defects in the common philosophy, if
any such there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement, but
rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something more full and
satisfactory than has yet been proposed to the public.

  All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be founded on the
relation of Cause and Effect. By means of that relation alone we can
go beyond the evidence of our memory and senses. If you were to ask a
man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is absent; for
instance, that his friend is in the country, or in France; he would
give you a reason; and this reason would be some other fact; as a
letter received from him, or the knowledge of his former resolutions
and promises. A man finding a watch or any other machine in a desert
island, would conclude that there had once been men in that island.
All our reasonings concerning fact are of the same nature. And here
it is constantly supposed that there is a connexion between the
present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were there nothing
to bind them together, the inference would be entirely precarious.
The hearing of an articulate voice and rational discourse in the dark
assures us of the presence of some person: Why? because these are the
effects of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with it.
If we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature, we shall
find that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect, and
that this relation is either near or remote, direct or collateral.
Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect may
justly be inferred from the other.

  If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the nature of
that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact, we must enquire
how we arrive at the knowledge of cause and effect.

  I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which admits
of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation is not, in any
instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but arises entirely from
experience, when we find that any particular objects are constantly
conjoined with each other.  Let an object be presented to a man of
ever so strong natural reason and abilities; if that object be
entirely new to him, he will not be able, by the most accurate
examination of its sensible qualities, to discover any of its causes
or effects.  Adam, though his rational faculties be supposed, at the
very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from the
fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffocate him, or
from the light and warmth of fire that it would consume him. No
object ever discovers, by the qualities which appear to the senses,
either the causes which produced it, or the effects which will arise
from it; nor can our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any
inference concerning real existence and matter of fact.

  This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable, not by
reason but by experience, will readily be admitted with regard to
such objects, as we remember to have once been altogether unknown to
us; since we must be conscious of the utter inability, which we then
lay under, of foretelling what would arise from them. Present two
smooth pieces of marble to a man who has no tincture of natural
philosophy; he will never discover that they will adhere together in
such a manner as to require great force to separate them in a direct
line, while they make so small a resistance to a lateral pressure.
Such events, as bear little analogy to the common course of nature,
are also readily confessed to be known only by experience; nor does
any man imagine that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of
a loadstone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In like
manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an intricate
machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no difficulty in
attributing all our knowledge of it to experience.  Who will assert
that he can give the ultimate reason, why milk or bread is proper
nourishment for a man, not for a lion or a tiger?

  But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have the same
evidence with regard to events, which have become familiar to us from
our first appearance in the world, which bear a close analogy to the
whole course of nature, and which are supposed to depend on the
simple qualities of objects, without any secret structure of parts.
We are apt to imagine that we could discover these effects by the
mere operation of our reason, without experience. We fancy, that were
we brought on a sudden into this world, we could at first have
inferred that one Billiard-ball would communicate motion to another
upon impulse; and that we needed not to have waited for the event, in
order to pronounce with certainty concerning it. Such is the
influence of custom, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers
our natural ignorance, but even conceals itself, and seems not to
take place, merely because it is found in the highest degree.

  But to convince us that all the laws of nature, and all the
operations of bodies without exception, are known only by experience,
the following reflections may, perhaps, suffice. Were any object
presented to us, and were we required to pronounce concerning the
effect, which will result from it, without consulting past
observation; after what manner, I beseech you, must the mind proceed
in this operation? It must invent or imagine some event, which it
ascribes to the object as its effect; and it is plain that this
invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can never possibly
find the effect in the supposed cause, by the most accurate scrutiny
and examination. For the effect is totally different from the cause,
and consequently can never be discovered in it. Motion in the second
Billiard-ball is a quite distinct event from motion in the first; nor
is there anything in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the
other. A stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and left
without any support, immediately falls: but to consider the matter a
priori, is there anything we discover in this situation which can
beget the idea of a downward, rather than an upward, or any other
motion, in the stone or metal?

  And as the first imagination or invention of a particular effect,
in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we consult not
experience; so must we also esteem the supposed tie or connexion
between the cause and effect, which binds them together, and renders
it impossible that any other effect could result from the operation
of that cause. When I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a
straight line towards another; even suppose motion in the second ball
should by accident be suggested to me, as the result of their contact
or impulse; may I not conceive, that a hundred different events might
as well follow from that cause? May not both these balls remain at
absolute rest? May not the first ball return in a straight line, or
leap off from the second in any line or direction? All these
suppositions are consistent and conceivable. Why then should we give
the preference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable
than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be able to show
us any foundation for this preference.

  In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its cause.
It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause, and the first
invention or conception of it, a priori, must be entirely arbitrary.
And even after it is suggested, the conjunction of it with the cause
must appear equally arbitrary; since there are always many other
effects, which, to reason, must seem fully as consistent and natural.
In vain, therefore, should we pretend to determine any single event,
or infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observation
and experience.

  Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher, who is
rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign the ultimate cause
of any natural operation, or to show distinctly the action of that
power, which produces any single effect in the universe. It is
confessed, that the utmost effort of human reason is to reduce the
principles, productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity,
and to resolve the many particular effects into a few general causes,
by means of reasonings from analogy, experience, and observation. But
as to the causes of these general causes, we should in vain attempt
their discovery; nor shall we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by
any particular explication of them. These ultimate springs and
principles are totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry.
Elasticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion by
impulse; these are probably the ultimate causes and principles which
we shall ever discover in nature; and we may esteem ourselves
sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reasoning, we can
trace up the particular phenomena to, or near to, these general
principles. The most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only
staves off our ignorance a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect
philosophy of the moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover
larger portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness and
weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us at every turn,
in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it.

  Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural
philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into the
knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of reasoning for
which it is so justly celebrated. Every part of mixed mathematics
proceeds upon the supposition that certain laws are established by
nature in her operations; and abstract reasonings are employed,
either to assist experience in the discovery of these laws, or to
determine their influence in particular instances, where it depends
upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it is a law
of motion, discovered by experience, that the moment or force of any
body in motion is in the compound ratio or proportion of its solid
contents and its velocity; and consequently, that a small force may
remove the greatest obstacle or raise the greatest weight, if, by any
contrivance or machinery, we can increase the velocity of that force,
so as to make it an overmatch for its antagonist. Geometry assists us
in the application of this law, by giving us the just dimensions of
all the parts and figures which can enter into any species of
machine; but still the discovery of the law itself is owing merely to
experience, and all the abstract reasonings in the world could never
lead us one step towards the knowledge of it. When we reason a
priori, and consider merely any object or cause, as it appears to the
mind, independent of all observation, it never could suggest to us
the notion of any distinct object, such as its effect; much less,
show us the inseparable and inviolable connexion between them. A man
must be very sagacious who could discover by reasoning that crystal
is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without being previously
acquainted with the operation of these qualities.

PART II

  BUT we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfaction with regard
to the question first proposed. Each solution still gives rise to a
new question as difficult as the foregoing, and leads us on to
farther enquiries. When it is asked, What is the nature of all our
reasonings concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems to be,
that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect.  When
again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our reasonings and
conclusions concerning that relation? it may be replied in one word,
Experience. But if we still carry on our sifting humour, and ask,
What is the foundation of all conclusions from experience? this
implies a new question, which may be of more difficult solution and
explication.  Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior
wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter persons
of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every corner to which
they retreat, and who are sure at last to bring them to some
dangerous dilemma. The best expedient to prevent this confusion, is
to be modest in our pretensions; and even to discover the difficulty
ourselves before it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a
kind of merit of our very ignorance.

  I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task, and
shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the question here
proposed. I say then, that, even after we have experience of the
operations of cause and effect, our conclusions from that experience
are not founded on reasoning, or any process of the understanding.
This answer we must endeavour both to explain and to defend.

  It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a great
distance from all her secrets, and has afforded us only the knowledge
of a few superficial qualities of objects; while she conceals from us
those powers and principles on which the influence of those objects
entirely depends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and
consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us
of those qualities which fit it for the nourishment and support of a
human body. Sight or feeling conveys an idea of the actual motion of
bodies; but as to that wonderful force or power, which would carry on
a moving body for ever in a continued change of place, and which
bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of this we
cannot form the most distant conception. But notwithstanding this
ignorance of natural powers[1] and principles, we always presume,
when we see like sensible qualities, that they have like secret
powers, and expect that effects, similar to those which we have
experienced, will follow from them. If a body of like colour and
consistence with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be presented
to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experiment, and foresee,
with certainty, like nourishment and support. Now this is a process
of the mind or thought, of which I would willingly know the
foundation. It is allowed on all hands that there is no known
connexion between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and
consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a conclusion
concerning their constant and regular conjunction, by anything which
it knows of their nature. As to past Experience, it can be allowed to
give direct and certain information of those precise objects only,
and that precise period of time, which fell under its cognizance: but
why this experience should be extended to future times, and to other
objects, which for aught we know, may be only in appearance similar;
this is the main question on which I would insist. The bread, which I
formerly eat, nourished me; that is, a body of such sensible
qualities was, at that time, endued with such secret powers: but does
it follow, that other bread must also nourish me at another time, and
that like sensible qualities must always be attended with like secret
powers? The consequence seems nowise necessary. At least, it must be
acknowledged that there is here a consequence drawn by the mind; that
there is a certain step taken; a process of thought, and an
inference, which wants to be explained. These two propositions are
far from being the same. I have found that such an object has always
been attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that other objects,
which are, in appearance, similar, will be attended with similar
effects. I shall allow, if you please, that the one proposition may
justly be inferred from the other: I know, in fact, that it always is
inferred. But if you insist that the inference is made by a chain of
reasoning, I desire you to produce that reasoning. The connexion
between these propositions is not intuitive. There is required a
medium, which may enable the mind to draw such an inference, if
indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argument. What that medium is, I
must confess, passes my comprehension; and it is incumbent on those
to produce it, who assert that it really exists, and is the origin of
all our conclusions concerning matter of fact.

  This negative argument must certainly, in process of time, become
altogether convincing, if many penetrating and able philosophers
shall turn their enquiries this way and no one be ever able to
discover any connecting proposition or intermediate step, which
supports the understanding in this conclusion. But as the question is
yet new, every reader may not trust so far to his own penetration, as
to conclude, because an argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore
it does not really exist. For this reason it may be requisite to
venture upon a more difficult task; and enumerating all the branches
of human knowledge, endeavour to show that none of them can afford
such an argument.

  All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely, demonstrative
reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral
reasoning, or that concerning matter of fact and existence. That
there are no demonstrative arguments in the case seems evident; since
it implies no contradiction that the course of nature may change, and
that an object, seemingly like those which we have experienced, may
be attended with different or contrary effects.  May I not clearly
and distinctly conceive that a body, falling from the clouds, and
which, in all other respects, resembles snow, has yet the taste of
salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more intelligible proposition
than to affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and
January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever is intelligible, and
can be distinctly conceived, implies no contradiction, and can never
be proved false by any demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning 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 experience; and that all our experimental
conclusions proceed upon the supposition that the future will be
conformable to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this
last supposition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding
existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and taking that for
granted, which is the very point in question.

  In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on the
similarity which we discover among natural objects, and by which we
are induced to expect effects similar to those which we have found to
follow from such objects.  And though none but a fool or madman will
ever pretend to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject
that great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a
philosopher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the
principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to
experience, and makes us draw advantage from that similarity which
nature has placed among different objects.  From causes which appear
similar we expect similar effects.  This is the sum of all our
experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident that, if this
conclusion were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first,
and upon one instance, as after ever so long a course of experience.
But the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no one,
on account of this appearing similarity, expects the same taste and
relish in all of them. It is only after a long course of uniform
experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance and security
with regard to a particular event. Now where is that process of
reasoning which, from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different
from that which it infers from a hundred instances that are nowise
different from that single one? This question I propose as much for
the sake of information, as with an intention of raising
difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such reasoning. But
I keep my mind still open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe
to bestow it on me.

  Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experiments, we
infer a connexion between the sensible qualities and the secret
powers; this, I must confess, seems the same difficulty, couched in
different terms. The question still recurs, on what process of
argument this inference is founded? Where is the medium, the
interposing ideas, which join propositions so very wide of each
other? It is confessed that the colour, consistence, and other
sensible qualities of bread appear not, of themselves, to have any
connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and support. For
otherwise we could infer these secret powers from the first
appearance of these sensible qualities, without the aid of
experience; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers, and
contrary to plain matter of fact. Here, then, is our natural state of
ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of all objects. How
is this remedied by experience? It only shows us a number of uniform
effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us that those
particular objects, at that particular time, were endowed with such
powers and forces. When a new object, endowed with similar sensible
qualities, is produced, we expect similar powers and forces, and look
for a like effect.  From a body of like colour and consistence with
bread we expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is a
step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained.  When a
man says, I have found, in all past instances, such sensible
qualities conjoined with such secret powers: And when he says,
Similar sensible qualities will always be conjoined with similar
secret powers, he is not guilty of a tautology, nor are these
propositions in any respect the same.  You say that the one
proposition is an inference from the other. But you must confess that
the inference is not intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what
nature is it, then? To say it is experimental, is begging the
question.  For all inferences from experience suppose, as their
foundation, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar
powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities.  If there
be any suspicion that the course of nature may change, and that the
past may be no rule for the future, all experience becomes useless,
and can give rise to no inference or conclusion. It is impossible,
therefore, that any arguments from experience can prove this
resemblance of the past to the future; since all these arguments are
founded on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the course of
things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that alone, without some
new argument or inference, proves not that, for the future, it will
continue so. In vain do you pretend to have learned the nature of
bodies from your past experience. Their secret nature, and
consequently all their effects and influence, may change, without any
change in their sensible qualities. This happens sometimes, and with
regard to some objects: Why may it not happen always, and with regard
to all objects? What logic, what process or argument secures you
against this supposition? My practice, you say, refutes my doubts.
But you mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am quite
satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has some share of
curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to learn the foundation
of this inference. No reading, no enquiry has yet been able to remove
my difficulty, or give me satisfaction in a matter of such
importance. Can I do better than propose the difficulty to the
public, even though, perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining a
solution? We shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our
ignorance, if we do not augment our knowledge.

  I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable arrogance who
concludes, because an argument has escaped his own investigation,
that therefore it does not really exist. I must also confess that,
though all the learned, for several ages, should have employed
themselves in fruitless search upon any subject, it may still,
perhaps, be rash to conclude positively that the subject must,
therefore, pass all human comprehension. Even though we examine all
the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them unfit for such a
subject, there may still remain a suspicion, that the enumeration is
not complete, or the examination not accurate. But with regard to the
present subject, there are some considerations which seem to remove
all this accusation of arrogance or suspicion of mistake.

  It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants-nay
infants, nay even brute beasts--improve by experience, and learn the
qualities of natural objects, by observing the effects which result
from them. When a child has felt the sensation of pain from touching
the flame of a candle, he will be careful not to put his hand near
any candle; but will expect a similar effect from a cause which is
similar in its sensible qualities and appearance. If you assert,
therefore, that the understanding of the child is led into this
conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination, I may justly
require you to produce that argument; nor have you any pretence to
refuse so equitable a demand.  You cannot say that the argument is
abstruse, and may possibly escape your enquiry; since you confess
that it is obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you hesitate,
therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any
intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner, give up the
question, and confess that it is not reasoning which engages us to
suppose the past resembling the future, and to expect similar effects
from causes which are, to appearance, similar. This is the
proposition which I intended to enforce in the present section. If I
be right, I pretend not to have made any mighty discovery. And if I
be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward
scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which, it seems, was
perfectly familiar to me long before I was out of my cradle.

[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 endeavour to confine our
pleasures altogether within our own minds, we may, at last, render
our philosophy like that of Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more
refined system of selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue
as well as social enjoyment. While we study with attention the vanity
of human life, and turn all our thoughts towards the empty and
transitory nature of riches and honours, we are, perhaps, all the
while flattering our natural indolence, which, hating the bustle of
the world, and drudgery of business, seeks a pretence of reason to
give itself a full and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however,
one species of philosophy which seems little liable to this
inconvenience, and that because it strikes in with no disorderly
passion of the human mind, nor can mingle itself with any natural
affection or propensity; and that is the Academic or Sceptical
philosophy. The academics always talk of doubt and suspense of
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 superstitious credulity. Every passion
is mortified by it, except the love of truth; and that passion never
is, nor can be, carried to too high a degree. It is surprising,
therefore, that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance,
must be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so much
groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps, the very circumstance
which renders it so innocent is what chiefly exposes it to the public
hatred and resentment.  By flattering no irregular passion, it gains
few partizans: By opposing so many vices and follies, it raises to
itself abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, profane,
and irreligious.

  Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours to limit
our enquiries to common life, should ever undermine the reasonings of
common life, and carry its doubts so far as to destroy all action, as
well as speculation. Nature will always maintain her rights, and
prevail in the end over any abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we
should conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in
all reasonings from experience, there is a step taken by the mind
which is not supported by any argument or process of the
understanding; there is no danger that these reasonings, on which
almost all knowledge depends, will ever be affected by such a
discovery. If the mind be not engaged by argument to make this step,
it must be induced by some other principle of equal weight and
authority; and that principle will preserve its influence as long as
human nature remains the same. What that principle is may well be
worth the pains of enquiry.

  Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest faculties of
reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world; he
would, indeed, immediately observe a continual succession of objects,
and one event following another; but he would not be able to discover
anything farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able
to reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular powers,
by which all natural operations are performed, never appear to the
senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude, merely because one event,
in one instance, precedes another, that therefore the one is the
cause, the other the effect.  Their conjunction may be arbitrary and
casual. There may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the
appearance of the other. And in a word, such a person, without more
experience, could never employ his conjecture or reasoning concerning
any matter of fact, or be assured of anything beyond what was
immediately present to his memory and senses.

  Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience, and has lived
so long in the world as to have observed familiar objects or events
to be constantly conjoined together; what is the consequence of this
experience? He immediately infers the existence of one object from
the appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his experience,
acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret power by which the one
object produces the other; nor is it by any process of reasoning, he
is engaged to draw this inference. But still he finds himself
determined to draw it: and though he should be convinced that his
understanding has no part in the operation, he would nevertheless
continue in the same course of thinking. There is some other
principle which determines him to form such a conclusion.

  This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the repetition of
any particular act or operation produces a propensity to renew the
same act or operation, without being impelled by any reasoning or
process of the understanding, we always say, that this propensity is
the effect of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not to have
given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We only point out a
principle of human nature, which is universally acknowledged, and
which is well known by its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries
no farther, or pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest
contented with it as the ultimate principle, which we can assign, of
all our conclusions from experience. It is sufficient satisfaction,
that we can go so far, without repining at the narrowness of our
faculties because they will carry us no farther. And it is certain we
here advance a very intelligible proposition at least, if not a true
one, when we assert that, after the constant conjunction of two
objects--heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity-we are
determined by custom alone to expect the one from the appearance of
the other. This hypothesis seems even the only one which explains the
difficulty, why we draw, from a thousand instances, an inference
which we are not able to draw from one instance, that is, in no
respect, different from them. Reason is incapable of any such
variation. The conclusions which it draws from considering one circle
are the same which it would form upon surveying all the circles in
the universe. But no man, having seen only one body move after being
impelled by another, could infer that every other body will move
after a like impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore, are
effects of custom, not of reasoning.[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 happened in the most distant places and most
remote ages, yet some fact must always be present to the senses or
memory, from which we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions.
A man, who should find in a desert country the remains of pompous
buildings, would conclude that the country had, in ancient times,
been cultivated by civilized inhabitants; but did nothing of this
nature occur to him, he could never form such an inference. We learn
the events of former ages from history; but then we must peruse the
volumes in which this instruction is contained, and thence carry up
our inferences from one testimony to another, till we arrive at the
eyewitnesses and spectators of these distant events. In a word, if we
proceed not upon some fact, present to the memory or senses, our
reasonings would be merely hypothetical; and however the particular
links might be connected with each other, the whole chain of
inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could we ever, by
its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real existence. If I ask
why you believe any particular matter of fact, which you relate, you
must tell me some reason; and this reason will be some other fact,
connected with it.  But as you cannot proceed after this manner, in
infinitum, you must at last terminate in some fact, which is present
to your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief is entirely
without foundation.

  What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A simple one;
though, it must be confessed, pretty remote from the common theories
of philosophy. All belief of matter of fact or real existence is
derived merely from some object, present to the memory or senses, and
a customary conjunction between that and some other object. Or in
other words; having found, in many instances, that any two kinds of
objects--flame and heat, snow and cold--have always been conjoined
together; if flame or snow be presented anew to the senses, the mind
is carried by custom to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such
a quality does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer
approach.  This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind in
such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul, when we are so
situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love, when we
receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet with injuries. All these
operations are a species of natural instincts, which no reasoning or
process of the thought and understanding is able either to produce or
to prevent.

  At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop our
philosophical researches. In most questions we can never make a
single step farther; and in all questions we must terminate here at
last, after our most restless and curious enquiries. But still our
curiosity will be pardonable, perhaps commendable, if it carry us on
to still farther researches, and make us examine more accurately the
nature of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is
derived. By this means we may meet with some explications and
analogies that will give satisfaction; at least to such as love the
abstract sciences, and can be entertained with speculations, which,
however accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty.
As to readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following enquiries may
well be understood, though it be neglected.

PART II

  NOTHING is more free than the imagination of man; and though it
cannot exceed that original stock of ideas furnished by the internal
and external senses, it has unlimited power of mixing, compounding,
separating, and dividing these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction
and vision. It can feign a train of events, with all the appearance
of reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place, conceive
them as existent, and paint them out to itself with every
circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it believes
with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore, consists the
difference between such a fiction and belief?  It lies not merely in
any peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception as commands
our assent, and which is wanting to every known fiction. For as the
mind has authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex
this particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be able to
believe whatever it pleases; contrary to what we find by daily
experience. We can, in our conception, join the head of a man to the
body of a horse; but it is not in our power to believe that such an
animal has ever really existed.

  It follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction and
belief lies in some sentiment or feeling, which is annexed to the
latter, not to the former, and which depends not on the will, nor can
be commanded at pleasure. It must be excited by nature, like all
other sentiments; and must arise from the particular situation, in
which the mind is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any
object is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the
force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that object,
which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception is attended
with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose reveries of the
fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief. For as there is
no matter of fact which we believe so firmly that we cannot conceive
the contrary, there would be no difference between the conception
assented to and that which is rejected, were it not for some
sentiment which distinguishes the one from the other. If I see a
billiard-ball moving 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 conception of an object, than what the
imagination alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms,
which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that
act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken for such,
more present to us than fictions, causes them to weigh more in the
thought, and gives them a superior influence on the passions and
imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, it is needless to
dispute about the terms. The imagination has the command over all its
ideas, and can join and mix and vary them, in all the ways possible.
It may conceive fictitious objects with all the circumstances of
place and time. It may set them, in a manner, before our eyes, in
their true colours, just as they might have existed. But as it is
impossible that this faculty of imagination can ever, of itself,
reach belief, it is evident that belief consists not in the peculiar
nature or order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and
in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible
perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception.  We may
make use of words which express something near it. But its true and
proper name, as we observed before, is belief; which is a term that
every one sufficiently understands in common life. And in philosophy,
we can go no farther than assert, that belief is something felt by
the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the
fictions of the imagination. It gives them more weight and influence;
makes them appear of greater importance; enforces them in the mind;
and renders them the governing principle of our actions. I hear at
present, for instance, a person's voice, with whom I am acquainted;
and the sound comes as from the next room. This impression of my
senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, together with
all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as existing
at present, with the same qualities and relations, of which I
formerly knew them possessed. These ideas take faster hold of my mind
than ideas of an enchanted castle. They are very different to the
feeling, and have a much greater influence of every kind, either to
give pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.

  Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, and
allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a conception more
intense and steady than what attends the mere fictions of the
imagination, and that this manner of conception arises from a
customary conjunction of the object with something present to the
memory or senses: I believe that it will not be difficult, upon these
suppositions, to find other operations of the mind analogous to it,
and to trace up these phenomena to principles still more general.

  We have already observed that nature has established connexions
among particular ideas, and that no sooner one idea occurs to our
thoughts than it introduces its correlative, and carries our
attention towards it, by a gentle and insensible movement. These
principles of connexion or association we have reduced to three,
namely, Resemblance, Contiguity and Causation; which are the only
bonds that unite our thoughts together, and beget that regular train
of reflection or discourse, which, in a greater or less degree, takes
place among all mankind. Now here arises a question, on which the
solution of the present difficulty will depend. Does it happen, in
all these relations, that, when one of the objects is presented to
the senses or memory, the mind is not only carried to the conception
of the correlative, but reaches a steadier and stronger conception of
it than what otherwise it would have been able to attain? This seems
to be the case with that belief which arises from the relation of
cause and effect.  And if the case be the same with the other
relations or principles of associations, this may be established as a
general law, which takes place in all the operations of the mind.

  We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our present
purpose, that, upon the appearance of the picture of an absent
friend, our idea of him is evidently enlivened by the resemblance,
and that every passion, which that idea occasions, whether of joy or
sorrow, acquires new force and vigour. In producing this effect,
there concur both a relation and a present impression. Where the
picture bears him no resemblance, at least was not intended for him,
it never so much as conveys our thought to him: and where it is
absent, as well as the person, though the mind may pass from the
thought of the one to that of the other, it feels its idea to be
rather weakened than enlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure
in viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us; but
when it is removed, rather choose to consider him directly than by
reflection in an image, which is equally distant and obscure.

  The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered as
instances of the same nature. The devotees of that superstition
usually plead in excuse for the mummeries, with which they are
upbraided, that they feel the good effect of those external motions,
and postures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and
quickening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if directed
entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects
of our faith, say they, in sensible types and images, and render them
more present to us by the immediate presence of these types, than it
is possible for us to do merely by an intellectual view and
contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater influence on
the fancy than any other; and this influence they readily convey to
those ideas to which they are related, and which they resemble. I
shall only infer from these practices, and this reasoning, that the
effect of resemblance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as
in every case a resemblance and a present impression must concur, we
are abundantly supplied with experiments to prove the reality of the
foregoing principle.

  We may add force to these experiments by others of a different
kind, in considering the effects of contiguity as well as of
resemblance. It is certain that distance diminishes the force of
every idea, and that, upon our approach to any object; though it does
not discover itself to our senses; it operates upon the mind with an
influence, which imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on
any object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous; but it
is only the actual presence of an object, that transports it with a
superior vivacity. When I am a few miles from home, whatever relates
to it touches me more nearly than when I am two hundred leagues
distant; though even at that distance the reflecting on any thing in
the neighbourhood of my friends or family naturally produces an idea
of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects of the mind are
ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy transition between them; that
transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of
the ideas, for want of some immediate impression.[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 because they
were once at his disposal, and were moved and affected by him; in
which respect they are to be considered as imperfect effects, and as
connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any of
those, by which we learn the reality of his existence.

  Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long dead or
absent, were presented to us; it is evident, that this object would
instantly revive its correlative idea, and recall to our thoughts all
past intimacies and familiarities, in more lively colours than they
would otherwise have appeared to us. This is another phaenomenon,
which seems to prove the principle above mentioned.

  We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the belief of the
correlative object is always presupposed; without which the relation
could have no effect. The influence of the picture supposes, that we
believe our friend to have once existed. Contiguity to home can never
excite our ideas of home, unless we believe that it really exists.
Now I assert, that this belief, where it reaches beyond the memory or
senses, is of a similar nature, and arises from similar causes, with
the transition of thought and vivacity of conception here explained.
When I throw a piece of dry wood into a fire, my mind is immediately
carried to conceive, that it augments, not extinguishes the flame.
This transition of thought from the cause to the effect proceeds not
from reason. It derives its origin altogether from custom and
experience. And as it first begins from an object, present to the
senses, it renders the idea or conception of flame more strong and
lively than any loose, floating reverie of the imagination. That idea
arises immediately. The thought moves instantly towards it, and
conveys to it all that force of conception, which is derived from the
impression present to the senses. When a sword is levelled at my
breast, does not the idea of wound and pain strike me more strongly,
than when a glass of wine is presented to me, even though by accident
this idea should occur after the appearance of the latter object?
But what is there in this whole matter to cause such a strong
conception, except only a present object and a customary transition
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 concerning matter of fact and existence; and it
is a satisfaction to find some analogies, by which it may be
explained.  The transition from a present object does in all cases
give strength and solidity to the related idea.

  Here, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between the course
of nature and the succession of our ideas; and though the powers and
forces, by which the former is governed, be wholly unknown to us; yet
our thoughts and conceptions have still, we find, gone on in the same
train with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle, by
which this correspondence has been effected; so necessary to the
subsistence of our species, and the regulation of our conduct, in
every circumstance and occurrence of human life. Had not the presence
of an object, instantly excited the idea of those objects, commonly
conjoined with it, all our knowledge must have been limited to the
narrow sphere of our memory and senses; and we should never have been
able to adjust means to ends, or employ our natural powers, either to
the producing of good, or avoiding of evil. Those, who delight in the
discovery and contemplation of final causes, have here ample subject
to employ their wonder and admiration.

  I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing theory,
that, as this operation of the mind, by which we infer like effects
from like causes, and vice versa, is so essential to the subsistence
of all human creatures, it is not probable, that it could be trusted
to the fallacious deductions of our reason, which is slow in its
operations; appears not, in any degree, during the first years of
infancy; and at best is, in every age and period of human life,
extremely liable to error and mistake. It is more conformable to the
ordinary wisdom of nature to secure so necessary an act of the mind,
by some instinct or mechanical tendency, which may be infallible in
its operations, may discover itself at the first appearance of life
and thought, and may be independent of all the laboured deductions of
the understanding. As nature has taught us the use of our limbs,
without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which
they are actuated; so has she implanted in us an instinct, which
carries forward the thought in a correspondent course to that which
she has established among external objects; though we are ignorant of
those powers and forces, on which this regular course and succession
of objects totally depends.

[1] Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral,
political, or physical subjects, to distinguish between reason and
experience, and to suppose, that these species of argumentation are
entirely different from each other. The former are taken for the mere
result of our intellectual faculties, which, by considering a priori
the nature of things, and examining the effects, that must follow
from their operation, establish particular principles of science and
philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived entirely from sense
and observation, by which we learn what has actually resulted from
the operation of particular objects, and are thence able to infer,
what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the
limitations and restraints of civil government, and a legal
constitution, may be defended, either from reason, which reflecting
on the great frailty and corruption of human nature, teaches, that no
man can safely be trusted with unlimited authority; or from
experience and history, which inform us of the enormous abuses, that
ambition, in every age and country, has been found to make so
imprudent a confidence.

  The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in
all our deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the
experienced statesman, general, physician, or merchant is trusted and
followed; and the unpractised novice, with whatever natural talents
endowed, neglected and despised.  Though it be allowed, that reason
may form very plausible conjectures with regard to the consequences
of such a particular conduct in such particular circumstances; it is
still supposed imperfect, without the assistance of experience, which
is alone able to give stability and certainty to the maxims, derived
from study and reflection.

  But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally
received, both in the active and speculative scenes of life, I shall
not scruple to pronounce, that it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least,
superficial.

  If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above
mentioned, are supposed to be mere effects of reasoning and
reflection, they will be found to terminate, at last, in some general
principle or, conclusion, for which we can assign no reason but
observation and experience.  The only difference between them and
those maxims, which are vulgarly esteemed the result of pure
experience, is, that the former cannot be established without some
process of thought, and some reflection on what we have observed, in
order to distinguish its circumstances, and trace its consequences:
Whereas in the latter, the experienced event is exactly and fully
familiar to that which we infer as the result of any particular
situation.  The history of a TIBERIUS or a NERO makes us dread a like
tyranny, were our monarchs freed from the restraints of laws and
senates: But the observation of any fraud or cruelty in private life
is sufficient, with the aid of a little thought, to give us the same
apprehension; while it serves as an instance of the general
corruption of human nature, and shows us the danger which we must
incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind.  In both cases, it
is experience which is ultimately the foundation of our inference and
conclusion.

  There is no man so young and 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 particular and seemingly minute
circumstances, which the man of greatest talent is, at first, apt to
overlook, though on them the justness of his conclusions, and
consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely depend.  Not to
mention, that, to a young beginner, the general observations and
maxims occur not always on the proper occasions, nor can be
immediately applied with due calmness and distinction. The truth is,
an unexperienced reasoner could be no reasoner at all, were he
absolutely unexperienced; and when we assign that character to any
one, we mean it only in a comparative sense, and suppose him
possessed of experience, in a smaller and more imperfect degree.

[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 begets a like species of belief or opinion.

  There is certainly a probability, which arises from a superiority
of chances on any side; and according as this superiority increases,
and surpasses the opposite chances, the probability receives a
proportionable increase, and begets still a higher degree of belief
or assent to that side, in which we discover the superiority. If a
dye were marked with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and
with another figure or number of spots on the two remaining sides, it
would be more probable, that the former would turn up than the
latter; though, if it had a thousand sides marked in the same manner,
and only one side different, the probability would be much higher,
and our belief or expectation of the event more steady and secure.
This process of the thought or reasoning may seem trivial and
obvious; but to those who consider it more narrowly, it may, perhaps,
afford matter for curious speculation.

  It seems evident, that, when the mind looks forward to discover the
event, which may result from the throw of such a dye, it considers
the turning up of each particular side as alike probable; and this is
the very nature of chance, to render all the particular events,
comprehended in it, entirely equal. But finding a greater number of
sides concur in the one event than in the other, the mind is carried
more frequently to that event, and meets it oftener, in revolving the
various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate result
depends. This concurrence of several views in one particular event
begets immediately, by an inexplicable contrivance of nature, the
sentiment of belief, and gives that event the advantage over its
antagonist, which is supported by a smaller number of views, and
recurs less frequently to the mind. If we allow, that belief is
nothing but a firmer and stronger conception of an object than what
attends the mere fictions of the imagination, this operation may,
perhaps, in some measure, be accounted for. The concurrence of these
several views or glimpses imprints the idea more strongly on the
imagination; gives it superior force and vigour; renders its
influence on the passions and affections more sensible; and in a
word, begets that reliance or security, which constitutes the nature
of belief and opinion.

  The case is the same with the probability of causes, as with that
of chance. There are some causes, which are entirely uniform and
constant in producing a particular effect; and no instance has ever
yet been found of any failure or irregularity in their operation.
Fire has always burned, and water suffocated every human creature:
the production of motion by impulse and gravity is an universal law,
which has hitherto admitted of no exception. But there are other
causes, which have been found more irregular and uncertain; nor has
rhubarb always proved a purge, or opium a soporific to every one, who
has taken these medicines. It is true, when any cause fails of
producing its usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to any
irregularity in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes, in the
particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation.  Our
reasonings, however, and conclusions concerning the event are the
same as if this principle had no place. Being determined by custom to
transfer the past to the future, in all our inferences; where the
past has been entirely regular and uniform, we expect the event with
the greatest assurance, and leave no room for any contrary
supposition. But where different effects have been found to follow
from causes, which are to appearance exactly similar, all these
various effects must occur to the mind in transferring the past to
the future, and enter into our consideration, when we determine the
probability of the event. Though we give the preference to that which
has been found most usual, and believe that this effect will exist,
we must not overlook the other effects, but must assign to each of
them a particular weight and authority, in proportion as we have
found it to be more or less frequent. It is more probable, in almost
every country of Europe, that there will be frost sometime in
January, than that the weather will continue open through out that
whole month; though this probability varies according to the
different climates, and approaches to a certainty in the more
northern kingdoms. Here then it seems evident, that, when we transfer
the past to the future, in order to determine the effect, which will
result from any cause, we transfer all the different events, in the
same proportion as they have appeared in the past, and conceive one
to have existed a hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and
another once. As a great number of views do here concur in one event,
they fortify and confirm it to the imagination, beget that sentiment
which we call belief, and give its object the preference above the
contrary event, which is not supported by an equal number of
experiments, and recurs not so frequently to the thought in
transferring the past to the future. Let any one try to account for
this operation of the mind upon any of the received systems of
philosophy, and he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I
shall think it sufficient, if the present hints excite the curiosity
of philosophers, and make them sensible how defective all common
theories are in treating of such curious and such sublime subjects.

[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 probabilities. 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 determinate, the smallest distinction between them
is immediately perceptible, and the same terms are still expressive
of the same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never
mistaken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The
isosceles and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more exact
than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be defined in
geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on all occasions,
the definition for the term defined: or even when no definition is
employed, the object itself may be presented to the senses, and by
that means be steadily and clearly apprehended. But the finer
sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding, the
various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves
distinct, easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in
our power to recall the original object, as often as we have occasion
to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is gradually introduced
into our reasonings: similar objects are readily taken to be the
same: and the conclusion becomes at last very wide of the premises.

  One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these
sciences in a proper light, their advantages and disadvantages nearly
compensate each other, and reduce both of them to a state of
equality. If the mind, with greater facility, retains the ideas of
geometry clear and determinate, it must carry on a much longer and
more intricate chain of reasoning, and compare ideas much wider of
each other, in order to reach the abstruser truths of that science.
And if moral ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into
obscurity and confusion, the inferences are always much shorter in
these disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to the
conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of quantity
and number. In reality, there is scarcely a proposition in Euclid so
simple, as not to consist of more parts, than are to be found in any
moral reasoning which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we
trace the principles of the human mind through a few steps, we may be
very well satisfied with our progress; considering how soon nature
throws a bar to all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces us
to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief obstacle, therefore,
to our improvement in the moral or metaphysical sciences is the
obscurity of the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal
difficulty in the mathematics is the length of inferences and compass
of thought, requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps,
our progress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of
proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often discovered by
chance, and cannot always be found, when requisite, even by the most
diligent and prudent enquiry.  As moral philosophy seems hitherto to
have received less improvement than either geometry or physics, we
may conclude, that, if there be any difference in this respect among
these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of the
former, require superior care and capacity to be surmounted.

  There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more obscure and
uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or necessary connexion,
of which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our
disquisitions. We shall, therefore, endeavour, in this section, to
fix, if possible, the precise meaning of these terms, and thereby
remove some part of that obscurity, which is so much complained of in
this species of philosophy.

  It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dispute, that
all our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other
words, that it is impossible for us to think of 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 definitions 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
intellectual view? Produce the impressions or original sentiments,
from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are all strong and
sensible. They admit not of ambiguity.  They are not only placed in a
full light themselves, but may throw light on their correspondent
ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps,
attain a new microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral
sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so enlarged
as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be equally known with
the grossest and most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our
enquiry.

  To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or
necessary connexion, let us examine its impression; and in order to
find the impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in
all the sources, from which it may possibly be derived.

  When we look about us towards external objects, and consider the
operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to
discover any power or necessary connexion; any quality, which binds
the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible
consequence of the other.  We only find, that the one does actually,
in fact, follow the other. The impulse of one billiard-ball is
attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to
the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression
from this succession of objects: consequently, there is not, in any
single, particular instance of cause and effect, any thing which can
suggest the idea of power or necessary connexion.

  From the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture
what effect will result from it. But were the power or energy of any
cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even
without experience; and might, at first, pronounce with certainty
concerning it, by mere dint of thought and reasoning.

  In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its
sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give us ground
to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any
other object, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity,
extension, motion; these qualities are all complete in themselves,
and never point out any other event which may result from them. The
scenes of the universe are continually shifting, and one object
follows another in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of
force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed from
us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities of
body. We know that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame;
but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much as to
conjecture or imagine.  It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of
power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single
instances of their operation; because no bodies ever discover any
power, which can be the original of this idea.[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 possessed of power. This idea, then, is
an idea of reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the
operations of our own mind, and on the command which is exercised by
will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul.

  We shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first with regard
to the influence of volition over the organs of the body. This
influence, we may observe, is a fact, which, like all other natural
events, can be known only by experience, and can never be foreseen
from any apparent energy or power in the cause, which connects it
with the effect, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the
other.  The motion of our body follows upon the command of our will.
Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means, by which this
is effected; the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary
an operation; of this we are so far from being immediately conscious,
that it must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry.

  For first: Is there any principle in all nature more mysterious
than the union of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual
substance acquires such an influence over a material one, that the
most refined thought is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we
empowered, by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the
planets in their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more
extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by
consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the will, we must
know this power; we must know its connexion with the effect; we must
know the secret union of soul and body, and the nature of both these
substances; by which the one is able to operate, in so many
instances, upon the other.

  Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body with a
like authority; though we cannot assign any reason besides
experience, for so remarkable a difference between one and the other.
Why has the will an influence over the tongue and fingers, not over
the heart or liver?  This question would never embarrass us, were we
conscious of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should
then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority of will
over the organs of the body is circumscribed within such particular
limits. Being in that case fully acquainted with the power or force,
by which it operates, we should also know, why its influence reaches
precisely to such boundaries, and no farther.

  A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or who had
newly lost those members, frequently endeavours, at first to move
them, and employ them, in their usual offices.  Here he is as much
conscious of power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health
is conscious of power to actuate any member which remains in its
natural state and condition. But consciousness never deceives.
Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the other, are we ever
conscious of any power. We learn the influence of our will from
experience alone. And experience only teaches us, how one event
constantly follows another; without instructing us in the secret
connexion, which binds them together, and renders them inseparable.

  Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of power
in voluntary motion, is not the member itself which is moved, but
certain muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits, and, perhaps,
something still more minute and more unknown, through which the
motion is successively propagated, ere it reach the member itself
whose motion is the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more
certain proof, that the power, by which this whole operation is
performed, so far from being directly and fully known by an inward
sentiment or consciousness is, to the last degree, mysterious and
unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event. Immediately
another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the
one intended, is produced: This event produces another, equally
unknown: till at last, through a long succession, the desired event
is produced.  But if the original power were felt, it must be known:
were it known, its effect also must be known; since all power is
relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not known,
the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of
a power to move our limbs, when we have no such power; but only that
to move certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last
the motion of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly
beyond our comprehension?

  We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any
temerity, though with assurance; that our idea of power is not copied
from any sentiment or consciousness of power within ourselves, when
we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use
and office.  That their motion follows the command of the will is a
matter of common experience, like other natural events: But the power
or energy by which this is effected, like that in other natural
events, is unknown and inconceivable.[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 contemplation of it, turn it on all
sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that
we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same
arguments will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no
real idea of force or energy.

  First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that
very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the
effect: for these are supposed to be 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 variations, except experience? Where then is the power, of
which we pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in a
spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mechanism or
structure of parts, upon which the effect depends, and which, being
entirely unknown to us, renders the power or energy of the will
equally unknown and incomprehensible?

  Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are
sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all sides.
Do you find anything in it like this creative power, by which it
raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind of Fiat, imitates the
omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be allowed so to speak, who called
forth into existence all the various scenes of nature? So far from
being conscious of this energy in the will, it requires as certain
experience as that of which we are possessed, to convince us that
such extraordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of
volition.

  The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting
for the more common and familiar operations of nature--such as the
descent of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of
animals, or the nourishment of bodies by food: but suppose that, in
all these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause,
by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible
in its operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of mind,
that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immediately expect with
assurance its usual attendant, and hardly conceive it possible that
any other event could result from it. It is only on the discovery of
extraordinary phaenomena, such as earthquakes, pestilence, and
prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves at a loss to assign
a proper cause, and to explain the manner in which the effect is
produced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have
recourse to some invisible intelligent principle[4] as the immediate
cause of that event which surprises them, and which, they think,
cannot be accounted for from the common powers of nature. But
philosophers, who carry their scrutiny a little farther, immediately
perceive that, even in the most familiar events, the energy of the
cause is as unintelligible as in the most unusual, and that we only
learn by experience the frequent Conjunction of objects, without
being ever able to comprehend anything like Connexion between them.

  Here, then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by reason to
have recourse, on all occasions, to the same principle, which the
vulgar never appeal to but in cases that appear miraculous and
supernatural. They acknowledge mind and intelligence to be, not only
the ultimate and original cause of all things, but the immediate and
sole cause of every event which appears in nature. They pretend that
those objects which are commonly denominated causes, are in reality
nothing but occasions; and that the true and direct principle of
every effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of
the Supreme Being, who wills that such particular objects should for
ever be conjoined with each other. Instead of saying that one
billiard-ball moves another by a force which it has derived from the
author of nature, it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a
particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this
operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence of those
general laws which he has laid down to himself in the government of
the universe. But philosophers advancing still in their inquiries,
discover that, as we are totally ignorant of the power on which
depends the mutual operation of bodies, we are no less ignorant of
that power on which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body
on mind, nor are we able, either from our senses or consciousness, to
assign the ultimate principle in one case more than in the other. The
same ignorance, therefore, reduces them to the same conclusion. They
assert that the Deity is the immediate cause of the union between
soul and body; and that they are not the organs of sense, which,
being agitated by external objects, produce sensations in the mind;
but that it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which
excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the
organ. In like manner, it is not any energy in the will that produces
local motion in our members: it is God himself, who is pleased to
second our will, in itself impotent, and to command that motion which
we erroneously attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do
philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend the same
inference to the mind itself, in its internal operations. Our mental
vision or conception of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us
by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object,
and raise up its image in the fancy, it is not the will which creates
that idea: it is the universal Creator, who discovers it to the mind,
and renders it present to us.

  Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full of God.
Not content with the principle, that nothing exists but by his will,
that nothing possesses any power but by his concession: they rob
nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order to render
their dependence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They
consider not that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of
magnifying, the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so
much to celebrate. It argues surely more power in the Deity to
delegate a certain degree of power to inferior creatures than to
produce every thing by his own immediate volition. It argues more
wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world with such perfect
foresight that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve
all the purposes of providence, than if the great Creator were
obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by his breath
all the wheels of that stupendous machine.

  But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this
theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice:

  First, it seems to me that this theory of the universal energy and
operation of the Supreme Being is too bold ever to carry conviction
with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the weakness of human
reason, and the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its
operations. Though the chain of arguments which conduct to it were
ever so logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if not an
absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of
our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary, and so
remote from common life and experience. We are got into fairy land,
long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory; and there we
have no reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to think
that our usual analogies and probabilities have any authority. Our
line is too short to fathom such immense abysses. And however we may
flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every step which we take, by
a kind of verisimilitude and experience, we may be assured that this
fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply it to subjects
that lie entirely out of the sphere of experience. But on this we
shall have occasion to touch afterwards.[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 comprehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or
any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same difficulty
occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on body--where we
observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the volition of the
former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie which binds
together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind
produces this effect. The authority of the will over its own
faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: so that, upon
the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one instance
of connexion which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely
loose and separate. One event follows another; but we never can
observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never
connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing which never
appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment, the necessary
conclusion seems to be that we have no idea of connexion or power at
all, and that these words are absolutely, without any meaning, when
employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.

  But there still remains one method of avoiding this conclusion, and
one source which we have not yet examined.  When any natural object
or event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or
penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience,
what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that
object which is immediately present to the memory and senses.  Even
after one instance or experiment where we have observed a particular
event to follow upon another, we are not entitled to form a general
rule, or foretell what will happen in like cases; it being justly
esteemed an unpardonable temerity to judge of the whole course of
nature from one single experiment, however accurate or certain. But
when one particular species of event has always, in all instances,
been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of
foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing
that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or
existence. We then call the one object, Cause; the other, Effect. We
suppose that there is some connexion between them; some power in the
one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the
greatest certainty and strongest necessity.

  It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion among
events arises from a number of similar instances which occur of the
constant conjunction of these events; nor can that idea ever be
suggested by any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible
lights and positions. But there is nothing in a number of instances,
different from every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly
similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar instances,
the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to
expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist. This
connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary
transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant,
is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of power
or necessary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case. Contemplate
the subject on all sides; you will never find any other origin of
that idea. This is the sole difference between one instance, from
which we can never receive the idea of connexion, and a number of
similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw
the communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two
billiard balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was
connected: but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he
has observed several instances of this nature, he then pronounces
them to be connected. What alteration has happened to give rise to
this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he now feels these
events to be connected in his imagination, and can readily foretell
the existence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say,
therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only
that they have acquired a connexion in our thought, and give rise to
this inference, by which they become proofs of each other's
existence: A conclusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but which
seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be
weakened by any general diffidence of the understanding, or sceptical
suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and extraordinary.
No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make
discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason
and capacity.

  And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising
ignorance and weakness of the understanding than the present. For
surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports to us
to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this are
founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence. By
means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects which
are removed from the present testimony of our memory and senses. The
only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach us, how to
control and regulate future events by their causes. Our thoughts and
enquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed about this relation:
yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form concerning it, that it
is impossible to give any just definition of cause, except what is
drawn from something extraneous and foreign to it. Similar objects
are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have experience.
Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause to be
an object, followed by another, and where all the objects similar to
the first are followed by objects similar to the second. Or in other
words where, if the first object had not been, the second never had
existed.  The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a
customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also we have
experience. We may, therefore, suitably to this experience, form
another definition of cause, and call it, an object followed by
another, and whose appearance always conveys the thought to that
other. But though both these definitions be drawn from circumstances
foreign to the cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain
any more perfect definition, which may point out that circumstance in
the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have no
idea of this connexion, nor even any distant notion what it is we
desire to know, when we endeavour at a conception of it. We say, for
instance, that the vibration of this string is the cause of this
particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We either
mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all
similar vibrations have been followed by similar sounds; or, that
this vibration is followed by this sound, and that upon the
appearance of one the mind anticipates the senses, and forms
immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the relation of
cause and effect in either of these two lights; but beyond these, we
have no idea of it.[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 instance. But this customary connexion or transition
of the imagination is the only circumstance in which they differ. In
every other particular they are alike. The first instance which we
saw of motion communicated by the shock of two billiard balls (to
return to this obvious illustration) is exactly similar to any
instance that may, at present, occur to us; except only, that we
could not, at first, infer one event from the other; which we are
enabled to do at present, after so long a course of uniform
experience.  I know not whether the reader will readily apprehend
this reasoning. I am afraid that, should I multiply words about it,
or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it would only become
more obscure and intricate. In all abstract reasonings there is one
point of view which, if we can happily hit, we shall go farther
towards illustrating the subject than by all the eloquence and
copious expression in the world. This point of view we should
endeavour to reach, and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects
which are more adapted to them.

[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, however, be confessed, that the animal nisus, which we
experience, though it can afford no accurate precise idea of power,
enters very much into that vulgar, inaccurate idea, which is formed
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 experiments. I must confess, that there is
something in the fate of opinions a little extraordinary. DES CARTES
insinuated that doctrine of the universal and sole efficacy of the
Deity, without insisting on it. MALEBRANCHE and other CARTESIANS made
it the foundation of all their philosophy. It had, however, no
authority in England. LOCKE, CLARKE, and CUDWORTH, never so much as
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 production of one thing to another. These words,
as commonly used, have very loose meanings annexed to them; and their
ideas are very uncertain and confused. No animal can put external
bodies in motion without the sentiment of a nisus or endeavour; and
every animal has a sentiment or feeling from the stroke or blow of an
external object, that is in motion.  These sensations, which are
merely animal, and from which we can a priori draw no inference, we
are apt to transfer to inanimate objects, and to suppose, that they
have some such feelings, whenever they transfer or receive motion.
With regard to energies, which are exerted, without our annexing to
them any idea of communicated motion, we consider only the constant
experienced conjunction of the events; and as we feel a customary
connexion between the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects;
as nothing is more usual than to apply to external bodies every
internal sensation, which they occasion.


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 entertainment. But the state of the argument here
proposed may, perhaps, serve to renew his attention; as it has more
novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy, and will
not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure reasoning.

  I hope, therefore, to make it appear that all men have ever agreed
in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty, according to any
reasonable sense, which can be put on these terms; and that the whole
controversy, has hitherto turned merely upon words. We shall begin
with examining the doctrine of necessity.

  It is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations, is
actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural effect is so
precisely determined by the energy of its cause that no other effect,
in such particular circumstances, could possibly have resulted from
it. The degree and direction of every motion is, by the laws of
nature, prescribed with such exactness that a living creature may as
soon arise from the shock of two bodies as motion in any other degree
or direction than what is actually produced by it.  Would we,
therefore, form a just and precise idea of necessity, we must
consider whence that idea arises when we apply it to the operation of
bodies.

  It seems evident that, if all the scenes of nature were continually
shifted in such a manner that no two events bore any resemblance to
each other, but every object was entirely new, without any similitude
to whatever had been seen before, we should never, in that case, have
attained the least idea of necessity, or of a connexion among these
objects. We might say, upon such a supposition, that one object or
event has followed another; not that one was produced by the other.
The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown to mankind.
Inference and reasoning concerning the operations of nature would,
from that moment, be at an end; and the memory and senses remain the
only canals, by which the knowledge of any real existence could
possibly have access to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of necessity
and causation arises entirely from the uniformity observable in the
operations of nature, where similar objects are constantly conjoined
together, and the mind is determined by custom to infer the one from
the appearance of the other. These two circumstances form the whole
of that necessity, which we ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant
conjunction of similar objects, and the consequent inference from one
to the other, we have no notion of any necessity or connexion.

  If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed,
without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circumstances take
place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the operations of mind;
it must follow, that all mankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of
necessity, and that they have hitherto disputed, merely for not
understanding each other.

  As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular conjunction
of similar events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following
considerations: It is universally acknowledged that there is a great
uniformity among the actions of men, in all nations and ages, and
that human nature remains still the same, in its principles and
operations. The same motives always produce the same actions: the
same events follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice,
self-love, vanity, friendship, generosity, public spirit: these
passions, mixed in various degrees, and distributed through society,
have been, from the beginning of the world, and still are, the source
of all the actions and enterprises, which have ever been observed
among mankind. Would you know the sentiments, inclinations, and
course of life of the Greeks and Romans? Study well the temper and
actions of the French and English: You cannot be much mistaken in
transferring to the former most of the observations which you have
made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so much the same, in all
times and places, that history informs us of nothing new or strange
in this particular. Its chief use is only to discover the constant
and universal principles of human nature, by showing men in all
varieties of circumstances and situations, and furnishing us with
materials from which we may form our observations and become
acquainted with the regular springs of human action and behaviour.
These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions, are so
many collections of experiments, by which the politician or moral
philosopher fixes the principles of his science, in the same manner
as the physician or natural philosopher becomes acquainted with the
nature of plants, minerals, and other external objects, by the
experiments which he forms concerning them. Nor are the earth, water,
and other elements, examined by Aristotle, and Hippocrates, more like
to those which at present lie under our observation than the men
described by Polybius and Tacitus are to those who now govern the
world.

  Should a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us an
account of men, wholly different from any with whom we were ever
acquainted; men, who were entirely divested of avarice, ambition, or
revenge; who knew no pleasure but friendship, generosity, and public
spirit; we should immediately, from these circumstances, detect the
falsehood, and prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had
stuffed his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles
and prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in history, we
cannot make use of a more convincing argument, than to prove, that
the actions ascribed to any person are directly contrary to the
course of nature, and that no human motives, in such circumstances,
could ever induce him to such a conduct. The veracity of Quintus
Curtius is as much to be suspected, when he describes the
supernatural courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried on singly
to attack multitudes, as when he describes his supernatural force and
activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and
universally do we acknowledge a uniformity in human motives and
actions as well as in the operations of body.

  Hence likewise the benefit of that experience, acquired by long
life and a variety of business and company, in order to instruct us
in the principles of human nature, and regulate our future conduct,
as well as speculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the
knowledge of men's inclinations and motives, from their actions,
expressions, and even gestures; and again descend to the
interpretation of their actions from our knowledge of their motives
and inclinations. The general observations treasured up by a course
of experience, give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to
unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts and appearances no longer
deceive us. Public declarations pass for the specious colouring of a
cause. And though virtue and honour be allowed their proper weight
and authority, that perfect disinterestedness, so often pretended to,
is never expected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their leaders;
and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station. But were
there no uniformity in human actions, and were every experiment which
we could form of this kind irregular and anomalous, it were
impossible to collect any general observations concerning mankind;
and no experience, however accurately digested by reflection, would
ever serve to any purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more skilful in
his calling than the young beginner but because there is a certain
uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and earth towards the
production of vegetables; and experience teaches the old practitioner
the rules by which this operation is governed and directed.

  We must not, however, expect that this uniformity of human actions
should be carried to such a length as that all men, in the same
circumstances, will always act precisely in the same manner, without
making any allowance for the diversity of characters, prejudices, and
opinions. Such a uniformity in every particular, is found in no part
of nature.  On the contrary, from observing the variety of conduct in
different men, we are enabled to form a greater variety of maxims,
which still suppose a degree of uniformity and regularity.

  Are the manners of men different in different ages and countries?
We learn thence the great force of custom and education, which mould
the human mind from its infancy and form it into a fixed and
established character. Is the behaviour and conduct of the one sex
very unlike that of the other? Is it thence we become acquainted with
the different characters which nature has impressed upon the sexes,
and which she preserves with constancy and regularity? Are the
actions of the same person much diversified in the different periods
of his life, from infancy to old age?  This affords room for many
general observations concerning the gradual change of our sentiments
and inclinations, and the different maxims which prevail in the
different ages of human creatures. Even the characters, which are
peculiar to each individual, have a uniformity in their influence;
otherwise our acquaintance with the persons and our observation of
their conduct could never teach us their dispositions, or serve to
direct our behaviour with regard to them.

  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
consider the sentiments commonly entertained with regard to those
irregular events which appear in the course of nature, and the
operations of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to their
usual effects with like uniformity. An artificer, who handles only
dead matter, may be disappointed of his aim, as well as the
politician, who directs the conduct of sensible and intelligent
agents.

  The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance,
attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the
causes as makes the latter often fail of their usual influence;
though they meet with no impediment in their operation. But
philosophers, observing that, almost in every part of nature, there
is contained a vast variety of springs and principles, which are hid,
by reason of their minuteness or remoteness, find, that it is at
least possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any
contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary
causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by farther
observation, when they remark that, upon an exact scrutiny, a
contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes, and
proceeds from their mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better
reason for the stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it
does not commonly go right: But an artist easily perceives that the
same force in the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on
the wheels; but fails of its usual 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 particular circumstance of
their character and situation. A person of an obliging disposition
gives a peevish answer: But he has the toothache, or has not dined. A
stupid fellow discovers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But he
has met with a sudden piece of good fortune. Or even when an action,
as sometimes happens, cannot be particularly accounted for, either by
the person himself or by others; we know, in general, that the
characters of men are, to a certain degree, inconstant and irregular.
This is, in a manner, the constant character of human nature; though
it be applicable, in a more particular manner, to some persons who
have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a continued
course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and
motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstanding these
seeming irregularities; in the same manner as the winds, rain, cloud,
and other variations of the weather are supposed to be governed by
steady principles; 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 inferences
concerning the future, and as we conclude that objects will always be
conjoined together which we find to have always been conjoined; it
may seem superfluous to prove that this experienced uniformity in
human actions is a source whence we draw inferences concerning them.
But in order to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights
we shall also insist, though briefly, on this latter topic.

  The mutual dependence of men is so great in all societies that
scarce any human action is entirely complete in itself, or is
performed without some reference to the actions of others, which are
requisite to make it answer fully the intention of the agent. The
poorest artificer, who labours alone, expects at least the protection
of the magistrate, to ensure him the enjoyment of the fruits of his
labour. He also expects that, when he carries his goods to market,
and offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers, and
shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others to supply
him with those commodities which are requisite for his subsistence.
In proportion as men extend their dealings, and render their
intercourse with others more complicated, they always comprehend, in
their schemes of life, a greater variety of voluntary actions, which
they expect, from the proper motives, to co-operate with their own.
In all these conclusions they take their measures from past
experience, in the same manner as in their reasonings concerning
external objects; and firmly believe that men, as well as all the
elements, are to continue, in their operations, the same that they
have ever found them. A manufacturer reckons upon the labour of his
servants for the execution of any work as much as upon the tools
which he employs, and would be equally surprised were his
expectations disappointed. In short, this experimental inference and
reasoning concerning the actions of others enters so much into human
life that no man, while awake, is ever a moment without employing it.
Have we not reason, therefore, to affirm that all mankind have always
agreed in the doctrine of necessity according to the foregoing
definition and explication of it?

  Nor have philosophers even entertained a different opinion from the
people in this particular. For, not to mention that almost every
action of their life supposes that opinion, there are even few of the
speculative parts of learning to which it is not essential. What
would become of history, had we not a dependence on the veracity of
the historian according to the experience which we have had of
mankind? How could politics be a science, if laws and forms of
government had not a uniform influence upon society? Where would be
the foundation of morals, if particular characters had no certain or
determinate power to produce particular sentiments, and if these
sentiments had no constant operation on actions? And with what
pretence could we employ our criticism upon any poet or polite
author, if we could not pronounce the conduct and sentiments of his
actors either natural or unnatural to such characters, and in such
circumstances? It seems almost impossible, therefore, to engage
either in science or action of any kind without acknowledging the
doctrine of necessity, and this inference from motive to voluntary
actions, from characters to conduct.

  And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence
link together, and form only one chain of argument, we shall make no
scruple to allow that they are of the same nature, and derived from
the same principles.  A prisoner who has neither money nor interest,
discovers the impossibility of his escape, as well when he considers
the obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is
surrounded; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chooses rather to
work upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible
nature of the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the
scaffold, foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and
fidelity of his guards, as from the operation of the axe or wheel.
His mind runs along a certain train of ideas: the refusal of the
soldiers to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner; the
separation of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive motions, and
death. Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary
actions; but the mind feels no difference between them in passing
from one link to another: Nor is it less certain of the future event
than if it were connected with the objects present to the memory or
senses, by a train of causes, cemented together by what we are
pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced union has
the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives,
volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the name
of things; but their nature and their operation on the understanding
never change.

  Were a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and with whom I
live in intimate friendship, to come into my house, where I am
surrounded with my servants, I rest assured that he is not to stab me
before he leaves it in order to rob me of my silver standish; and I
no more suspect this event than the falling of the house itself,
which is new, and solidly built and founded.--But he may have been
seized with a sudden and unknown frenzy.--So may a sudden earthquake
arise, and shake and tumble my house about my ears. I shall therefore
change the suppositions.  I shall say that I know with certainty that
he is not to put his hand into the fire and hold it there till it be
consumed: and this event, I think I can foretell with the same
assurance, as that, if he throw himself out at the window, and meet
with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended in the
air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give the least possibility
to the former event, which is so contrary to all the known principles
of human nature. A man who at noon leaves his purse full of gold on
the pavement at Charing-Cross, may as well expect that it will fly
away like a feather, as that he will find it untouched an hour after.
Above one half of human reasonings contain inferences of a similar
nature, attended with more or less degrees of certainty proportioned
to our experience of the usual conduct of mankind in such particular
situations.

  I have frequently considered, what could possibly be the reason why
all mankind, though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged
the doctrine of necessity in their whole practice and reasoning, have
yet discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have
rather shown a propensity, in all ages, to profess the contrary
opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for after the
following manner. If we examine the operations of body, and the
production of effects from their causes, we shall find that all our
faculties can never carry us farther in our knowledge of this
relation than barely to observe that particular objects are
constantly conjoined together, and that the mind is carried, by a
customary transition, from the appearance of one to the belief of the
other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance be the
result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still entertain
a strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther into the
powers of nature, and perceive something like a necessary connexion
between the cause and the effect.  When again they turn their
reflections towards the operations of their own minds, and feel no
such connexion of the motive and the action; they are thence apt to
suppose, that there is a difference between the effects which result
from material force, and those which arise from thought and
intelligence. But being once convinced that we know nothing farther
of causation of any kind than merely the constant conjunction of
objects, and the consequent inference of the mind from one to
another, and finding that these two circumstances are universally
allowed to have place in voluntary actions; we may be more easily led
to own the same necessity common to all causes. And though this
reasoning may contradict the systems of many philosophers, in
ascribing necessity to the determinations of the will, we shall find,
upon reflection, that they dissent from it in words only, not in
their real sentiment. Necessity, according to the sense in which it
is here taken, has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be
rejected by any philosopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended that
the mind can perceive, in the operations of matter, some farther
connexion between the cause and effect; and connexion that has not
place in voluntary actions of intelligent beings. Now whether it be
so or not, can only appear upon examination; and it is incumbent on
these philosophers to make good their assertion, by defining or
describing that necessity, and pointing it out to us in the
operations of material causes.

  It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this
question concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon it by
examining the faculties of the soul, the influence of the
understanding, and the operations of the will. Let them first discuss
a more simple question, namely, the operations of body and of brute
unintelligent matter; and try whether they can there form any idea of
causation and necessity, except that of a constant conjunction of
objects, and subsequent inference of the mind from one to another. If
these circumstances form, in reality, the whole of that necessity,
which we conceive in matter, and if these circumstances be also
universally acknowledged to take place in the operations of the mind,
the dispute is at an end; at least, must be owned to be thenceforth
merely verbal. But as long as we will rashly suppose, that we have
some farther idea of necessity and causation in the operations of
external objects; at the same time, that we can find nothing farther
in the voluntary actions of the mind; there is no possibility of
bringing the question to any determinate issue, while we proceed upon
so erroneous a supposition.  The only method of undeceiving us is to
mount up higher; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied
to material causes; and to convince ourselves that all we know of
them is the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned. We
may, perhaps, find that it is with difficulty we are induced to fix
such narrow limits to human understanding: but we can afterwards find
no difficulty when we come to apply this doctrine to the actions of
the will. For as it is evident that these have a regular conjunction
with motives and circumstances and characters, and as we always draw
inferences from one to the other, we must be obliged to acknowledge
in words that necessity, which we have already avowed, in every
deliberation of our lives, and in every step of our conduct and
behaviour.[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 acknowledged matters of fact. By liberty, then,
we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to the
determinations of the will; 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 circumstances, and render our definition
intelligible, I am persuaded that all mankind will be found of one
opinion with regard to it.

  It is universally allowed that nothing exists without a cause of
its existence, and that chance, when strictly examined, is a mere
negative word, and means not any real power which has anywhere a
being in nature. But it is pretended that some causes are necessary,
some not necessary. Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let
any one define a cause, without comprehending, as a part of the
definition, a necessary connexion with its effect; and let him show
distinctly the origin of the idea, expressed by the definition; and I
shall readily give up the whole controversy. But if the foregoing
explication of the matter be received, this must be absolutely
impracticable. Had not objects a regular conjunction with each other,
we should never have entertained any notion of cause and effect; and
this regular conjunction produces that inference of the
understanding, which is the only connexion, that we can have any
comprehension of. Whoever attempts a definition of cause, exclusive
of these circumstances, will be obliged either to employ
unintelligible terms or such as are synonymous to the term which he
endeavours to define.[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 pretence of its dangerous
consequences to religion and morality. When any opinion leads to
absurdities, it is certainly false; but it is not certain that an
opinion is false, because it is of dangerous consequence. Such
topics, therefore, ought entirely to be forborne; as serving nothing
to the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an
antagonist odious. This I observe in general, without pretending to
draw any advantage from it. I frankly submit to an examination of
this kind, and shall venture to affirm that the doctrines, both of
necessity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only consistent
with morality, but are absolutely essential to its support.

  Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably to the two
definitions of cause, of which it makes an essential part.  It
consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects, or in
the inference of the understanding from one object to another. Now
necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed, are at bottom the
same) has universally, though tacitly, in the schools, in the pulpit,
and in common life, been allowed to belong to the will of man; and no
one has ever pretended to deny that we can draw inferences concerning
human actions, and that those inferences are founded on the
experienced union of like actions, with like motives, inclinations,
and circumstances. The only particular in which any one can differ,
is, that either, perhaps, he will refuse to give the name of
necessity to this property of human actions: but as long as the
meaning is understood, I hope the word can do no harm: or that he
will maintain it possible to discover something farther in the
operations of matter. But this, it must be acknowledged, can be of no
consequence to morality or religion, whatever it may be to natural
philosophy or metaphysics. We may here be mistaken in asserting that
there is no idea of any other necessity or connexion in the actions
of body: But surely we ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind,
but what everyone does, and must readily allow of. We change no
circumstance in the received orthodox system with regard to the will,
but only in that with regard to material objects and causes. Nothing,
therefore, can be more innocent, at least, than this doctrine.

  All laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed
as a fundamental principle, that these motives have a regular and
uniform influence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent
the evil actions. We may give to this influence what name we please;
but, as it is usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed
a cause, and be looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which
we would here establish.

  The only proper object of hatred or vengeance is a person or
creature, endowed with thought and consciousness; and when any
criminal or injurious actions excite that passion, it is only by
their relation to the person, or connexion with him. Actions are, by
their very nature, temporary and perishing; and where they proceed
not from some cause in the character and disposition of the person
who performed them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good;
nor infamy, if evil. The actions themselves may be blameable; they
may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion: but the
person is not answerable for them; and as they proceeded from nothing
in him that is durable and constant, and leave nothing of that nature
behind them, it is impossible he can, upon their account, become the
object of punishment or vengeance.  According to the principle,
therefore, which denies necessity, and consequently causes, a man is
as pure and untainted, after having committed the most horrid crime,
as at the first moment of his birth, nor is his character anywise
concerned in his actions, since they are not derived from it, and the
wickedness of the one can never be used as a proof of the depravity
of the other.

  Men are not blamed for such actions as they perform ignorantly and
casually, whatever may be the consequences.  Why? but because the
principles of these actions are only momentary, and terminate in them
alone. Men are less blamed for such actions as they perform hastily
and unpremeditatedly 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 anywhere in
the universe; no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at
the same time, acted upon. The ultimate Author of all our volitions
is the Creator of the world, who first bestowed motion on this
immense machine, and placed all beings in that particular position,
whence every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must
result. Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral turpitude
at all, as proceeding from so good a cause; or if they have any
turpitude, they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he
is acknowledged to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a man,
who fired a mine, is answerable for all the consequences whether the
train he employed be long or short; so wherever a continued chain of
necessary causes is fixed, that Being, either finite or infinite, who
produces the first, is likewise the author of all the rest, and must
both bear the blame and acquire the praise which belong to them. Our
clear and unalterable ideas of morality establish this rule, upon
unquestionable reasons, when we examine the consequences of any human
action; and these reasons must still have greater force when applied
to the volitions and intentions of a Being infinitely wise and
powerful. Ignorance or impotence may be pleaded for so limited a
creature as man; but those imperfections have no place in our
Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he intended all those actions of
men, which we so rashly pronounce criminal. And we must therefore
conclude, either that they are not criminal, or that the Deity, not
man, is accountable for them. But as either of these positions is
absurd and impious, it follows, that the doctrine from which they are
deduced cannot possibly be true, as being liable to all the same
objections. An absurd consequence, if necessary, proves the original
doctrine to be absurd; in the same manner as criminal actions render
criminal the original cause, if the connexion between them be
necessary and 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 convincing.
There are many philosophers who, after an exact scrutiny of all the
phenomena of nature, conclude, that the WHOLE, considered as one
system, is, in every period of its existence, ordered with perfect
benevolence; and that the utmost possible happiness will, in the end,
result to all created beings, without any mixture of positive or
absolute ill or misery. Every physical ill, say they, makes an
essential part of this benevolent system, and could not possibly be
removed, even by the Deity himself, considered as a wise agent,
without giving entrance to greater ill, or excluding greater good,
which will result from it. From this theory, some philosophers, and
the ancient Stoics among the rest, derived a topic of consolation
under all afflictions, while they taught their pupils that those ills
under which they laboured were, in reality, goods to the universe;
and that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the whole system
of nature, every event became an object of joy and exultation. But
though this topic be specious and sublime, it was soon found in
practice weak and ineffectual. You would surely more irritate than
appease a man lying under the racking pains of the gout by preaching
up to him the rectitude of those general laws, which produced the
malignant humours in his body, and led them through the proper
canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now excite such acute
torments. These enlarged views may, for a moment, please the
imagination of a speculative man, who is placed in ease and security;
but neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind, even though
undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion; much less can they
maintain their ground when attacked by such powerful antagonists. The
affections take a narrower and more natural survey of their object;
and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human minds,
regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by such events as
appear good or ill to the private system.

  The case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot
reasonably be supposed, that those remote considerations, which are
found of so little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more
powerful influence with regard to the other. The mind of man is so
formed by nature that, upon the appearance of certain characters,
dispositions, and actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of
approbation or blame; nor are there any emotions more essential to
its frame and constitution. The characters which engage our
approbation are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and security
of human society; as the characters which excite blame are chiefly
such as tend to public detriment and disturbance: whence it may
reasonably be presumed, that the moral sentiments arise, either
mediately or immediately, from a reflection of these opposite
interests.  What though philosophical meditations establish a
different opinion or conjecture; that everything is right with regard
to the WHOLE, and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in
the main, as beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary intention
of nature as those which more directly promote its happiness and
welfare? Are such remote and uncertain speculations able to
counterbalance the sentiments which arise from the natural and
immediate view of the objects? A man who is robbed of a considerable
sum; does he find his vexation for the loss anywise diminished by
these sublime reflections? Why then should his moral resentment
against the crime be supposed incompatible with them? Or why should
not the acknowledgment of a real distinction between vice and virtue
be reconcileable to all speculative systems of philosophy, as well as
that of a real distinction between personal beauty and deformity?
Both these distinctions are founded in the natural sentiments of the
human mind: And these sentiments are not to be controuled or altered
by any philosophical theory or speculation whatsoever.

  The second objection admits not of so easy and satisfactory an
answer; nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how the Deity can
be the mediate cause of all the actions of men, without being the
author of sin and moral turpitude.  These are mysteries, which mere
natural and unassisted reason is very unfit to handle; and whatever
system she embraces, she must find herself involved in inextricable
difficulties, and even contradictions, at every step which she takes
with regard to such subjects. To reconcile the indifference and
contingency of human actions with prescience; or to defend absolute
decrees, and yet free the Deity from being the author of sin, has
been found hitherto to exceed all the power of philosophy. Happy, if
she be thence sensible of her temerity, when she pries into these
sublime mysteries; and leaving a scene so full of obscurities and
perplexities, return, with suitable modesty, to her true and proper
province, the examination of common life; where she will find
difficulties enough to employ her enquiries, without launching into
so boundless an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction!

[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 consider the action; and it
consists chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer the
existence of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty,
when opposed to necessity, is nothing but the want of that
determination, and a certain looseness or indifference, which we
feel, in passing, or not passing, from the idea of one object to that
of any succeeding one. Now we may observe, that, though, in
reflecting on human actions, we seldom feel such a looseness, or
indifference, but are commonly able to infer them with considerable
certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions of the agent;
yet it frequently happens, that, in performing the actions
themselves, we are sensible of something like it: And as all
resembling objects are readily taken for each other, this has been
employed as a demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human
liberty. We feel, that our actions are subject to our will, on most
occasions; and imagine we feel, that the will itself is subject to
nothing, because, when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we
feel, that it moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself
(or a 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 spectator can commonly infer our actions from our
motives and character; and even where he cannot, he concludes in
general, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted with every
circumstance of our situation and temper, and the most secret springs
of our complexion and disposition. Now this is the very essence of
necessity, according to the foregoing doctrine.

[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 matter. 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 certain and conclusive: nor
does any man ever entertain a doubt, where he sees a piece of iron,
that it will have weight and cohesion of parts; as in all other
instances, which have ever fallen under his observation. But where
the objects have not so exact a similarity, the analogy is less
perfect, and the inference is less conclusive; though still it has
some force, in proportion to the degree of similarity and
resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed upon one animal,
are, by this species of reasoning, extended to all animals; and it is
certain, that when the circulation of the blood, for instance, is
clearly proved to have place in one creature, as a frog, or fish, it
forms a strong presumption, that the same principle has place in all.
These analogical observations may be carried farther, even to this
science, of which we are now treating; and any theory, by which we
explain the operations of the understanding, or the origin and
connexion of the passions in man, will acquire additional authority,
if we find, that the same theory is requisite to explain the same
phenomena in all other animals. We shall make trial of this, with
regard to the hypothesis, by which we have, in the foregoing
discourse, endeavoured to account for all experimental reasonings;
and it is hoped, that this new point of view will serve to confirm
all our former observations.

  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 children;
neither are the generality of mankind, in their ordinary actions and
conclusions: neither are philosophers themselves, who, in all the
active parts of life, are, in the main, the same with the vulgar, and
are governed by the same maxims. Nature must have provided some other
principle, of more ready, and more general use and application; nor
can an operation of such immense consequence in life, as that of
inferring effects from causes, be trusted to the uncertain process of
reasoning and argumentation.  Were this doubtful with regard to men,
it seems to admit of no question with regard to the brute creation;
and the conclusion being once firmly established in the one, we have
a strong presumption, from all the rules of analogy, that it ought to
be universally admitted, without any exception or reserve. It is
custom alone, which engages animals, from every object, that strikes
their senses, to infer its usual attendant, and carries their
imagination, from the appearance of the one, to conceive the other,
in that particular manner, which we denominate belief. No other
explication can be given of this operation, in all the higher, as
well as lower classes of sensitive beings, which fall under our
notice and observation.[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 occasions; and in which they improve, little
or nothing, by the longest practice and experience. These we
denominate Instincts, and are so apt to admire as something very
extraordinary, and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human
understanding. But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish, when
we consider, that the experimental reasoning itself, which we possess
in common with beasts, and on which the whole conduct of life
depends, is nothing but a species of instinct or mechanical power,
that acts in us unknown to ourselves; and in its chief operations, is
not directed by any such relations or comparisons of ideas, as are
the proper objects of our intellectual faculties. Though the instinct
be different, yet still it is an instinct, which teaches a man to
avoid the fire; as much as that, which teaches a bird, with such
exactness, the art of incubation, and the whole economy and order of
its nursery.

[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
uniformity of nature, we acquire a general habit, by which we always
transfer the known to the unknown, and conceive the latter to
resemble the former.  By means of this general habitual principle, we
regard even one experiment as the foundation of reasoning, and expect
a similar event with some degree of certainty, where the experiment
has been made accurately, and free from all foreign circumstances. It
is therefore considered as a matter of great importance to observe
the consequences of things; and as one man may very much surpass
another in attention and memory and observation, this will make a
very great difference in their reasoning.

  2. Where there is a complication of causes to produce any effect,
one mind may be much larger than another, and better able to
comprehend the whole system of objects, and to infer justly their
consequences.

  3. One man is able to carry on a chain of consequences to a greater
length than another.

  4. Few men can think long without running into a confusion of
ideas, and mistaking one for another; and there are various degrees
of this infirmity.

  5. The circumstance, on which the effect depends, is frequently
involved in other circumstances, which are foreign and extrinsic. The
separation of it often requires great attention, accuracy, and
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
experience 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 evidence, then, for, the truth of the
Christian religion is less than the evidence for the truth of our
senses; because, even in the first authors of our religion, it was no
greater; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from them to
their disciples; nor can any one rest such confidence in their
testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. But a weaker
evidence can never destroy a stronger; and therefore, were the
doctrine of the real presence ever so clearly revealed in scripture,
it were directly contrary to the rules of just reasoning to give our
assent to it. It contradicts sense, though both the scripture and
tradition, on which it is supposed to be built, carry not such
evidence with them as sense; when they are considered merely as
external evidences, and are not brought home to every one's breast,
by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit.

  Nothing is so convenient as a decisive argument of this kind, which
must at least silence the most arrogant bigotry and superstition, and
free us from their impertinent solicitations. I flatter myself, that
I have discovered an argument of a like nature, which, if just, will,
with the wise and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of
superstitious delusion, and consequently, will be useful as long as
the world endures. For so long, I presume, will the accounts of
miracles and prodigies be found in all history, sacred and profane.

  Though experience be our only guide in reasoning concerning matters
of fact; it must be acknowledged, that this guide is not altogether
infallible, but in some cases is apt to lead us into errors. One, who
in our climate, should expect better weather in any week of June than
in one of December, would reason justly, and conformably to
experience; but it is certain, that he may happen, in the event, to
find himself mistaken. However, we may observe, that, in such a case,
he would have no cause to complain of experience; because it commonly
informs us beforehand of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of
events, which we may learn from a diligent observation. All effects
follow not with like certainty from their supposed causes. Some
events are found, in all countries and all ages, to have been
constantly conjoined together: Others are found to have been more
variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expectations; so that, in
our reasonings concerning matter of fact, there are all imaginable
degrees of assurance, from the highest certainty to the lowest
species of moral evidence.

  A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence. In
such conclusions as are founded on an infallible experience, he
expects the event with the last degree of assurance, and regards his
past experience as a full proof of the future existence of that
event. In other cases, he proceeds with more caution: he weighs the
opposite experiments: he considers which side is supported by the
greater number of experiments: to that side he inclines, with doubt
and hesitation; and when at last he fixes his judgement, the evidence
exceeds not what we properly call probability. All probability, then,
supposes an opposition of experiments and observations, where the one
side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce a degree of
evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A hundred instances or
experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford a doubtful
expectation of any event; though a hundred uniform experiments, with
only one that is contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong
degree of assurance. In all cases, we must balance the opposite
experiments, where they are opposite, and deduct the smaller number
from the greater, in order to know the exact force of the superior
evidence.

  To apply these principles to a particular instance; we may observe,
that there is no species of reasoning more common, more useful, and
even necessary to human life, than that which is derived from the
testimony of men, and the reports of eye-witnesses and spectators.
This species of reasoning, perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the
relation of cause and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It
will be sufficient to observe that our assurance in any argument of
this kind is derived from no other principle than our observation of
the veracity of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts
to the reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no
objects have any discoverable connexion together, and that all the
inferences, which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely
on our experience of their constant and regular conjunction; it is
evident, that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in
favour of human testimony, whose connexion with any event seems, in
itself, as little necessary as any other. Were not the memory
tenacious to a certain degree; had not men commonly an inclination to
truth and a principle of probity; were they not sensible to shame,
when detected in a falsehood: were not these, I say, discovered by
experience to be qualities, inherent in human nature, we should never
repose the least confidence in human testimony. A man delirious, or
noted for falsehood and 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 particular kind of report and any kind of
object has been found to be constant or variable. There are a number
of circumstances to be taken into consideration in all judgements of
this kind; and the ultimate standard, by which we determine all
disputes, that may arise concerning them, is always derived from
experience and observation. Where this experience is not entirely
uniform on any side, it is attended with an unavoidable contrariety
in our judgements, and with the same opposition and mutual
destruction of argument as in every other kind of evidence. We
frequently hesitate concerning the reports of others. We balance the
opposite circumstances, which cause any doubt or uncertainty; and
when we discover a superiority on any side, we incline to it; but
still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the force of
its antagonist.

  This contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived
from several different causes; from the opposition of contrary
testimony; from the character or number of the witnesses; from the
manner of their delivering their testimony; or from the union of all
these circumstances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter
of fact, when the witnesses contradict each other; when they are but
few, or of a doubtful character; when they have an interest in what
they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with hesitation, or on
the contrary, with too violent asseverations.  There are many other
particulars of the same kind, which may diminish or destroy the force
of any argument, derived from human testimony.

  Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony
endeavours to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and the
marvellous; in that case, the evidence, resulting from the testimony,
admits of a diminution, greater or less, in proportion as the fact is
more or less unusual. The reason why we place any credit in witnesses
and historians, is not derived from any connexion, which we perceive
a priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are
accustomed to find a conformity between them. But when the fact
attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under our observation,
here is a contest of two opposite experiences; of which the one
destroys the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can
only operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same
principle of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance
in the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another
degree of assurance against the fact, which they endeavour to
establish; from which 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 relations
concerning the effects of frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally
required very strong testimony to engage his assent to facts, that
arose from a state of nature, with which he was unacquainted, and
which bore so little analogy to those events, of which he had had
constant and uniform experience. Though they were not contrary to his
experience, they were not conformable to it.[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 proportion to that of its antagonist.

  A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature; and as a firm and
unalterable experience has established these laws, the proof against
a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any
argument from experience can possibly be imagined. Why is it more
than probable, that all men must die; that lead cannot, of itself,
remain suspended in the air; that fire consumes wood, and is
extinguished by water; unless it be, that these events are found
agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of
these laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them?  Nothing is
esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common course of nature.
It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in good health, should die on
a sudden: because such a kind of death, though more unusual than any
other, has yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is a
miracle, that a dead man should come to life; because that has never
been observed in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a
uniform experience against every miraculous event, otherwise the
event would not merit that appellation. And as a uniform experience
amounts to a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the
nature of the fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can
such a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by
an opposite proof, which is superior.[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 pronounce my
decision, and always reject the greater miracle.  If the falsehood of
his testimony would be more miraculous, than the event which he
relates; then, and not till then, can he pretend to command my belief
or opinion.

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 undoubted 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 requisite 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, resembles
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 satisfaction 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 monsters, 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 enthusiast, 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,
sufficient 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; insomuch 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 supernatural 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 ourselves 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 yourself 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
assured, 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
information. 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 countrymen
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 religions are to be regarded as contrary
facts, and the evidences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong,
as opposite to each other. According to this method of reasoning,
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 miracle 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 contradicted it, with the same certainty as they
have for the miracle they relate. This argument may appear over
subtile 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 instant 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,
conversed 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 mendacio 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
cathedral, 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 confirmation 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 mankind. 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 testimony, 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 unquestioned 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 propensities. 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, receive greedily, without
examination, whatever sooths superstition, 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
observation, 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 knowing, 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 otherwise, 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 impossible 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 testimony 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 acknowledged 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 testimony 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 miracles,
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 barbarous, 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 bondage 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 continued miracle in his own
person, which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and
gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom
and experience.

[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 uncertain. One may sometimes
conjecture from analogy what will follow; but still this is but
conjecture. And it must be confessed, that, in the present case of
freezing, the event follows contrary to the rules of analogy, and is
such as a rational Indian would not look for. The operations of cold
upon water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but
whenever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a
moment, from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event,
therefore, may be denominated extraordinary, and requires a pretty
strong testimony, to render it credible to people in a warm climate:
But still it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform experience of
the course of nature in cases where all the circumstances are the
same. The inhabitants of Sumatra have always seen water fluid in
their own climate, and the freezing of their rivers ought to be
deemed a prodigy: But they never saw water in Muscovy during the
winter; and therefore they cannot reasonably be positive what would
there be the consequence.

[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
circumstances, be denominated a miracle; because, in fact, it is
contrary to these laws. Thus if a person, claiming a divine
authority, should command a sick person to be well, a healthful man
to fall down dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, in
short, should order many natural events, which immediately follow
upon his command; these might justly be esteemed miracles, because
they are really, in this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if
any suspicion remain, that the event and command concurred by
accident there is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of
nature. If this suspicion be removed, there is evidently a miracle,
and a transgression of these laws; because nothing can be more
contrary to nature than that the voice or command of a man should
have such an influence.  A miracle may be accurately defined, a
transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the
Deity, or by the interposition of some invisible agent. A miracle may
either be discoverable by men or not. This alters not its nature and
essence. The raising of a house or ship into the air is a visible
miracle. The raising of a feather, when the wind wants ever so little
of a force requisite for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though
not so sensible with regard to us.

[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 advanced 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 judgement 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 extravagant 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
encouragement[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 treatment 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
conceived 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
superstition, 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 consequently 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 accused before the people, by any of the sycophants
or informers 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 Epicurus 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 disquisitions 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 concerning 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 foundations of society, but advance principles, which they
themselves, 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 cannot 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 consequences.

  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 reasoning, 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 possessed 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
benevolence are entirely imaginary, or, at least, without any
foundation 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 appearances of nature: and presume not to alter
these appearances by arbitrary suppositions, in order to suit them to
the attributes, 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 attention 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
obsequious 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 benevolence 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 allowable for you to draw an inference concerning the
existence 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 undertakings. 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 advantage 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 reasoners, 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 philosophers derive their
idea of the gods? From their own conceit 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 experienced 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;
because 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
behaviour.

  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 expressed 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 contrivance? And could you not
return again, from this inferred 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 bestow 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 foundation 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 inferences 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 goodness. 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
reasoning. 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 superior. 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 another, 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 incomprehensible, 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 philosophy,
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
expected 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 interests of society any
connexion with the philosophical disputes 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 considering, 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 punishments 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
consequence 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 conjoined 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 suppose the universe, an effect quite singular and
unparalleled, to be the proof of a Deity, a cause no less singular
and unparalleled; your reasonings, upon that supposition, seem, at
least, to merit our attention. There is, I own, some difficulty, 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 produced 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 reasonings,
displayed upon any subject, than those, which prove the existence of
a Deity, and refute the fallacies 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
contradictions? 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 philosophers; 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 incurable; 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 scepticism,
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 prejudices, 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 consequences; 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 discovered, 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
annihilated. 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, independent 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, therefore, 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
representations of other existences, which remain uniform and
independent.

  So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to contradict 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 embarrassed, 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 argument, 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 unknown 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 objects. 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 arguments, 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 instincts 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 sentiments; 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 objects, 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 allowed, 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 conclusion 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, containing 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 concerning 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 principles 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 suspence, 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
confounded, that she scarcely can pronounce with certainty and
assurance concerning any one object.

  The absurdity of these bold determinations of the abstract 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
contradiction, 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 proposition, 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 contradictory opinions, which have been
entertained in different ages and nations; the variations of our
judgement in sickness and health, youth and old age, prosperity and
adversity; 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 behaviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot
expect, that his philosophy 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 academical
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 affirmative and dogmatical in their opinions; and while they
see objects only on one side, and have no idea of any counterpoising
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, therefore, 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 infirmities of human understanding,
even in its most perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious
in its determinations; 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 commonly 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
advantages, which they may have attained over their fellows, are but
inconsiderable, if compared with the universal perplexity 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 limitation of our enquiries to such
subjects as are best adapted to the narrow capacity of human
understanding. The imagination 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 practice 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 proposition, that where there is no
property, there can be no injustice, 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 demonstration.
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 existed, may be a false proposition, but still is
perfectly conceivable, and implies no contradiction.

  The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by
arguments from its cause or its effect; and these arguments 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 general 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 qualities, 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 general 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 concerning quantity or number? No. Does it contain
any experimental 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 undoubtedly 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 confusion, 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 cannot 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 extension,
which are still supposed infinitely divisible.

[3] It seems to be not impossible to avoid these absurdities and
contradictions, 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 particular 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
imagination, 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 mathematicians 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
themselves 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, according 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]
